Chromaciticious

Walking Wind

2011-10-26T09:29:00.000+02:00

In me a calling that can't be quelled
a terrifying intensity
of which malefic mountains are felled.

I want to breathe
the air that you breathe.

Let our lungs be joined
in a Holy Matrimony.
That even the full-white moon,
with its twinkled stars and blazing sun,
shall turn a dark green with envy.

Away with the desire,
of fresh mountain air
and the salty sea breeze
of Greek beaches.
What words I give
To this grave and distinct
impulse I have to dare,
to insult,
the infantile fascinations of gutter-papers
and dead summer leaves
With the movement of the inner-city smog.

Let the four winds desire our breath
And let them, not us,
be slaves to instinct.

Pray that others see in us
the great hurricane of love
and not the proud gale of idle obsession
of neediness and personal possession

A pure love - that is as natural
As rivers for the lake
And flames to the fire
As rivers to oceans
And fire to flames.
As winds that blow East can blow West
And as cold winds of the North
Can blow the humid steam of the South

Are we not, my dear,
but the one and very same
With the Above and Beyond?
Do we not find love both at the open
as well as at the close?
Think it not desolate or morose
but living and true
You with me
and I, with you.

Speaking

2011-10-25T11:36:00.001+02:00

You sell yourselves
To the smaller ideals of larger nations
You forsake yourselves
When the Lord has not forsaken

2011-10-24T09:08:00.001+02:00

.You are amazing
You are mighty
You are creative

Sprout

2011-10-13T21:54:00.002+02:00

Perform exquisitely for the Queen
Reveal to her talents unseen

Practice and grow like bamboo root
Sprout fast and quick like bamboo shoot

Be immune to Autumn rot
Bundle yourself in a walnut cot

Five summers and five winters
Of a network that nets and splinters

Into new beginnings of old ends
Out of loneliness and unto friends

Receive the praise you deserve
New grandmaster, and serve.

Steps

2011-10-12T01:41:00.000+02:00

On
the steps of a far-away church,
I feel my stomach in a lurch,
Your eyes leveled my nerve
Your back nestled in my chest
My hand resting over a curve
My soul at peace, at rest

Breaths are shallow and stares are deep
Coldness slowly begins to seep
Eyelids glowing to open and close
As I look from your head, down your nose
We start to be tempted by the night to sleep
It's at that time that we start to dose
Off

bugs

2011-10-12T01:34:00.000+02:00

Dwindle by, stutter-bug,
Give the silk thread a tug

Monster-legs is stalking lightly,
Eight spindles pulling tightly,

Steady the tight-rope walk,
Down the orchid stalk.

Blessed be thy symmetry,
The sides of web and their mimicry.

Dwindle by, o love bug,
Give the heart string a tug.

Worship

2011-10-12T01:19:00.000+02:00

In the beginning
He's said to have loved
Loved so much the man who was sinning

Out of nothing man came
His wife much the same
So she he would blame
for his wrong-doing
God saw this
and wept
and wept
and wept

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Blood was shed
And disciples fled
But there you hung on the cross
Dying and dead, a life, a loss
A Saviour A king
In Glory you rose

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Our righteous banner, our glorious King,
All mighty All love, All Angels will sing
To He who can Judge
We ask you provide
Take us, the lost, and be our guide
Almighty, All Glory to you our God

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

You who are worthy of praise
With us your Helper stays
Move us
and Love us
Take us with you
Move us, Love us
Take us with you
Only you can make me new.

The Mercy of Chase

2011-10-10T23:05:00.002+02:00

The dire response of the rabid dog
The tired retreat of the school girl.

Matted fur chasing bobbing hair,
pounding iron tendons race to ensnare,
small rubber soles can carry one but not fast enough,
before teeth a life to snuff.

Cold blood rushing through veins
Dress now covered in mud stains
A cold sweat laces each lung
At the sound of its lapping tongue

O greyhound major, the neighbourhood terror,
wherefore lay your master's hand?
What punishment should you withstand,
for causing the innocent to tremor?

Your teeth clasp at His forearm
Like a tongue grasps a barb
In His eyes he sees no cause for alarm
Retreat, savage beast
For your teeth are brittle
So they will never whittle
away
His judgement.

Fall back and fall away
Into darkness and dismay
Be cast into fire
Be lost into flame
Drown in the deepest mire
Until your demeanor is tame.

What of the girl?
And her turbulent hear.
It can rejoice again
in the arms of her father
Now, and then.

2011-10-06T08:24:00.001+02:00

.You who sustain me
Are the one who has perpetuated it all
Oceans like mist
Mountains like footstools
Stars like dust

Beat-Beat-Beat goes my heart
With the same rhythm
You intended
From the start

Only you can bring rivers to the desert
To make life spring out of dry earth

Only you can give flight to fire
To make the fallen never tire

I will be your soldier
Incredible and weak
My strength is yours
But Your strength is mine
Who else can turn a meek smile
into a weapon
powerful enough to inspire awe in the most
marveled men

Only you, Lord.

2011-10-05T20:16:00.001+02:00

It's because of you that I like many things,
From the brightness of the full moon
to the way that women can sing,
and oh, I'd learn to love it all to soon,
From tall beach houses
To cold winter days,
From old Church hymns,
To modern melodies,
From walks in the Capital
To a swim in the sunset
From a hard day's work
To a good night's rest

But you lead me away
From fable and fantasy
To Truth and Reality

That is the greatest gift
I have received

dreampost

2011-07-26T12:57:00.002+02:00

The fade out of a glossy white air
A pushing caused by utter despair

I open my eyes to see into yours,
Like a child opening curious doors

The Ghost Girl

2011-07-26T12:57:00.001+02:00

Speak to me, you long-haired ghost,
With your speech sadder than most.

Invisible are you to all of flesh and blood,
But I who you scared into the mud.

Are you alone because you are unseen?
Then let me see you.
Are you alone because you are unheard?
Then let me hear you.
Are you alone because you are not spoken to?
Then hear me.

Alone is good and alone is fine,
No need to mope, moan or whine.

Be content with the whispers of flowers,
And with the heights of mountain towers.

Celebrate the atoning moon of the night,
See the day birds and night owls and envy their flight.

Rejoice in the rising sun of the day's start,
Smile for the wants and tugs of your
More-than real heart.

The Doorperson.

2011-06-20T01:07:00.000+02:00

Hold the door open, just a jar,
Just a little longer, I'm not that far.

I'll smile a little sweeter just to say,
That holding that door a little longer
Could make my day.

I'll greet you and thank you,
and introduce myself,
I've done it before, you did too.

But this time we'll mean it,
And make plain to our sight,
Our intentions, dreams, and plight.

So hold that door a little longer,
I'm making my way,
The fact that you held on a little stronger,
Kept me from going astray.

2011-06-15T22:02:00.000+02:00

Silence is the language of our love
It is the nexus of our disengagement
Like space is really the black between the stars above
Passion is the hope that fills each lament
Each moment forsaken of its sound
So very hard-hitting and profound.

We have not the parroting of song and phrase
Rather, I have but the lingering hopes of words in silence
And a knowledge that despite all solitude, stays
By no warrant do I have the license
To dream of that which we do not speak

By no reason or doubt that one can see
Can I say that you are not speaking
With me.

2011-06-14T02:15:00.000+02:00

.High upon your wooden throne
you sit entrenched.
Your scalp covered with a crown of stone
to show you're hard-hard-headed.

Sing sing sing sing
For the Lady's heart
You know, know, know know that
you didn't stand a chance from the start

Mercy ain't a killing game
And it's not another word for power
It's just not the same
not even close
Try it when you're stuck
Knee-deep in muck in need of a re-
Start
Start
Start

I can keep on

2011-05-22T22:19:00.000+02:00

Walking through the open space
of the room where I see your face

Every sixth sun of the week
I watch my chances grow bleak

In my head I run around rooms
Thinking of all the pains and glooms

That await me behind every mistake
Or every stupid face I make

Eye contact

Look away, brush back hair
Turn away, pretend you don't care

Look back, unprepared
Hopeful, yet scared

Eye contact

Panic: systems are go
Cheeks: reddest glow

Eye contact

Something to get me out unscathed
Stickin' my tongue out to say I made it.

Outside

Slam of fists and a non-judicial fight
Anything to get my concern out of sight

Pitiful excuse for a man, ungentle
Code of honour and shining armour
Dismantle.

My mistake was to run
to hide
But that indeed did coincide
With my fear
To not have you near.

So I say sorry.
Not because you're right.
And not because I'm wrong.
But because any plight
Is bigger than my ego
And my choice outweighs
My little dismays.

2011-05-22T22:03:00.000+02:00

I am
so tall
and blooming
not everlasting
but i may try
and try and
try i
will.
keep
on
gro
wing
down
down
down
into the roots
where water seeps in
and nourishes truths
away from the sun
and burning heat
away from the sun
and the friends we'll meet
one day we'll climb
but for now
we grow

He of Saving

2011-05-22T21:56:00.000+02:00

A chest like mine
With ripples of flesh and blood,
Biding its time
Before time's end
Clutched 'tween it's awkward matter
Are deep-seated hates that none do flatter

This heart-laden burden is none too rare,
This sorrow-maiden voyage does little to care
For brother and sister
Companion and friend.

It does not discriminate
It does not limit itself
In growth or spate

Consuming till I myself am consumed
Presuming till I myself am presumed
Lost, forgotten or doomed.

But You did not listen
You did not care
You did not fear
The marble-thick walls that I built up
Or the bite-barking wolf-beast that I trained
To you the walls were sandcastles
And the monster a mere pup.

Like music in the air you called,
Like a shepherd his lamb you hauled
me.

Avaste.

2011-05-15T16:15:00.000+02:00

Expose yourself a little more
Let others your soul explore

Grab the brass of the door knob
Turn it quick and hear the lock bob

The creaking and clicking of mechanical devices
Their inward curious-peeking it entices

There you are on a table fresh and bare
Like the midday hen or the dinner hare

Your inner workings cleverly inspected
The pump of your heart and the blood it's directed

Lightly lifting the little lid
Hearing the heavy thoughts of your head

The deepest of your intimate feelings
The strongest of your inner reelings

Disposing yourself of all your wayward tumours
Exposing yourself to all their awkward humours

Lighting candle-borne flame to your muddy glass
Sighting themselves to your societal class

There posed on a mantelpiece at which they marvel
Like the strong sculpted mass of statue marble

So dearly deprived of dim-lit livings
Of clandestine creations not meant for giving

But free are you now to reflect
And spot yourself clean, without defect.

Now your clarity of mind you can implore
Expose yourself, not a minute more.

2011-05-15T14:54:00.000+02:00

What wayward hurt is this,
What terrible fated twist,
What discord of angels song
And Ballad of thieves,
Playing in the night by the waters,
Like minstrels from the King's Quarters
besieged and
unmused
do they play.
Stung by obscurity's callousness
and drugged blind by the uncaring,
Glances and fatalistic staring,
Unrivalled Unparalleled,
Uncalled for and dispelled.
What rhythm of heart
Have I missed?
And what love have I,
Unkissed,
by you.

To falter not

2011-04-26T23:51:00.000+02:00

It saddens me to think
That I never fashioned a link

Strong enough to withstand
Free enough for a hold of my hand

And yours

It maddens me to to know you'll never laugh
at my stupid jokes
And tendons do lock up so very tough
Knowing it could all be one big hoax.

But it's not.

2011-04-26T13:12:00.000+02:00

To balance cards on a string
Like a Magician the hearts of his audience
Anxiety, excitement and all those things you bring
Are the consequence of obedience.

Obedient not to my mind
Which thinks and thinks
Till I've gone blind.

But to my heart
Which feels and wants
And dreams and fulfils
Right from the start

Pangs of jealousy when all the art
And Literature and music and more
Summon names that find their way
Into the life you live so full of lore

Not one brushstroke and not one word
Not one song played and not one note heard
Not one thought and not one heartbeat
Makes you think of me.

But then when we step out of make believe
Next to each other, hand in hand
We make work of our great retrieve
With one flash of sapphire eyes
In but one instant, my knotted stomach unties
Unfolds
Unwinds
Beholds

Be kind.

Weeping Harp

2011-04-20T09:27:00.000+02:00

What waning minutes
Feel like the trespassing of hours
Is it when the daylight is fading
Or when moonlight is passing?

Or is it perhaps
When your touch is fleeting
And your eyes look elsewhere
And my heart still beating; waits
for our next
meeting.

The wails of Senoh but mirror
Poorly at that
The sound of my skin as it calls so sweetly
For another chance with which you'll cheat me
Out of one more kiss
Out of one more sky-ward glance
Out of that desperate last chance to fare well.

lal.

2010-12-25T00:06:00.000+01:00

I don't know what to tell you. I'm good? You okay? Hey, where have you been? Did I do something wrong? Oh you shouldn't have! Really, hah! See you soon? Talk to you later! BRB! You frustrate me. You make me smile. You're awesome. Bye. Goodbye.

I love you.

I love you so much, I think I'll tell you a little story.

There once was a Crowned King of a Country
Who carried out Royal and Regal Duties, Regularly.

But as his workload grew more and more in abundance
Stress would stress-in and stress out until the King doth wince

Hitherto, the young King managed to perform every other deed
But it became apparent and evident that he needed a trust Steed.

So the King went to the Royal Stables
And found most fit a steed for his future fables.

The King mounted the horse and commanded its will
Through harsh summer months and the cold winter chill

But once the King's health faltered and he lost grip on the reins
The Steed took over through exploiting the Kings Pains.

The Steed followed itself whilst the King's slumber
The columns of the Palace broken asunder

Aye, steadfast is the battle for dominion between the King and his Horse.
Aye, constant is the struggle between the Mind and the Heart.

Climate Code Green Campaign - the impact of Climate Change on health (am...

2010-11-14T14:21:00.000+01:00

2010-11-08T17:54:00.000+01:00

Today, I came across something that irked me.
Nay, today I saw something that scared and annoyed me, incredibly

Thank you, de-motivator google!

What I found, personettes and peoplethings, was a cameraman and a 'journalist' of a women conducting a vox pop outside my school gate. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? After all, there are plenty of people pouring in and out of the gates every hour, and trickling in between--so naturally one would conduct a vox pop there, especially for something like Wednesday evening news.
Alas, to my grand, sodding dismay the woman was asking students 'if they drink alcohol.' Students above the legal age for alcohol consumption who live in a culture where drinking is normal and not really frowned upon at all.
Next up, Newsy Newsperson tells us that Water is Wet. More on that, after the break. This is Stupid McStupidface on L-Ahbaliried.
Honestly, asking youths about alcohol? How shallow can we get? Is there *really* nothing more important to talk about? Is this the extent of tele-journalism, brainwashing and spin? Is this really all that the youths should be asked about, do we not have any other questions to be asked?

Regression at its best, media.

To Another

2010-08-28T15:38:00.004+02:00

I know a friend called Ben Kaffar
In some years time he'd be driving his Car
To many a festival where he'll play guitar

He'll play his sing-song tunes
To riff-raff beats
And sing his blue-bird lyrics
Many a stage he shall see
A famous man he will be

But oh, Dear Ben, it's been so long
Have you learned right from wrong?
Do people plague you with social etiquette
and cause you to worry and fret?

Don't be down, old bean
For in time, pain won't be seen!
Rejoice and dance with yourself
Put those doubts on the shelf

And set it aflame, ablaze, asunder

Let confidence roar like thunder!

That is it, I am spent
Perhaps in time I shall have some coin
With which to spend on more than rent

There is a man, Matthias the Kentzia

The man, the legend, the 'bestja'.

A man made to dare

Chest brazen with many a hair

Of Germanic descent and Maltese blood

Miles above those who live in the mud

Lover of Discipline and Imperium belief

With many a person he holds a beef

Some of these people he knows their face

The rest, one day, their IP he'll trace

They'll rue the day they fragged his ass

They'll wish they had a more respectable class

Thundering down with the raffica, akimbo

He'll leave you in martyrdom's limbo!

To Elaine!

2010-08-28T15:17:00.000+02:00

He loves you
it's true
he made this sing-song to tell you the truth
like superman taking you into his booth

hipster fashion and pop culture jokes
it's when it matters that he chokes!

see the tell tale signs of love-stricken eyes
look deep, pray tell, don't be petrified

by his double-beat thumping heart
through his life a map you must chart

through thick and thin stick with him
when the lights are bright or even dim

lest there be darkness to fight within
lest there be troubles and you let them win!

2010-08-01T16:51:00.000+02:00

I came to pay a visit; it's my turn to be kind
So open up young lady; let me into your mind

Take me past level one and two
Take me deeper where blue is not blue

Take me past level three and four
Where gravity makes sense no more

Take me past level five and six
Where reality can no longer play its tricks.

When you take me and when I get there
I will, after all this, tell you how much I care

We'll walk over bridges and have lovely talks
In reaches were doubt can no longer stalk

Where Autumn trees are the Summer norm
Where Spring birds in the snow can form

We'll laugh and cry and laugh again
I'll hold you in my arms, my old friend.

Let us dive into the river brown
So we can reach that rustic town

Lull me into that deep deep sleep
Where I count the android sheep

Luck will follow us no better
Than rain can make the sun wetter

It is there, O lady, where we can and will be.

I want critique.

2010-07-26T15:19:00.000+02:00

The snow-coated beach asks for nothing. It holds its Summer memories but is ready to embrace the stabbing winds and blanketing waves of snow of a Canadian Winter. It's non-expectant, it's ambitious, it's... dare I say, human. It is constantly engaged with the grey skies that come with the season, in a dialouge more engaging than lover's quarrel.

I've always liked snow-beaches though, they've enchanted me since childhood, longer than I've liked girls I'd say. Yeah, that sounds about right; a good long time ago. There I stood, a figure of blacks and grays, draped with layers of clothing shaped by my pea coat. I remember how I wore that woolen hat to hid my greasy, matted hair, thinking I'd see no one and nothing of significance. Had I seen myself though, I would've felt nothing but pity.

At the edge of the shore, by the lighthouse, was a girl in teals and bright greens, she stood out more than me. I'd learn her name sometime later. Not then though, no, I knew I wasn't meant to then. I drew my name in the sand with a yardstick I found by some rocks, gave a look to the horizon and then to the girl. After that, I left. I walked up the wooden staircase out of the beach and onto the trail, and I walked that trail. Right up to my car, I got in hastily, eager to turn on the heat. After letting the heat reach my fingers and de-misting the windows I drove off to my home. I missed it.

I didn't slack, I has photblag, see?!

2010-06-21T13:33:00.002+02:00

The Tale. Pt. I

2010-05-21T22:00:00.003+02:00

. THE TALE OF AIDEN DAES; THE GUTSY CHILD

The children galloped and scurried on the turf-covered ground of the playground. They went round on the merry-go-round, slid down the slide, swung on the swings and took delight in candied foods. But the children did not, however, talk to the blond child by the tree. That child was the village's burden, an orphan fed and housed by the makeshift welfare state. All the children would mock him and shun him, because all the adults would tell them to. Aiden didn't know why, nor did he think it mattered. To him, that was their way, and he was fine with it.
But why was their way causing him so much harm? Why would he clutch his chest every time a parent will pull their child away from his sight?
"I never hurt them," he'd say, "but it's their way."

As the children walked home with the sun, Aiden stayed at the playground counting the falling Autumn leaves. One by one he'd count them, going down, down and down. Slowly they'd fall from a great height, but they wouldn't even dent; it amazed and astounded him. He was snapped out of his gaze, for the leaves were hidden by the moonless night.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" He yelped as soon as he realised how late he had stayed out. "How'd I not see the freaking sun set?! It's the sun! Seriously!"
He pushed himself up with his hand and got up and started scrambling to get home, he didn't live far, he thought, but he had to hurry.

By the small pizzeria two corners from his house, was a broken street lamp. He was familiar with the street lamp, for some reason it's been broken for weeks. He'd hate having to walk by it, he'd always get the darkest of feelings in the pit of his stomach. He'd tell himself the street lamp was growing stones in his belly, and that he should stop passing through. It was as he was warning himself of the gut-wrenching feeling that he saw two figures under the street lamp grappling each other--fighting. As he inched closer he saw that the aggressor was a man and the victim the woman. He got closer still and recognised the woman as Ms. Packerton, his school teacher.

Ms. Packerton always took care of Aiden, she made sure he wasn't bullied at school she shared her lunch with him when he couldn't afford any and she always scolded him when he was mischievous. It was when he was remembering all that she had done for him that he felt a fire in his heart and tears on his toes.

Aiden charged, bearing a sky-tearing, God-fearing cry in his lungs; and it exploded out of him like a star out of the sky. He launched himself onto the bewildered man's back and dug his finger into his shoulders and ribs. The man wavered and swore, bashing Aiden into the lamp post. Aiden bit down on the man's neck, but the man did not take this kindly, and retaliated. The boy's back and the red-brick walls met in a heavy thud. Aiden fell to the ground in agony.

The man stood over the boy and kicked him in the stomach, but someone forgotten is someone to be wary of. Ms. Packerton gave her last-ditch effort. She threw a rock, with all her might, directly at the man's lower back. The man growled and turned his gaze to her. He walked towards the Middle school teacher, his steps tick-tocking away at the cement pavement. Slowly and meticulously he took in the victory that was teasing his fingertips.
"You shouldn't have done that, I could do this town a favour by killing that monster and get with a fine piece of ass like you in one night. Now, I might have to kill you just so you don't go yapping your whore mouth off."
He raised his hand and it hung in the air, loosely, before tensing his taut muscles and bringing it down upon Ms. Packerton.

But Ms. Packerton's skin did not break, and her bone did not crack.

Like a winged statue, Aiden held the arm of the man with one hand. His body was tense, but his eyes were relaxed. His resolve was solid and his will was ablaze. The man was confused and angry, and he shouted questions at the young boy who's endured so much.
"Why do you even care about this bitch?! You're risking your life for a person who hates you, like everyone else!"
"Because Ms. Packerton is my friend. And I will protect my friends; because that is my way!"

The man finally saw what a strong soul Aiden has when he looked him in the eye. But it was too late, for Aiden had launched his fist into the man's stomach. The man jarred and fell to the ground, his arms clamping onto his abdomen.

"Aiden..." Ms. Packerton began to utter, "...why didn't you run away?"
"Because," Aiden began, "Love came down, and rescued me."

2010-05-15T14:16:00.000+02:00

And that floating consciousness, like a pearly bubble of undisturbed thought, floated in a black ink which shared its eternal space with an indiscernible shade of blue. It was stark, save for that sphere of dreams.

And it burst. From the orb of minds a plethora of colours reached and spun outwards, forming tentacles and networks of colours; like radiant veins in the blackness of infinity. A supernova of consciousness pierced the space of self. The Reds arranged themselves above and around, the Oranges darted below, the Yellows shot and branched out of the ground, the Greens took flight and broke through the sky, the Blues stood over all as obelisks, the Indigos scattered and scurried across the ground and the Violets covered large portions of the ground, moving back and forth in perpetual motion.

I suppose I should fill you in a little, you just picked this up and all you got was a very intimate moment with a dream that was arbitrarily picked from my Dream Logs. I had this dream a long, long time ago. Listen, sometimes in life, it's the first things that make themselves apparent to you which are the most important. You don't realise it at the time, but it always is. The thing is, that we humans are resistant to the idea of foreshadowing outside of films or books. We just always like to think that we want will come true; regardless of previous signs already rejecting this.

Sometimes though, it's the disregard of a sign, but the following of that raw, gut instinct that helps us see through the day. This particular morning, also.
" 'Ello, Benjamin." I heard from behind me. Funny thing, instincts, they're not wrong that often.
"Hey there, Roberts."

Wesley Roberts was one of the most distasteful, disgusting and dishonest men one would ever meet. Sure, his hair is going gray and his skin is getting wrinklier, but his wallet gets fatter and his lackies get bigger. In number and brutish qualities.

"You owe me an eye." he said, bursting at the seems with authority.

"And you owe me a life."

Do you ever get that feeling of instant regret after opening your mouth for no real reason whatsoever? No? Well, it's kind of like feeling your balls retract all the way up to your oesophagus and build a cottage up there for the winter. I apolgise to all ladies reading this, I don't know what it'd feel like for a woman, but I assume it's just as bad.

"This is industrial London, Benjamin, and most of my money is made off of bricks and mortar, as you know. Every man in this city interested in owning any property, any man with wide-eyed dreams of opening a business in any shape or form, and many other such men, can be bent over by yours truly."

"You're out of luck then aren'tcha? I'm not interested in any 1 square inch of land in this city." Oh, I'm outdoing myself this morning. Wesley Roberts stood there, staring at me through his dark-lensed Ray Bans with contempt, or so I thought, until he sported the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen a man sport.

"Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't ya? You see, every so often I find someone who has something I want. Now, I'd normally just go about the usual methods to get what I want from such a man, but sometimes I make us of other methods. They're a little rough around the edges, but I think that makes them especially efficient."

Oh... shit.

The Natural yet Somewhat Less-Useful Internet.

2010-04-28T18:35:00.000+02:00

I have not posted in a while. I call that dedication. Oh yes.

In case you haven't noticed, NEW LAYOUT, if you already noticed, awesome now get with the others and celebrate the new layout. Free chicken wings for all.

So a while ago I was thinking, and I had a thought. A thought that I found to be quite deep.

What did I do?

I did what any pseudo-intellectual would--post it on my facebook.

You can hug the whole freakin' world. That's awesome, hug the word and everyone on it. You can look at the moon and think 'wow, there are other people avoiding coursework just to look at the moon; like I am!'

Just last night I was looking at and pondering about said moon. Then my friend, who's studying for her A levels just sends me a text, telling me how beautiful the moon is. Now there's only two explanations for this.

I told her I was going to look at the moon.
She saw my reflection in the moon (and thus has ocular powers I should ask her about)

So, that's all for now, I got a bigger post to bring so GET READY.

Or don't, I know I wouldn't hold my breath or anything. You can't wait for dedication

/procrastination

Barefoot for a day

2010-04-08T17:24:00.000+02:00

Barefoot for a day

Hell yeah.

The Teatime String Theory.

2010-03-01T17:45:00.000+01:00

I'm probably one of the only people who thinks that (and I await a facebook group to defy me)somewhere, some day a future me will confront me thanks to time travel (and my characteristic and diligent following of rules)and it will be comforting to know that time travel was made possible and that my future is probably pretty cool.

I shouldn't think too much though, for my head will hurt with all the pondering and whatnot. Besides, then I'd have 0.02 less material in my current book, 'The Quantum Travelling of Time, Space and Being with a side of Chips'.

It's a working title.

But yeah, today I was on the bus and there was this guy who looked a bit like an older, socially awkward me (I guess having access to the Internet with cybernetic eyes would make one less inclined to venture outside, then again, why would a shut-in civilian of the Internet decide to venture outside of his own dimensi- DAMN IT I'M OVER-THINKING AND WASTING GOOD MATERIAL). Right, where was I? Ah, yes, future me. No, he was pretty cool overall, gave up his seat for old people (the seat next to mine) as soon as I was about to get up. He also walked right up to the Junior college ATM alongside me. And I swear he gave me a few, discreet glances which screamed 'Oh yeah that's me, man I was so cool. I want to talk to him but that could be dangerous HMM OH DANG'.
Not only that, but he didn't actually use the ATM, he just waited in line. Clearly a man from the future won't have a current savings account he'd need to withdraw from.

That's not over-thinking, that's rationalisation!

I really felt like blogging before vlogging (I love how the v and b are right next to each other on the QWERTY keyboard, totally not atrocious to type offhand/blindfolded.)

I think I've used enough brackets for the day. So, to you, I bid an adieu. <3

(Have you noticed I started watching The Big Bang Theory?)

Lettered Adieu.

2010-02-02T21:52:00.004+01:00

But if I had to walk away again, would you ever forgive me? If I had to leave before the moon, even if it's sometime soon would you smile the very next day like I had never gone away?

As I sit here on the clay-tiled roof of our home, I see the moon shine over Rome. I can hardly hear a bird; let alone a spoken word. I can't even see a cat stalk, let alone encounter someone on my walk.

I saw the many homes and shops of Rome, all seemingly bowing to the growing stature of the Vatican, which was partly covered by scaffolding and the like, for the Pope commissioned artists and architects to work on a new addition to the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel. Whatever for a Church of love in life needs such lavish constructions for is beyond me, and seeing all the construction and hearing all the eager comments of the citizens became stones in my heart. But these daily annoyances are pebbles that could fit in a child's hand compared to the boulder which I've been trying to ignore.

My dear Emilia, she's so precious to me, such that she is a necessity. I've never held such a love for someone I didn't want to bed. It is inexplicable, I see something in her that just seems to make me want to protect her, cherish her and guide her in life. Ever since I met her 7 years ago in the snowy Alps. She was so weak and hungry but still there was something in her eyes, something beautiful. It's not a word I like to use, but I do not think that anything else is as apt as that word for what I see when I look into her eyes. I can talk about how she holds ten-thousand stars in each one, or about how her gaze gives some of its own magnificent to light to whatever she casts it upon--but it does not suffice. I just had to protect that.

I had left her once before, 3 years ago. It was because I was scared that I took up too much of her life, that she wasn't living her own life because of me, and every day after that I used to look at the night sky and think about all the stars I'd see in her eyes, even now I think that the only reason there are this many stars at night is because they leave her sleeping eyes and settle for sky's infinity until morning arrives once more.

When I found her again a year ago she was selling pendants she made herself by the fountain in that yellow ocher dress I had bought her in Florence. The pendants would only be worn by peasants but they had a certain charm to them, something I feel that no one else would appreciate. When she had seen me standing so close to her she nearly fell into shock and started crying. She cried a million tears, and pounded my chest a million times. All I could do was hold her while she told me about those two long years we spent apart. She asked me to not leave her again.

What a promise I have to break, and you shan't know why, for if you did I know you'd follow me and that's something I know I cannot want. I'm a man of foolish tendencies and even more foolish habits, and it's because of those habits that I must bid her a farewell, at least for now.

The Outside World Doesn't Belong In Your Bed.

2010-02-01T23:45:00.004+01:00

The Outside world doesn't belong in your Bed

If you let it in it will take your stead

The smell and touch of your day

Will never ever go away.

If you don't cleanse yourself

You'll end up off your bed and on the shelf.

So take some time to shower

No more than half an hour

Before you dream the night's dreams

Before the sun bares its beams.

2010-02-01T23:25:00.002+01:00

Evidently, I have to do this, well tralila and a sheep's hammock; here I go! On my way making the list. (I'm trying to evade formatting issues >_>)

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed.
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicise those you intend to read
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own blog/fb note so we can try and track down these people who've read 6 and force books upon them

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of The Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter Series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible

7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare *not complete yet*
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (haven't read them all)
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac *I know I'll love it though*
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

So, in total...

Intend to read: 21

Love: 9

A Story.

2009-12-08T16:48:00.003+01:00

Have I ever told you the story of the viper and the rooster? No? Well set yourself down.

Once, on a farm between nowhere and anywhere, there was a rooster. This rooster was a standalone kinda bird. He'd perch himself on different posts along the fence and watch as the other animals busy themselves and work about their daily lives on the farm. I'm not saying he was a loner, but he would never stick his wing in another chick's (or hen's) beak. He'd shout out 'Good morning' to everyone as loud as he could, every morning; for it was his nature.

Then, on a star speckled night when the Rooster visited the river, he encountered a viper. The viper greeted the Rooster--but the rooster was wary, for he knew of the viper's venom. The rooster told the viper to keep her fangs away, but the viper assured the rooster that her fangs were dull and wouldn't be able to pierce a leaf. So the Rooster relaxed and he didn't retreat. He enjoyed the Viper's company, they were suited to match. But time didn't slow its march, and as the sun crept off, the Rooster had to make his way back to the farm.

"Will I see you again?" Asked the Rooster.

"Definitely," retorted the Viper, "but first I'll make sure you get home safe and sound." And so they slithered and trotted; all the way back to the wooden fence of the farm, opposite the chicken coop. The Chickens saw the Viper, and they were scared.

The next morning, before the sun rose, the Rooster walked away from the farm, towards the river once again. He hoped to find the Viper, but she was not there. The Rooster's orange eyes wept and wept, his tears being carried off by the uncaring river. The Rooster waited and waited, but he was disappointed, and heard not the voice of the Viper. He went back to the farm, his feathers dragging behind. Upon his arrival, the Chickens glared.

The next morning, before the sun rose, the Rooster walked away from the farm, towards the river once again. This time he ran with anticipation, and she was there.

"Why did you not come again the day before?" Asked the Rooster, seeking relief and sound thoughts once again.

"I had not the chance." the Viper replied.

But while the Rooster was happy with the Viper, he was often caught staring at the uncaring river, with a look too morose to bear.

"Why are you sad?" asked the Viper.

"Because the day will end, and I know not about time." replied the Rooster.

The Viper contemplated, and then she spoke, "Then here, let us drink, as a promise to the walking sun."

The Viper and the Rooster drank from the uncaring river, but the venom from the Viper's glands was carried down to the beak of the Rooster, and the Rooster coughed, splattering blood. The Viper was shocked and still with fear.

"How'd I get poisoned if your fangs are dull?" asked the Rooster, his speech slurred.

"The venom leaked out from my glands!" cried the Viper.

But the Rooster made no reply.

The Viper cried and cried, so hard and for so long that the venom was cried through her eyes 'till there was no more venom to be taken by the uncaring river, 'till the viper turned white. As the walking sun made 400 journeys, the Viper shrunk as leaves shriveled, the Viper grew frail as ice thickened, the Viper grew wings as flowers bloomed and the Viper took flight as the sun shined. One never steps in the same river twice, and the Butterfly never became the Viper again.

Draft from the mind.

2009-12-08T02:28:00.004+01:00

Blogging again and again and again. Oh sweet tap-dancing omelet chefs. Since I seem to be in a bit of a trough today I'll blog. Why? Because I write better when I'm in a bad mood. Go figure.

So, last Saturday at Y4J a thought brewed in my head. It was continuous and random and had very little to do with the actual mass there. Oops. Well, I think it was productive nonetheless.

The most common argument against the idea of a 'caring and loving God' is: "How can you say there is a loving and caring God when there is so much suffering in the world?" I can go and answer this in two ways. I can use a theological approach, or I can bring forth a simple observation, one that is objective, rather than subjective.

According to Theology and Doctrine

OK, this'll be quick. The main idea is that God has given us free will, in order to be able to choose between right and wrong, to choose to follow him and so on and so forth. This is based on the argument that love has to be made out of choice and be true to our beliefs and ourselves. Thus if God were to just make everyone good and rid the world of all wrongdoers it's more of a forced coercion rather than free love. Another thing, some people say 'why would God put the 'snake' in the garden of Eden?' Well, the short answer is that he didn't, but the snake is the Devil, an angel, and thus a free spirit, that chose to rebel and oppose God. But all this doesn't lead to the point I'm trying to make.

The stuff I really want to talk about

Yes, the world is full of horrible things like war, famine, death, strife, tragedies, fallacies, crime, abuse, misuse, exploitation, devastation and many other scary words. True, but then you must think a little. Is the world all bad, or is all you see bad? Well, that's a rhetorical question, but the correct answer is that yes, while everything in front of your eyes may be bad, it in no way means that the world is bad.

Just as there are natures of despair, misfortune and cruelty in the world there are natures of hope, blessings and benevolence. I can humbly vouch for the authenticity of that statement. So if you don't see these wonderful aspects of life, you really only have yourself to blame. For I promise you, if you seek you will find.

But, for the sake of the argument, let's say that you've looked for more pleasant aspects of life in this existence but you still cannot find them. Well, if I were to overlook a very possible attitude problem I'd suggest you would, in the words of Ghandi; "Be the change you want to see in the world." In other words, if you don't see good-natured things in the world then you should try and be the source of such good-natured things. But, in all probability, you can't find the nicer side in life and you're not trying to make the world better; in which case you really only have yourself to blame. So before you start playing the blame game it would be best if we discuss the whole 'trying to make the world better' part.

Gonna make the world a happier place to be!

You might discourage yourself, in all probability, by saying any act of yours that attempts to bring a better, more positive colour to the world is dwarfed by the lethargic, apathetic and close-mindedness of your society; but I tell you, if you take up reckless abandon and freely attempt this you will in all probability touch someone's heart. You won't expect it, and all your plans could go to hell in a hand-basket but someone will be inspired by your act of good will. And you'll also need to adjust your attitude a little, you'll need to be able to expect failure and be able to appreciate the little things in life, the little triumphs and glimmers, of hope, peace and love. For it's in the little things that you can accomplish the greatest deeds.

Alas, you still probably would not see this act as something feasible. You'll argue that you'll be mocked and that "it's not your thing." Well, screw that. If that's the case then you've got three things holding you back.

Fear, fear that you'll get in trouble, or fear that you'll be vulnerable, or fear that you'll waste resources. Any fear that is impairing you.

Ego; very strongly-linked to fear. You fear for your ego, for your 'self'. You want to protect that image of your 'self', you want to feed your ego by doing what you do best and sticking in your comfort zone. That comfort zone you're so verily addicted to.

Addiction; you can't break out of the mold. You're trapped and stuck inside a comfort zone that gives you a social approval. Showing that you're addicted to the social standard and general approval of others.

The only way you'll ever come close to doing something charismatic to deliver more benevolence and hope in the world is to overcome those three 'demons'. You have to be nonchalant and care not of your image, you have to be ready to sacrifice time and materialistic things. You have to be ready to risk your reputation. For fear, ego and addiction are the dead weights to your wings. Only after unshackling yourself from fear, ego and addiction will you be able to act freely out of love.

Alright, so you've started to see the nice things in life and appreciate the little things in life too, you decided you want to be a source of Joy to others and you are also freeing yourself from the three weights Fear, Ego and Addiction. Alas, even after all this, you still can't take those steps forwards, even though you want to. You find yourself unmotivated and lacking spirit. Well, if you're a Christian (which is what most of my reader's are), you'd probably do what I'd do. That is, pray for God to give you motivation and strength. To fill you up with inspiration till you are, not full, but overflowing, and you will never never feel empty. I mean, how does a cup that drinks from the ocean feel thirsty? How does a cloud that is driven by the wind feel stagnant? Hopefully those metaphors better illustrate my point.

To summarise, if you think there is no joy, look for it. If you do not find joy, be it. If you're scared to bring joy, humble yourself. If you're lacking strength, ask for it.

A handy website that always lifts my spirit is www.givesmehope.com. The only site and media that makes me cry on a regular basis. Oh yeah. I cry.

Art and stuff and yeah!

2009-12-05T11:49:00.004+01:00

To think that I'm finally 16. I hit the legal drinki- Oh no wait I haven't because 16-year-olds drinking is one of the top crises in our country. Dod freakin' gamn it. Americans my age are already the drivers of large, heavy, metal deathmobiles that they use to pick up other drivers of large, heavy, metal deathmobiles and here I am unable to purchase a beer.

Mind you, they can't drink until they're twenty-one. Ha-has to America, yes indeedy.

Hear that?

No? Well, that sound is the sound of SHALLOW VICTORY, and it sounds like an aluminium bell. ;_;

OK, honestly I don't care that much but I needed a bit of comic pessimism to start the blog, that's how the cookie breaks/bakes/crumbles/explodes. All in all, my birthday (and the day preceding it) kicked the ass out of a donkey farm. But that's not what you want to hear about, is it? No no, you want to hear about the HOT SEXY ASS CAMERA I GOT OH YEAH.

Well, you won't. Instead you get an artsy fartsy update! That's right, artsy fartsy.

It's true!

Delicious :3

NOW, THE OCTOPUS AND THE HUMMING BIRD

Click to enlarge

Pastures of the Wind.

2009-11-16T21:40:00.002+01:00

The sounds of the man-made machines that impersonated giant dragonflies beats down and around the nearby valleys and mountains, clouds bowing to their flight, the sun chanting for their travels. With pride, distinction and indifference they pass over the little villages that reside in the flatlands adjacent to the stone giants that reached for the sky. The villagers barely glanced at the helicopters, still tiding away at crops and fruits, grinding wheat and tending to their daily lives. Dedicated and spirited, these lower-class men of China seem to be born of a different Era, one which had a near-poetic way of living. So much more respectable than the modern people of our age that get caught up in superficial ideals and artificial pleasures.

Swallows flew around the papered wings of the windmill and leaves glided together in circles, dancing on the ground. Mice as dirty as the ground were traversing around in search for nutrition; until he arrived. The man was a little scruffy, his vermillion coat hung loosely off his arms and shoulders, tattered and flowing by his pant pockets, the sleeves creeping just below the elbow. His gray pants run past the knee and in his hand is a lacquered cane of sorts that matches the shade of his coat, using it to walk. Then, he came to a halt and opened the unshaven mouth, framed by locks of white hair, and spoke.

"S'gonna get good, real soon."

School Essays

2009-10-21T22:36:00.002+02:00

Jamie Iain Genovese Group 1.1 0560893M

When I woke up, everyone had gone and I was left completely alone. My flatmates, Phil, Alice and their associates seemed to have left like smoke from a cigarette or birds from a tree. They were all there just before I slept this afternoon. I then opened my bedroom window and the fresh gusts of air from the night sky waltzed into the confinements of my room. The sky was spotted with silver granules which winked and shimmered. It didn’t mean anything to me though; for the sky wasn’t real anyway. What was real was the note that Phil left me.

That was three nights ago, it is now the eighteenth hour of the thirtieth day of the eleventh month, and Phil and Alice still weren’t back. My name’s Alex Carol. Some privileged people know me by my pseudonym; Epilinge. I moved to Tokyo with Phil and Alice since we’re on the same journey, the journey to garner experiences, ask questions and hope for answers. We live separated lives mostly, seeing each other a bit every day at home and meeting up every few days at a park or a playground to recapitulate and not lose relations with each other, lest we ever need the company, aid or solace of one another.
I stared at my room, and it stared back. It was simplistic, the walls white and the furniture a deep mahogany brown or black. I picked up my coat, long and red and wore it. I donned my top hat, tall and black. I put on my vizard, smooth, unshaped and ceramic it engulfed my face in its white sheen. The only interruption on the white surface was a pixelated, smiling face in its barest form conceivable.
I opened the window to the outside world, and stepped out onto the fire escape, the night air invigorated me; I ran up the fire escape with the three tails of my coat trailing behind me, accentuating my gallop. Once I reached the top landing, I made my footing on a windowsill and hauled myself over to the top of the roof. Suddenly I saw beneath me the pulsing life of the Asian city, and I grabbed with my glove-clad hand the sturdy pole on the wall’s edge and swung myself around it, arms stretched; taking in the utmost of the night air. Phil instructed that I must take off to the southern district, find ‘The Lucky Bar’. So I made my way through alleyways and rooftop conduits to the southern area of Tokyo in pursuit of the Bar. I planted my feet onto the grimy concrete floor of an alleyway opposite the bar; hands in my pocket while I stood by a tree on the pavement to wait, and to whittle away the time I counted the stars; even if they weren’t real. Then, along the otherwise empty road was a dog, which walked with a spring in its step towards me. In preparation I crouched and welcomed the dog, rubbing its face and scratching behind his ears.
“How are you, Alice?” I asked, my fingers becoming slower in movement around her head.
“I’m good, Alex, thanks for asking,” Alice quickly looked at the bar and back at me again, “Phil’s still inside, you should go talk to him, it’s important.”
I rose and turned from Alice, taking myself to The Lucky Bar, and when I arrived I pushed open the doors with the back of my hand and entered. The bar was empty, with the exception of the bartender and Phil.
I sat myself on the stool beside Phil, “What do you want, Phil?” I asked impatiently.
“Alex…” Phil hesitated, and with an uncharacteristic anxiety he drank some more whiskey, the amber liquid swirling into his mouth and down his gullet, then he smacked his lips and began to speak, “… what if I told you we could make the sky real again?”

***

Jamie Iain Genovese Group 1.1 0560893M

When I woke up, everyone had gone and I was left completely alone. My world was seized by the ankles and devastated. In one foul swoop everyone in my family was stolen from me by a man called Death. My eyes gazed apathetically at the white-washed ceiling of my room. Then I rolled to my side, facing the side of the bed were my wife, Clementine, used to slumber, where her head used to dream and her body would rest.
My hair’s red and my name Irish. I live in Brooklyn, now by myself. My wife and daughter were taken by a drunk driver on their way back home from Clementine’s sister’s house, which was on the other side of town. It’s been two years since the incident, and to this day not once do I wake up with eyes that aren’t wet and red with tears.
I sat up and got up, and went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face; the bathroom where my wife and I would get ready to embrace the day or take solace in the night’s rest. The walls patterned with hand-painted tiles she chose and the tiles of the floor were now grimy and unwashed. The whole bathroom was dirty, bar the patches where water reached.
I left the bedroom and walked down the hall, opening the door on my left, the room where my daughter, Susie, played with her plush toys. I saw her candy-coloured room and plush toys, all instruments of colour and joy, but these instruments were guitars with no strings, pianos with no keys, flutes with no air and drums eternally ruptured.
My hand gripped the doorframe tightly, and I looked longingly with a burning pain in my chest. I pulled the door behind me and it clicked with a melancholic click. I heavily made my way down the dusty stairs, my hand sweeping off a thin layer of dust and grim from the banister. I looked around me and saw the living room in which we used to spend nights together watching films and eating buttered popcorn on Thursdays. Or the nights we spent with Suzie helping her with her homework.
I walked on, over to the kitchen which used to smell of bacon and eggs every morning, and meat and potatoes in the evening. I opened a cupboard and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of single malt Whiskey. I sat at the counter and poured the sorrowful liquor into the coupled glasses. I drank from mine and remembered when we unintentionally bought these glasses and made an inside joke out of it. There were, originally four, but two out of the set broke, so on the remaining two we painted “His” on one and “Hers” on the other. It was a happy memory, one of the few I had left. I then drank from hers and looked at the drapes, which let in such a faint and dead light. I then remembered how we had bickered over the design, I remembered all our little spats, even the tiniest of disagreements and I regretted it all. I drowned it out with more liquor.

These are both incredibly short, and they are so because they're schoolworks.

2009-09-15T15:48:00.002+02:00

They say you should never go into writing a blog post without something that resembles a plan in your head.

Up yours, they. I'm breaking ALL the rules *dons John Lennon shades upon self*

Well, apparently printing the Internet is quite a feat. Well, here's writing the blog to add to that ass-staggering amount.

I wonder how they'd print out the porn. Flip-books? HTML? OR, perhaps, with that new fangled, moving-image screens they plan on putting in Magazines. Oh baby.

So updates about my life, why? You're bored, I'm going to entertain you. Don't question me. It's not wise to question me. Well, it's wiser to question me politely.

Starting school soon, grandad died (I love and miss him, so much.), I've made new friends (lots of them) and am aiming to heighten my writing skills. Huzzah.

I need to buy lots of things to update myself for winter and whatnot. Oh baby.

On a small quest to be more of myself around people, and make better first impressions. I do love the first impressions.

I've been playing this MMORPG a lot, Perfect world. Really getting my fix of RPG games. Wahey. But I still desire to learn how to play the Ukulele, and that is a thirst that is still unsatisfied and dry.

Oh! I got my own room now, that's pretty awesome, no?

Okay okay, here it is, the long and maybe deep debacle that is the product of my reflection and impromptu writing. So, with no further adieu...

So in this transition between Summer and Autumn, from heat to cold, from blue to gray, from sun to rain, I've seen another transition. Joyous to gloomy. As much as we love the trinkets of Winter, such as layers of clothing (zoodies and hoodies ftw baby), warm mugs of Hot Cocoa, Tea and Coffee, nice, healthy suppers, the smell of rain in the morning and so on and so forth, we will still, subconsciously at least, hold the aesthetically pleasing brightness of Summer close to our hearts. We can't help it, it's part of being human.

Something else evolution should kill off.

So, this leaves us all with a society of people conglomerating in crabby moods, who long for the proper arrival of Winter. And to be frank, it puts quite the damper on the happy springs in my heart.

But there is a way to counter all this. We as humans should properly tune ourselves to the change in climate. We expect the weather to leave us unaffected, while we carry on with our little things in life; our appointments and social gatherings, or chores and errands and so on and so forth. But by ignoring the weather, we get this uneasy feeling underneath. That feeling, my dears, is the feeling of the climate-carpet being pulled from under your feet. (side note: dear GOD that climate-carpet phrase comes off as corny. Damn, what's next? Quiet-quilt? Weather-walk?)

The Weather-walk (double-damn!)

I suggest, to those that like physical exertion, to walk at different wakes of the day. To really take some time of isolation and peace to feel the weather, to walk in nature and literally take up all the senses. The cold, the humidity, the lower levels of light - all of it. Like this, you're starting to really set yourself up for Winter, and you'll start to get ready for it. Sounds like a crock, given, but I can't say it won't help. This alone time is always good to clear your head.

And if you're more of the artsy type, then be a creative person, go out and take photos, go on your roof and paint, walk in the park and sketch trees and people, improvise and play your instrument, do what may feel right.

In other news, there's hope for rap! A new local artist, No Bling Show, seems to be group that uses the Maltese Language on a proffessional level, while tackling some of the darker issues of society. Their new video: Lucija u Samwel.

University Websites are the Schizophrenic Children of the Internet.

2009-09-02T08:48:00.010+02:00

Okay. People go through ordeals and, from those ordeals, we get experience. Experience in dealing with certain types of people, with handling tools or vehicles; in short, any activity in life that you can shake a stick at, and stick-shaking itself. And, I'm going to divulge what I've learned on my journey for Higher Education in the future, in other words, sifting through the steaming excrement of University websites.

And I'm going to be a bit frank here, I didn't quite like it as much as I wanted to.

I have, as a matter of fact, handled and interacted with websites created by pre-pubescent boys that had a better sense of 'intuitive design' than the overpaid crockpots that make University websites. Yes, it's easier to navigate a site about ninja, game systems and Naruto fanfiction than it is to see the basic information for a University-level course.

In general, when you design the front page of the Website, you should design it in such a way that you have all the possible needs of the visitor in front of him, behind a small, legible and aesthetically pleasing selection of links which concisely tell you what you'll find yourself reading when you treat said link with a humble click of the mouse. In most cases, I believe, a user would enjoy looking at a website to see the faculties, centers and institutes of said University presented, in and orderly fashion, in front of him, and thus allowing him to simply choose the course which he so rightfully desires to take. And once you click the title of that course, he should expect and receive the information for that course. So, basic information (like, say, possible course duration depending on whether you're part-time or full-time, the basic requirements, the outline of the course and even, if needed, the courses it opens doors to.) should be easily accessible from the very beginning, making good use of hyperlinks to cross reference to other material, related to what you're looking at, that sleeps dormant in the alleys and avenues of the website.

I'm not saying that the sites didn't have all the information. Far from it. I'm just saying that it was cluster-fucked between paragraphs of by-laws, information on other courses, hyperlinks that never quite made it and then having said information blown up and spread across the four corners of the pathetic excuse of a website.

What's more is the lack of standards in anything and everything, ESPECIALLY in information. Once, on the same University site I learned that a course in journalism could be completed in a year at full-time, two years part-time. Imagine my surprise when ten minutes later I see ANOTHER page on the site and it says it takes four years to complete.

Am I supposed to flip a coin here? I'm not Batman, and the web-designer isn't the riddler, so I fail to comprehend the reason as to why such basic information fluctuates more than the temperature of a woman's utilities during menopause.

Another puzzler I ran into was when I found that the CCT (center of communication technology) offered two diploma level courses, one in Journalism. "That's not a shocker though Mr. Shpow!" Well, no, but finding out they later pulled the ol' switcharoo on me did. Later they seemed to change 'Diploma in Journalism' to, what was it? Ah yes, 'diploma in archiving and data management'. Not much of an expert here, but I gotta say, that doesn't quite translate into journalism, does it? And they do this with other courses too, shuffling names like a card-dealer in Vegas.

And please, if you insist on writing references to by-laws on a website arbritrarily, the very least you could do is, oh I don't know, throw a LINK to the said law. It's not that hard, you do it like this. Not quite rocket science, and I'll even show you the code used to make that handy, clickable reference:

"<a href="http://www.blogger.com/">this</a>".

And you know what the funny thing is? It took considerable more work to make that bit of code visible to you guys in comparison to making the hyperlink. And I know as much as the next guy about HTML, and the next guy is Edgar. He's kinda illiterate and thought that HTML was an abbreviation of his next favourite burger at McDonald's. But I'm sure he'd do a great job nonetheless. Why? Because Edgar isn't a sadist.

And then we ask why people such as this student (fig 1.1) shoot up University Campuses.

Fig 1.1: Disgruntled student

"I WASN'T SURE WHAT COURSE I HAD APPLIED FOR. ALL YEAR! MOTHERF#%!ERS!"

Katching A Triumph Yearly

2009-06-06T15:13:00.004+02:00

See the Humming Bird fly to its Nest,
To learn flying from only the Best,

To and Fro; Back and Forth,
Winter South; Summer North,

Moving so Nimble,

A Runner's Symbol,

See the Humming Bird fly to its Nest,

To learn living better than the Rest.

A Poem to Intrigue ░▒▓

2009-05-21T18:22:00.003+02:00

So today I wrote a poem. Or a song. I did it to relieve some tension off, so it's unpolished, just something I came up with. On the spot.

There's only so much a man should ask for,
Standards set by the men of long before,
But as they come,
And as they Go,
I shout so loudly so my pleas are heard,
I know they'll judge me and call me absurd,

But please, don't ignore me!
I only ask to be free.

But please, don't ignore me!
I only ask to be free.

It has been some years since we have last spoken,
And when we did you left me a token,
There I asked you,
Again twice more,
But all you gave me before you walked out,
But all you left was a myriad of doubt.

Soon I found my way out of the desert,
After twice my body's weight in effort,
I staggered out,
Beat and starving,
I just chose what the standard should be now,
I just worked till blood poured out of my brow.

But please, don't ignore me!
I only ask to be free.

But please, don't ignore me!
I only ask to be free.

S'all I ask!

Ten things I hate

2009-05-16T13:46:00.006+02:00

How quickly time passes.

Fanatics over anything.

My school shoes

Twilight

People who contradict their natures so people 'accept' them .

Misogynist fucks that treat women like masturbatory aids.

Women that use men for money and sex.

People who exaggerate things.

People who are double-faced.

Close minded people who have a source of knowledge limited to only media (hey faux news disciples).

False reports on news channels/sites.

Stupidity (NO CHICKEN NUGGETS OMG FUCKING CALL 911 THREE TIMES).

People who are so insecure they have to act tough and be douchewands to feel like they shouldn't wash their mouth out with buckshot when they get home.

Hair in any type of food.

Lag in videogames.

People who can't keep their heavy drinking/smoking/pimping/whoring lifestyles to themselves.

Being late Passive aggressive comments.

Stupid lawsuits.

Divorcewhores.

Pro-abortionists.

People who aren't individual thinkers.

Cliché love songs (fucking eurovision and nigger love music, I hate it all)

Akon.

Whatever rap, bar Tu pac (hip hop but whatever).

Retarded atheists (I once heard a Richard Dawkin's quote. Whatever you say I can refute and prove false! What do you mean my argument doesn't apply? Well, uhh, your GOD doesn't apply hahah tooth fairy).

Plagiarism(I once heard the MGS theme song on an ad for something disgustingly boring and retarded. I raged.)

Stupid television shows.

Fake modesty or unwarranted deprecciation.

Callous assumptions.

Annoying children Spoiled brats.

Open doors People who whisper, I read lips, the fact you're going pssswwssswpspspsppwpwsssswwpwpws all the god damned time is just fucking annoying.

People who can't learn to leave a man that's painting alone, especially when they're not good-looking women.

DeviantArt.

People who pick up gun knowledge from Call of Duty.

Feces anywhere on the floor. Dog shit, horseshit I don't give a fuck it's the twenty-first century.

We have as much shit in the streets as we did 500 years ago what the fuck.

Fuckers I'm sleeping and listening to dream music, don't you fucking dare touch my face.

Oh your smoking near me indoors, how about you inhale a bit more smoke? Yeah, gimme that cigarette and let me ram it up your nostril.

People who whine when things don't go as they wished, due to lack of self-will.

Videogame-film movies that have potential but fail.

Girls who can't make up their fucking mind.

Girls that like assholes.

Gasless cola

Boring people

People who insist on hiding emotions from me; even though it's futile.

Studying literature at ordinary level.

Egocentric people Drivers with no etiquette.

Grumpy elders.

Bullshit policies.

Expensive food and drink.

Disney Disney-derived bands and crazes.

Whores.

Packed lunch.

Noise in the morning.

People who can't use sarcasm.

People who don't understand good humour.

Bad smells.

Songs which are played to death.

Incoherent people.

Maltese fahking Literature.

Attractive girls who LOOK like my type but end up being annoying.

How fucking small fast food from chain restaurants is.

People driving LOUD cars in small streets (like mine) and have engines which make noise that PENETRATE THE FUCKING 'SOUND PROOF' GLASS.

'Sound proof' glass.

People who don't get my humour. (BRYNSKITSFUCK)

Extremists.

People who compare "indie cred". Defeats the point, douchebag.

Soccer moms. Don't care if I already listed it.

People that try to drive out of the gate of a school when ALL THE STUDENTS ARE LEAVING, AND END UP FUCKING HONKING THEIR HORNS! Just fucking leave the gate when there aren't 300 students waiting for a ride back home SHEESH.

Ninja vs pirate/spartan/knight WHATEVER debates that can't be truly solved since battle depends on more than who has the toughest armour or best weapons.

A month of having one exam a week then they switch to having an exam everyday.

Nerds that abuse Monty Python. Disgrace.

Neg rep on CADforums. God they're dumb.

Morose people with no psychiatric problems or bad lives.

Loud, rude people that talk long enough for me to start doubting life.

Loud, rude people.

"Emos ROCK!" *devil horn-hand symbol here*

Bands featuring Autumn, ashes, roses or WHATEVER.

Bands with names that have more words than the lyrics of their original discography.

Guys that would rather play Videogames than speaking to the girflriend they've been cheating on, while she keeps trying to make it work because he said he agrees with her. People who give too much importance to their appearance.

You.

That's not all of it.

Ok, a BIT more than ten things I hate. (Satire btw.)

Exams sit well with me.

2009-05-15T18:06:00.005+02:00

Heh, so I'm doing my O'levels. My my, such a big boy, aren't you Shpow? And these exams so far aren't all that bad. Even Maltese. Heck, I'm imagining how they came about to designing the paper that will help the young Maltese flex and express their knowledge of their mother tongue accurately. They probably drew up a myriad of propositions to give to the Big Cheese so he can simply check and tick what he wants in there. In the comfort of his office, to simply choose a few exercise for 15-year-olds to work out.

"Oh, just put in EVERYTHING!"

And he wasn't freakin' kidding was he? I swear, we have so much to write in that exam compared to every other subject one would think MATSEC stood for "Maltese Assosciate of Traumatic and Sadistic Exams for Children". In fact, I'm pretty sure it does stand for that. I think, in tomorrow's exam, I'll be writing as much as I did in English, Maths and Physics COMBINED. And I swear if it's a hard paper, I'll be waltzing down to MATSEC for a little chat. My words will be a sword and their blood my punctuation.

Below: representation of how the possible conversation would ensue.

Oh',hello';.'really'!Nice';';'',.Paper''''''''''''...,,,,,,,,," " - - ;??Bye??????????!!!!!!''!!'!!!'''!!!

Yeah, and I'm paraphrasing.

So, in other news, I have gotten into the Webcomic Questionable Content. Oh addiction, I've returned to your sweet embrace! Pity I happened to have this delivered two weeks before any addictions can be permitted. Must be a sign (read: bad omen).

Today I felt ever so peckish, for something creamy and sugary. So I tried this Sicilian bakery a block away. Great guy, clean shop, good dessert.

Pity he didn't speak a damned word of English. I may be asking much of a man who named his shop "La Siciliana", and I'm not saying he should speak English. That would be stupid.

But at least give the NAMES of the damned desserts. A little, humble label. I had to point at what I wanted and say how many I wanted in Italian. I haven't pointed at something I liked for YEARS, and that little chain of 'not-pointing-for-delicious-things-I-want' has been broken.

But otherwise, delicious food man. Kudos.

Well, I'd write more but I'm going to go continue studying.

What?

Oh shut up.

*waves to Achie*

*waves to Simon*

Sunflower

2009-02-26T15:10:00.003+01:00

I met a man who painted sunflowers,

On canvas on easel as tall as steel towers,

He told me what spring his inspiration flows,

The vivid flora that the nomad bestows,

He watched nature to learn how to fight,

How to dodge a Katana matter not how slight,

His name is a feared legend in the Far East,

The paintings for him are just the very least,

I knew well the man that painted sunflowers,

I met the man that cuts down he who cowers.

***

Do you like Zombies?

2009-01-25T20:04:00.002+01:00

Talk about a long hiatus. Mm, had this hijacker on my PC that blocked a bunch of sites. Whoop-dee-freakin'-do.

Oh writing again is going to be fun.

2008-09-17T03:21:00.002+02:00

Hmm, I changed the layout and banner, and I don't think I'll have a very hefty post today, for I'll be coming out with something a little bigger very, very soon.

Sweet dreams, oh reader/s.

2008-09-12T01:37:00.003+02:00

It's an important thing to doubt our ways of life. To second-guess our ways of thought. To explore brilliant and exotic perspectives, or perhaps some which just take an angle slightly varied from yours. It's an important thing to compare and contrast decades, years, months, weeks and even days in your life, to see how you've grown or changed; to learn the phases one's self would go through.

And that. . . is just from an individuals perspective.

It's quite a word isn't it? Perspective. A point of view, either from one's eye or from one's mental-eye. With perspective, we can look at ourselves in a new light, we can shed the light on faults and shun our benefits, or else vice-versa. Throughout the growth of human civilisation we've gone through a wee bit of a transition. We've grown from individuals to tribes, from tribes to villages, from villages to districts, from districts to civilisations. Nowadays, we're even facing the breaking down of the walls between countries; meta-physical of course, with the advent and growth of communication. Looking at the recent past we can see that some societies were closed off and isolated; thus ignorant. In said societies there would be but a learned man who would have the entire society in the centre of his greedy palms. Without comparing their ideas to others people wouldn't be able to improve upon themselves on a mental level, unable to go through micro-evolution, again, metaphysically speaking. In those days travel = a new world = a higher education. It was that simple.

Today technology has brought us even closer to people across the freaking world than 5 years ago. And if ideologies and bits of information are being sent to and fro in modern society, aren't we all that closer to attaining a higher level of enlightenment than before? With all these different perspectives we should all be fucking philosophers and discussing the meaning of life over tea.

Well, let me explain why; amidst the populous we still have people who choose to be ignorant, people who can't adapt to society and wish to remain in their own little world of ideas while still insisting to be part of an evolving world, people who are not fully educated in schools. For example, the teenager that thinks she's bulletproof and meets up with alexwang73. The raging, middle-aged men who troll youtube insulting people who are different to them just because that's how their dad acted. Muslims, homosexuals, drug-users, African Americans, you name it, we still have people who hate them blindly for being different. We have people who dub an alternate persona and assume to be smarter and more educated than the others around them and then start spewing drivel on things they know nothing about.

The eon of the Internet is a double-edged sword. Why? It's so vast that people can lock themselves in their own little corner of security, where they won't be judged or ridiculed, engulfing them in 'truths' that in the end are nothing more than the walls of a Haven. A Haven of retardation. This is all something I've been contemplating and studying very heavily recently, but I feel it's ready to be unleashed to you all :3

So go forth, learn, and teach me something too.

Do you phail?

2008-09-11T20:06:00.003+02:00

Do you suck? Do you fail at most anything and just about everything you attempt to do? Is your IQ equal to or below that of a fornicating baboon?

Terrific.

Well, after that little ego-slap, you'll be glad to know that you are really what makes today's modern society what it is; You are what makes the world go round. You are what gives teachers a job and hence the mere name for their otherwise non-existent occupation. You are the economy's little LEGO block. Without you, life would suck, we'd all be living in a communist society, and America would have their current president driving the nation's kids to school or picking up trash from the citizens' sidewalk.

You see, the truth about today is brutal, yet fulfilling. It makes you hate life, but makes you feel all the more significant. Just imagine a world in which everyone had a brilliant mind. Imagine EVERYBODY had a mind as great as that of A. Einstein or S. Hawking. Nobody would settle for any occupation lesser than that upholding the title of a 'profession' (Unless of course you're a Spartan). Nobody would ever settle for anything less than the grade of a lawyer, doctor, architect, physicist, surgeon, IT analyst, Golden Rock idol or Hollywood superstar. Thing is, in the end, all these occupations require the involvement of the ignorant, dense, empty-headed, clueless, thick and seemingly insignificant 'nobodies' (of course - to the sophisticated class of person such as the aforementioned lot) - More commonly known as 'the average Joe' or 'the middle-class'. Of course, YOU, who is reading this, are below this. You are the 'low-class'. You are society's condom; Works MOST of the time, able to purchase in bulk, hated by most everyone, prevents unwanted things from happening, cheap, and keeps everybody happy in the end once you do your job as others see fit -But most of all - You represent that tiny little element of fear which everybody dismisses, but see significant enough to keep and not complain about no matter how uncomfortable they may be.

If everybody sports a profession of the previously mentioned calibre - who will be left to collect our trash every morning? To drive our children to our sickeningly expensive colleges? To sweep our streets? To aggressively chop our trees down for all the scented paper we will be using for our fancy documents and invoices? To print and deliver our morning paper? Who will be left to work in the now vacant sweat-shops and stitch our soccer balls together for a quarter a day? Who will be there to milk our cows and slaughter our bulls? Who will be there to print those now obviously nonexistent 'Made in China' labels on our now no longer existing massively produced consumer goods? Heck - Who will be our new China?

Nobody.

This is why you are so priceless. This is why you are such a commodity. This is why the world needs you.

I love you, stupid people - You give me shit to write about.

Walter Plinge

2008-08-15T08:16:00.005+02:00

形容词

August 1st 2025
My fairest of greetings to the curious eyes of the reader, I'm Eikon and I’m an International Private Investigator. I was born and bred in London on the fifth of the eleventh, nineteen-eighty-four and I’ve just hit forty. It is normal for a man to start doubting his purpose in life when he’s hit the infamous fourth decade. It is abnormal to feel fulfilled to the point where I could be killed by a speeding bullet through the nasal cavity and not have any regrets surface until I hit the ground. The experiences I’ve had with my dear companion have proven to be unparalleled by any such event ever witnessed on this planet. I’ve witnessed the dawn and dusk of an era, arguably the final era that will grace us.
***
Said era had already commenced before I even realised. I was at a coffee shop stalking and eavesdropping on a man, Matthias Yerig. His [ex] brother-in-law hired me under fear that Matthias had murdered his wife. Matthias was sitting at a table which was off-centre to the café; a stern, watchful look was draped over his face, with 3 days growth of facial hair masking the lower regions of his face; in contrast to the shining baldness of his dome. He sported an ill-fitting, mud-brown tee shirt and grimy white three-quarters. He stood at around 6’6’’, rather well built too. Definitely not someone I’d want suspecting me. I assumed I was safe nonetheless, seated at the corner of the shop near the hall which led to the restrooms.
I sat there at my seat and drew out a cigarette from a tin I was carrying, using my silver Zippo lighter I set the rolled up tobacco alight and drew a few puffs. At that moment a man stood over Matthias’ table. The man was around 6 feet and had shoulder length, snow white hair. His complexion was fair as was his air. He wore a hooded, leather coat that was tied by a pair of belts at his midriff; the coat then flowed down to his knees but was also parted just above his buttocks. His pants were black with a tinge of green, presumably denim. He sat himself down across of Matthias with his head hanging. Matthias seemed to be interrogating the man for his purpose there. The man callously raised his head and gave Matthias a deep stare. They both rose and walked over to the restrooms. As they approached I stared at this mystery man’s face, he had a cute, youthful face; his eyes… his eyes were extraordinary; one was a deep emerald green, but the other… the other was a simple pupil; two red lines crossed down his face, one on either side of the pupil, it couldn’t have been a tattoo for the scarlet lines were marked even on the white of his eye.
Flustered from the sight I looked back down to my news paper, my fedora hiding my eyes from those of the two men. As I heard their footsteps fade out a little I put out my cigarette and rose, making my way to the men’s bath-room. I saw them both enter the bathroom, yet upon entering, I saw that the stall doors were wide open and the window was gated shut; not a trace of the mysterious man or my suspect, all I found was a note on the bathroom mirror which stated “The Chitan is gone, you’re welcome. J ” That little yellow paper was a tiny entity that left me stupefied, that little; mustard-yellow sticky note was as dreadful to me as the Atomic Bomb was to Oppenheimer. Thousands upon thousands of questions rioted in my head. For a man to wander off into a room, nowhere to hide and leave a lone note talking of something as dreaded and long-thought gone as a Chitan… could this man actually be insinuating the Chitan are still lurking amongst us?
***
I made my way home to my flat and typed out a report on my typewriter. I had a computer, a Macbook pro to be exact; however I preferred having my official documents typed through a type-writer. Ne’er had the typewriter shown any tangible benefits bar the fact it simply soothed my nerves; from the sound of the aged keys to the font and ink marked on the paper. The clock ticked and the report had come and gone, I was restless in my apartment. The questions still remained dormant in my mind. The fear of the Chitan I remember so vividly from my adolescence has resur-faced. Rising up I grabbed my mobile phone, lighter and cigarette tin and pocketed them, I draped myself in my trench coat and fedora, grabbed the keys and walked out of my flat. Trying to displace the thoughts in my head I analysed the hallways of the flat, the staircases and windows. I searched for any changes, something interesting to replace the questions in my mind but the search was for naught. The same dated, green wallpaper; the same, puffy maroon carpet; the same, chipped, white wooden windows, nothing had changed at the block of studio flats that housed the litter of John and Jane Does. I lit up a fag and paced along the town Park. Dew covered the park, streets and buildings and a cold, distinct chill was in the air; interrupted only by the faint warmth of the street lamps; weather which was typical London.
It was at the Park that I had my restless questions put; finally, to rest. It was at the park that night where I first wet myself since I was an infant. I walked by an elder Englishman who was walking his parson Russell terrier when this timid elder asked me for the time. He started talking to me, he started droning on how he had to fetch a taxicab for his bones were brittle and his legs were fragile; not sturdy enough to carry his body back to his abode. As far as honesty goes, this is right up there with “I did not have sexual relations with this woman.”
Upon ending his speech the old bastard gripped my arm. Tightly, this was the level of tightness that would be compared to the jaws of a lion enclosed on the spine of a wildebeest. The old man’s humble veneer had dissipated and his visage was now home to an animalistic sense of hunger. His skin darkened and seemed to get firmer, his pupils dilated and his eye turned yellow, rows of sharp, gritty teeth burst out of his vein-lined purple gums. He whispered to me words that sounded like a dozen voices speaking in unison, adding a very certain effect to the otherwise weak words. “You won’t see the sun rise, kid.”, That’s what the sod told me. I expected to feel pain; I expected to die. However, all I felt was the realisation that my crotch was very warm and very damp. Opening my eyes showed the mystery man gripping the my attacker’s scaly and muscled arm; I saw my saviour held a short, black blade held high above the old man’s head, seeming to embrace the white purity of the Moon. Swiftly the arm of my saviour came down, and the black blood of my attacker was momentarily suspended in air, I caught a glimpse of the creatures head detached from its shoulders, flesh twisting and rippling in the night air; and then I saw the entire entity of this, now dead, being turn to a fine, black sand.
My jaw dropped, the nameless sir sheathed his blade and sniffed. For a while, I felt that time had stopped. In my career I had already seen a lot of gore and had my fair share of shocks but it all paled in comparison to this moment.
“Smells like someone had a little accident!” Said the man in a cheerful, friendly tone; the kind of tone you’d expect to hear from a teasing friend, not the man that just killed a ravenous Chitan.
Mustering up the nerves to speak, I timidly uttered a ‘thank-you’. The man introduced himself,
“My name is Anima, Anima Gigae to be exact. Would you care to share your name?” He asked, while a humble smile rested upon his face.
“Eikon, I’m a Private Investigator.”
“So I’ve seen.” Exclaimed Anima, “As you may have noticed, I’m not exactly what you’d call a vigi-lante. Nor am I an eccentric person. I’m more of an Angel/second coming of Christ kind of deal. I figured that’s a large detail about me so I’d get it out in the open right now.”
Upon hearing these words, alarms sounded in my head. I instantly labelled my saviour as a tenant at an asylum. At that moment he directed my attention to his eyes, I felt my body go numb; my mind go soft and my vision blur. I awoke on the couch at my flat, my mobile phone on the low, oak coffee table with another of this psychopath’s yellow notes beside it. The note stated that I should call upon waking; for this he left his number on the note

“3567931277”I mumbled. I shrugged the thought off and heaved myself to bed.

[/end session;; ‘proofread1’]

JAMIE: Good morning, I can’t assume when you’ve read this, but I can tell you that I wrote this on the sixth of the eight, 2008 at 2:03 am.

/end note

Art, Porn and You! Text::NSFW

2008-07-24T21:42:00.004+02:00

Multiple times in the recent past, people have seen some of my nude art paintings and felt 'scandalised' saying it was 'porn'. Now, these were drawings of naked men and women in a dignified pose oftentimes covering up in order to experiment with poses. Yet they would've found the art to have been vulgar.

This isn't a rare occurrence for many artists and photographers. It seems that while we have changed from the victorian ages but society has trouble with the segregation of porn and nude art. It's undeniable we're still going through the transition of purifying our minds from perversity that plagued us all since the middle ages; but it's very possible that there are factors in the modern world which oppresses the growth of modern society.

The Media; screwing us up since 1938

Watching television has become a daily and global commodity in second and first world countries, having the opinions and point of views of companies, politicians, individuals and communities to all those with a screen. It's not that television can't be an entertaining diversion for most, it's the materialistic views squeezed between what you're actually watching called adverts. Adverts are placed in the last dwindling moments of one's attention spans with the sole purpose of printing a message from the creator of the advert into the eyes of the viewer. Often enough adverts display an attractive young man or woman scantily dressed showing off the product which invokes the desire of the viewers search for happiness, thinking that the product will bring him a step closer to everlasting happiness. For example, Axe Body Spray adverts show a man who; upon spraying himself with the product, has bikini-clad women chasing after John Doe. Perhaps the woman with a double-zero size eating Nutritious bars as a dieting scheme, attracting the looks of men after she sampled said nutri-bar.

Basically, 99% of all television owners who buy into adverts should be models with more than 5 members of the opposite sex bangin' them blind while inadvertently becoming successful billionaires.

Porn is always created with the intention of satisfying a sexual need on shorthand notice when you're to poor to afford a hooker (and Lord knows morality isn't an affecting factor, since you're beating your meat to what is essentially the broken dreams of a young girl with, you know, tits). Porn is basically material that is objectifying women as a sexual tool. In contrast, nude art is about portraying the human body appropriately. Portraying emotions, humility, the roots of human nature and beauty but I'm not rambling about physical beauty but rather beauty of the human body, appreciation for ourselves as a race, a species. We differentiate porn from nude art with little to no hassle. Does the media in question show off the woman as a walking vagina, or as a person? If you see a drawing of a woman with her legs spread above her head, panties round her ankle, two or so fingers placed firmly at her crotch and a look in her eye that makes weakens your knees, it is safe to say that what you're looking at is Porn. Smut. Filth. Soot. That's the difference between being an art collector, and a virgin with 60 gigabytes-worth of lesbian spanking infernos on his computer.

Culturally, you'll find a varying definition of porn and nude art. In America, sex is grand on television, a commodity in the bedroom, kinky in your brain but a taboo in public. I mean, God forbid children see nipples! Holy crap nipples make me sick. Gah. [/sarcasm] In Europe, being topless is acceptable, I mean, most people have nipples right? Nipples. In Africa, there are more human tits hanging out than there are of the entire population of animals on the continent. Now in the Middle East, we've got strippers who show their wrist. Holy tap-dancing chipmunks that is hot. It's really heating up under the collar [belt] here. Mmm. Additionally, we have Japan (I'm not going to comment on the rest of Asia), who are either the biggest perverts on the planet, or very clean-minded. I have yet to find the molestation rates of the country, if they're high; they're perverts, if not; they are Part-time Eunuchs.

Pro-tip; if you felt a little naughty when reading this article, you might be a smut-loving asshole that watches television.

Hancock

2008-07-22T21:04:00.003+02:00

Heh, when I went to see 21, one of the previews was that which was named Hancock. After repressing adolescent giggles at the title, curiosity took ahold of my sense of judgement. The advertising was good because it showed a lot of good things in the film.

Hancock is a movie that isn't a masterpiece nor a mediocre film. It's a film that aims for something new and revolutionary in superhero films, but in the end it just felt like a very detailed epilogue. I felt that after the film, I was content with the film and its presentation, but it was a little too vague as far as all the characters go. I guess it's a good thing because it didn't come off as too strong, but it was a little calm for any superhero lovers.

Yeah, having a new superhero is fresh but after the initial ass-kicking festival it melted down to an average story with a nice little twist. Alas that's it, bar the twist the story itself was too dragged out.

The action sequences are nice and nearly invoked a little bit of envy when the piss-drunk, flying Will Smith busting out sarcastic remarks to the general cholesterol-soaked americans of LA.

Not much else to write I guess, I'll give you a number for your satisfaction. 8/10.

The Hierarchy

2008-07-07T17:19:00.003+02:00

I got sent this really awesome video from a friend, it is one of the talks from TED; Ideas worth spreading. And it truly is an inspiring video which brings up many points on sociology, education, ecology and psychology. Here's the video;

I feel that yes, the current education system is definitely not endorsing creativity but actually killing it off. This is probably the thing all those "non-conformist" and unpopular children and teens were going on about during your youth. Not the ones that were in it for the look, but the ones that had a head on their shoulder who were not afraid to think in a different direction than that of mainstream society, the same kind of children that were constantly told they had potential, which would be very well true, but that they weren't applying themselves. The kicker is that they were applying themselves, but not where they were supposed to. Hell, I know that academic subjects are crucial yet on the other hand so is creativity. In fact, I know someone (and I know him very well) who was adequate with academic subjects like Mathematics but when it came down to it, he didn't enjoy it.

What he really enjoyed was art, and if he didn't have teachers that were competent enough to actually understand a student, to actually understand that intelligence isn't measured in academic subjects, he would have never had enough motivation to work on in his favoured direction. I have yet to find out how the young man's story ends.

I'm closing off now, and will simply leave a charming little quote.

People who think keep the world going; people who think creatively keep the world going forward.

Summer Solistice

2008-06-29T17:56:00.004+02:00

Summer solstice has come, School has come and gone, the nights are longer, and the sun is stronger. Vive l'Été!

I'm sure everyone has already started swimming in the waters and tanning on the beaches (Bar the Kiwis and Dingos, of course) or even found a new friend flying in from foreign lands (Yes, yes, we know she come from Russia with love... Yes I KNOW how she's a gymnast!) Truly a fun thing to wake up at noon or dawn, to sleep at dusk or midnight, all depending on what flavour of awesome you've got a craving for.

Although the fear of summer work imposed by the higher-ups at our school has put everyone on their toes, I'm pretty calm seeing I got early confirmation I passed Physics, Maths, Chemistry and [undoubtedly] English! All that could threaten me now is Maltese and French. That alone is worth a shit-eating grin on my face.

My only regret is I haven't gone swimming yet, despite numerous chances just because I don't have good swim shorts. Gah, I mean the last thing you want at the beach is stares concentrated on my groin. While flattering, it is nonetheless unnerving.

I'm actually feeling pretty good, and may really enjoy this summer!

Guns of the Patriots!

2008-06-21T13:29:00.003+02:00

You know what? Screw you guys, I'm not reviewing this game. Unless you call this a review; Best game ever, in fact it's not a game it's an

EXPERIENCE =D

***

In fact, that's why there are few updates, oh and yeah, exams too :c

Sand

2008-06-07T22:25:00.007+02:00

Note: I'm going to be tackling multiple topics; hence the rather vague title.

So, on a new note, Y4J is starting on Saturdays and I really need to continue studying for this week, bllaaaah.

***

So I downloaded the Battlefield: Bad company demo onto my Ps3 and I'm just going to come out and say it. It's a great game with a bit of a high price. Besides the game's size, the initial playing was good. Although it had a bit of a learning curve, and ran at 576p! (I'll be returning to this later.) Single player was rather nice, the destructible environments are pretty swank, being able to blow up parts of houses or knock down trees is pretty fun and functional in single player and multiplayer. The graphics were not that good and didn't run on HD. Blah, lost some respect there. Now I'm walking into the multiplayer... In Multiplayer there are two teams; the attackers and the Defenders. This game mode is reminiscent of Gunz' unofficial Attack and Defend game mode which I. LOVED. The HUD is overall rather shit, while the minimap is nice, the rest is utter shit. It's bland and overall hindering at times. The crosshair is utterly DISMAL to use; mostly since it can't even show the recoil range when firing. Now handling the controls is okay; if you find "realistic" walking means having your head bob up and down like a pair of huge tits. End even worse when it comes to looking and shooting close range, I've been playing around with the sensitivity and I am still unable to find a comfortable speed, not to mention shooting a grenade from your gun, or perhaps even a little sniping is a bit bat-shit hard since you have to lead and having such a poor HUD which has no numerical information to help estimate leading; making the entire ordeal all-the-more difficult. Another critique is the close range shooting, because when you're shooting, it doesn't feel right, there's a total lack of immersion as it's frustrating to be in a fire-fight, similar to Haze, and utterly unlike (and I'm sorry for bringing this up in a review) CoD4 (where shooting feels like shooting, and it's actually rewarding to fight. Although I partially liked sniping in this, for lead ing the bullets onto targets was a game in itself, not to mention the HUGE maps allowed for some fantastic sniping. And mentioning sniping reminded me of something else, there's no prone position, making sniping a bit abysmal when it comes to finding a good hiding place, seeing as you cant go prone underneath a bush or by a tree, to minimise recoil and your hitbox, also leaving you unable to hide behind shorter walls from the enemy eye. Seeing as trying to hide from ballistics of any sort is a bit futile, since environments break down like wafers in a toilet.. Vehicles are also nice, but when your playing defend and have a team who refuses to blow up the tanks, you find your team getting beaten pretty damned hard. Nearly sodomised for chrissakes. Next, is the game system. That is to say, weapons unlocking, leveling and whatnot. Overall it's really balanced and is quite simple, reach the next rank and you receive 1 credit, which is used to unlock any weapon or item of your choice. Solid system right there. The sound is okay, but can be a little off, and it sounds a little funny but suits the games light atmosphere. And I got to admit, the music that's used is absolute bliss to listen too n_n The BIGGEST problem was the face the game was FIXATED with fucking my resolution It INSISTED I make the default resolution 567p and that I shan't use a style for my Ps3, and that pissed me off; big time. I deleted the thing, but yet I still re-downloaded it. *sigh* And apparently, few have this problem, not a large number but it's still there. Overall, I think the game is kinda mediocre, but it still kept me coming back for more. Kind of like certain movies I guess. Blah. I recommend the game, perhaps a rent on console, unless you want to go for the PC version. Might fix most of the problems you'd experience on a console. 7/10 babies =/

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner...

2008-06-05T19:54:00.003+02:00

So, a week ago, a friend and I went to the cinema to watch a film. There was a film which caught my eye due to it's rating (14). Mainly, it caught my eye because it's a weird rating that's seldom seen. I'm very unsure as to what's caused this, perhaps the way the film seems to really captivate you? I seriously saw nothing that needed it to be rated above 12.

Well, regardless, we watched the film and I'm pretty damned glad we did.

It's got a very good progression of character, presentation of story and a great use of foreshadowing. The beginning characters started out to be rather cliché, stereotyped and relatable, but I guess that helped contrast how their character changes.

The script was very well written and the casting was great. Although I can't help but think that Kate Bosworth seemed too mature looking (Don't get me wrong, she was, nonetheless, attractive), sometimes look less like a young college girl and more like a 30-year-old colleague from the office. On the other hand I guess it makes sense for she holds the 'Mature-minded' part of her character above the "cute crush" aspect.

Sometimes the film had a habit of making you feel like you were watching a car drive 180 mph into your family, orphanage and Kate Beckinsale in slow-motion, putting you through a bit of frustration and pain. That's a point for immersion, and a point for making me face palm.

To conclude, seeing how the film ends, wrapping it all up and putting a cheeky smirk on your face while you walk out of the cinema was really worth it.

Too long; don't read: WATCH THE FILM; TARD.

Eurovision Semi-Final!~ Results

2008-05-22T23:09:00.005+02:00

The countries moving on to the Eurovision finals are.....*cue drumroll*

Ukraine!
Croatia (Viagraz?)
Albania (Wtf?!)
Iceland (Uhh)
Georgia (What the hell?! [Hope she doesn't see this])
Denmark (Retro!)
Sweden
Latvia (Gay Latvian Pirates... who knew?)
Turkey (OH for FUCKS sake)
Portugal (...)

In conclusion, the Maltese presence is getting more redundant each year, albeit Morena's curvaceous figure brightened up the TV.

C-c-COMBO POST

2008-05-22T19:23:00.006+02:00

Right. So in my following post, I'll be tackling multiple topics.

***

I recently thought of purchasing a book, preferably by Kathy Reichs or something, but then I recalled a meeting I had with my wallet the week before, i.e., my wallet is on lockdown. Let's hope the album art I drew for a band will prove a wise investment.

***

So recently the lurking co-author Drake introduced me to Thin Lizzy a very solid band which I am quite fond of. So yeah, Thanks Drake!

Additionally, yesterday I had a chemistry problem-solving experiment, which was, basically, finding the optimum pH indicator from herbs, plants, flowers, fruits, vegetable and children. Well, children should've been an option, too many are running around complaining about how their mother didn't buy them the latest doll that pisses itself.

***

So, Haze was released a short while ago. Apparently it's quite the disappointment.

It's a short game, clocking in at about above 7 hours. Alas, if I were to poke at something, I wouldn't poke at its length because with nowadays standards, a 7 hour game is not exactly common. (Looking at you, Heavenly Sword) So now I bring myself to face some of the more serious problems with the game.

The Gimmicky Nectar element is okay, which is only really fun, in what could possibly be the games redeeming quality-the co-op, which, at moments can be really fun. I mean, striking your mate in the back only to see him shaking violently due to high levels of urine-sorry, Nectar-is kind of amusing. That aside, Nectar just that, a gimmick. Although soon you'll end up losing your MANTEL alliance and defect to the Promise Hand (really awkward since you're the only non-Latino there) in turn losing the power to dose on Nectar and gain the ability to play dead, an interesting mechanic in a First Person Shooter, but it just seems like a re-hashed idea.

As foreseen by the gaming community, the hype that was surrounding Haze (couple with a few delays) was its downfall. When you get something mediocre, dress it up, and drown it in hype, the final game seems much worse. Now I won't dwell on how God-awful this game could've REALLY been if it weren't for any improvements they made during the delays (unless they were sampling some of their own "Nectar" at the workplace). As far as graphics go, the game is pretty much just run-off-the-mill. Although the effects and visuals are passable when actually fighting and what have you.

The Story is not bad, but definitely nothing to write home about, nothing that leaves you thinking, or even something elusive. Its pretty straightforward, like an Action film that would scramble to have a believable plot for their next gun-fest.

In closing, the game is worth, at most, a rent. 6/10. But don't take my word for it, for I'm posting my opinion, so bugger off and get your own.

*****

Also, keep an eye out for an hour from now, when I come back with the Eurovision semi-final while sampling some Russian Vodka off of my own back.

Ramblings!

2008-05-14T16:02:00.005+02:00

What's going on?

Well, I've taken on a small part in a play for "Founder's Day" at my school, a day to celebrate St. John Baptist De La Salle's founding of Lasallian schools. And yesterday my Maltese and Maths teachers took those who were participating in the play (six in total) to RTK, a national radio station. It was really cool to go to a studio and see how they do their stuff, although some halls were notably dusty from constructions going on at the time (a lift, apparently). It really is an experience, you know, to go with friends (and teacher's) to a radio station during school hours and I have to say, for a radio play by kids, it sounded really good (apart from a couple of odd recordings of me, <_<).

For some reason I've recently been feeling very stressed, fatigued and just plain peeved. Iunno. I cherish the time I get to spend to myself, in utter peace, because as the years roll by, these sacred moments are getting ever more scarce. Not to mention that right now, I seem to be harbouring a bucket of paranoia with a few dozes of self-hate. *shrug* Probably just adolescence. Ugh.

I'm hoping that perhaps I can produce a comic in summer. A small side project... along with my studies... studying in summer! RAGH. Oh yeah, I heard Treyarch want to make Call of duty 5 a WWII shooter, but in the PACIFIC! Oh la la, more WWII shooters. -_- You'd think after Infinity Ward's impeccable success with Call of Duty 4, Treyarch wouldn't be fools and beat progress with their shoe, until progress piggy-backs them to an 'odd' drop in profit. Also, why is the Call of Duty license being whored around so callously? I mean, if it were between two good companies I'd understand, but alas the other company is Treyarch. Congratulations on beating the dead horse you twits.

Also, I take my coffee like this, Beans, sugar, MILK, WATER, STIR. I'm kind of hoping my butler monkey's read this, they're too busy trying to write Hamlet.

P.S, I won't hate any of you if you COMMENT.

Would You Like Whipped Cream with that, Sir?

2008-05-12T17:39:00.005+02:00

To cop out of writing an entire blog-entry, in turn posting lots of mundane drivel, I'll simply put up some of my art. =D

Edit: My cop-out has been foiled. Darn.

Right, so I'll just put out some notes on some recent events.

Ok, so I finally got to check out the McCafé, the main attraction being the posters with the Strawberry Frappé. The Frappé was nothing special, though I had an Apple Faggotto (who the HELL came up with that name?) And to be frank, whenever I buy from the Café, the names and looks of the food always make me feel that I'm a step away from wearing frilly shirts and going to discos to listen to techno and let men do jello-shots off of my stomach but after I start eating I stop caring and simply nibble away.

Also, last Saturday I tried something new, waking up at 5am to take a run on the seafront. I'm gonna say that drinking Dr. Pepper in the town square at half-five and then sprinting off and free-running around St. Julians is really cool. Not only are there less people, therefore less awkward looks, but it's really tranquil. Even the weather is kind of invigorating, in contrast with what was the hot sun we normally have in May. (In case you're not Maltese, it's been really cloudy and overcast (with some rain) during the past two days) Also, being able to free-run and work out in the playground is kind of cool, seeing as there are no kids to worry about.

Well, the most recent news is that the Metal Gear Online Premiere Beta ended yesterday, so I'm gonna round off with ROLL ON JUNE 12th!

Cloverfield Review

2008-05-10T20:22:00.003+02:00

So at around half three today, my dad asked me to go down and return a DVD to the store when upon seeing what the little machine held in itself, I yelped. Seriously, what I saw on that monitor lifted my spirits a wee bit.

What I saw?

Cloverfield. I must admit, Cloverfield (produced by JJ Abrams directed by Matt Reeves and written by Drew Goddard) is one of the only films I've been excited about since Barney's Great Adventure all those years ago. Since then, I'd always had a certain lack of enthusiasm about new films. Then I heard it was a monster film... it was inevitable, I HAD to watch the film.

Now, onto the actual film. The film is ENTIRELY FROM THE VIEWPOINT OF ONE CAMERA. A camera which recorded the entire thing. Now, I won't delve into details (leading to spoilers) but we follow one main event (May 23rd) and little snippets of another event (April 27th). The snippets are a little comic relief. Some people may be asking why on earth would their be comic relief in a thriller? Well, with the way that Cloverfield captivates you, ties you up, and toys with your emotions at gunpoint calls for a little relief now and then although these snippets tend to lull you into a sense of emotional safeness. Then bam, your psyche is being beaten with a stick.

My next comment is the cast. Nearly everyone is unknown in the bizniz but they all pulled it off so well. I don't know how they did it, but they did. Their acting coupled with the camera really payed off in the end result. Going onto the camera, now, I'm not the harshest of critics, but the worst thing that MAY be present is the camera's angles, which can give some people headaches. I myself experienced no problems, but I've spoken with others who have had massive headaches from the film.

I was really satisfied with the ending, it left me wanting more, but also left me satisfied. Something seldom found in film these days, what with the cliché endings, cliffhangers and whatnot.

Now that's the general, spoiler free review, I'm gonna leave it at that seeing as I could throw out a few more paragraphs with detailed praise of the film.

Happy Birthday From Us!

2008-05-06T16:10:00.004+02:00

Happy Birthday from Drake, Steve and me!

Welcome to the Las Vegas ring! In one corner, we've got...

2008-05-05T18:02:00.004+02:00

So, there's a petition to stop Dr. Uwe Boll's Career of taking video games, chopping their limbs off, covering them in pig's fat and then labeling it as his "Latest hit film".

The Petition is aiming for 1,000,000 signatures, so far reaching 24% of its goal.

First time I heard of the guy, I thought to myself, "Could he really be THAT bad?". I, being the young and foolish adolescent, rented a few of his films. I can tell you, drugs aren't the only thing that adolescent curiosity can tempt you to experiment with. And just like drugs, his films are bad. Really, REALLY bad.

Thinking this guy was just some young buck who sucked, I didn't think I could hate him, but he made me hate him. This guy is failing beyond all expectations. I mean, not only is he a middle-aged man who's had some experience, but as far as public reactions go, his are extremely childish. He later rebutted to more hate from the populous, at the beginning I felt he was trying to make a valid point, then BAM, a reflex must've kicked in, throwing his head so far up his ass he re-created the CatDog self-ingestion paradox.

He then preaches to the haters, saying he found the IPs of petition-signers and tracked them down like an internet hax0r, despite calling Steven Spielberg and Michael Bay 'computer nerds' for, APPARENTLY, signing more than once. What? Did he seriously accuse these two directors of signing an e-petition multiple times personally? Qrwtfbbq? Also, he continues by saying he found a "Film" on YouTube by one of the undersigned, and started to ridicule it and compare it to his films even though he puts his out for profit in cinemas, while these guys were trying to get a few laughs on youtube. What was he expecting? To find the works of Giacomo Talimini? Or perhaps a box-office hit?

I'm unsure wether he is schizophrenic, or just an air-headed pillock.

Also, if anyone finds the video where he calls out Michael Bay for a fight in the ring, please send!

Metal Gear Online: Premiere Beta

2008-05-02T21:54:00.006+02:00

First of all, I must excuse me and my colleagues for we've been busy with our busy, cheeky-cheery lives, socialising with cheeky-cheering pros and doing homework for our cheeky-cheery teachers.

So, for us EUROFAGS, the Premiere Beta was abso-ha-loutely free. All we had to do was download the game, install it on our PS3s, update it for a few thousand hours, then endure entire days trying to get the Konami and Game ID needed for the game. Lovely first impressions eh? Konami then postponed the beta to get out a nicer, faster site as well as working servers for MGO. Bravo, we now have a secure server size for the game :D

Next, is the game. You get on, log in and make a character (rather simple, but intricate and entertaining enough for the BETA) and it's really cool to change the voice pitch, face and clothing of our character. Okay, all well and good! But delving further into the game, we play a match. If you ignored the online manual for the game, as well as the training levels, you're going to suck more than a man that found a puddle of water in the Sahara after wandering for a few days. This game has a steep learning curve after getting used to Call of Duty 4 gameplay. So until you get comfortable with the maps and controls, you're not going to be seeing lots of your enemies downed by your guns.

Another reason for this curve is that your character is as well handled as trying to run a business where the salesmen are donkeys on dope. But as you use this "Skills" for your character, and develop them, you start strengthening your strengths and whatnot. Leading you to having a pimped out character suited to your playing style.

When it comes to fighting, you can snipe (sniping, in Metal Gear Online is, btw, SUBLIME!), you can stick to your team with an assault rifle and shoot en masse. Or you can use CQC. CQC is a nice factor which allows you to grab, choke, knockout and punch enemies. Trés fancy!

Now, the game modes and Maps.

In Metal Gear Online, the Europeans received two initial maps with four game modes.

These were Blood Bath and Groznyj Grad, with the game modes called BASE, Team deathmatch, deathmatch and Capture.

Now we have Blood Bath, Groznyj Grad, Midtown Maelstrom and as for game modes; we got Team Deathmatch, Deathmatch, Base, Capture and Sneaking.

Blood bath is the mayhem map, Groznyj Grad is the sneaky-sneaky large map, and Midtown Maelstrom is the lengthy, sniper ridden map. All very, very nice.

Now Team deathmatch and deathmatch are self-explanatory.

Base is basically both teams being control freaks, trying to dominate each other in specific areas of the map. It's kind of like a "Domination/Domination" Relationship. Challenging and unstable (Exciting) ;D.

Capture is a rather tricky game were there are two objects in different sites on the map, where you must get them both (or just one) at your base, while leaving the other team with nothing. It's very satisfying to snipe the enemy bases xD

Last and not least is sneaking, sneaking has two players playing as Snake and his robot the Mk. II pitched against the Red and Blue teams, who are also fighting one another. Forming a love triangle of bullets. Now, Snake's objective is to knock-out, or hold-up others and take their dog tags. While the Mk II whizzes around knocking people out for our old Friend Snake. Now, playing as snake is FUN. You've got two primary weapons (Custom M4 and Mosin Nagant Tranq. Sniper Rifle) the Mk. 2 tranquilizer gun, and stun grenades, chaff grenades and a dirty-magazine (With MORE PAGES!), giving you a little arsenal to help you out. Also, Snake has the nifty Octocamo, which when used right, ensures a stealthy and swift win. The Octocamo replicates the texture you press against, and when in the shade, makes one almost invisible. But beware, running or hasty decisions could lead to an enemy player raping you with CQC for a while :(

But so far this game has proved great for a balanced, stealth-action online game. I was wholly surprised by the sexiness of it all @_@

Now, off to twiddle my thumbs.

2008-03-30T22:54:00.011+02:00

Hey, this is a little test I did a while ago, experimenting with Flash professional 8 =D

Pardon the piss-poor quality.

So I needed some money...

2008-03-30T20:07:00.001+02:00

Mhaarrr.

Open for Business!

2008-03-30T09:56:00.007+02:00

Hey, this is me saying that this blog is now open, grand, isn't it?

Right now I'm just fooling around and fondling with codes. RAWHAHAW *rowdy laughter*