The tiny man amongst giant machines

This may well sound a little paranoid, but I think the world is slowly but surely being taken over by evil souless machines hell-bent on our destruction.

Its just that when i make my daily midday walk to the bus stop to get to university, I never see any people. ANY people. At all. Granted, most are at work being productive at this hour of a weekday. However there are definately a lot of cars zooming past, the roads are packed full of them. I am the only person I ever see outside, yet am surrounded by vehicles rushing by.

I just get this odd feeling during the walk that I'm the only person left on the planet, a tiny little man living in this giant society of machines. You know, that they just havent noticed me yet.


But what happens when they do?



When I actually get on the bus, well the people in there....might as well be machines really. Its so wierd, the way people act like there is no one else on the bus. Everyone sits around ignoring everybody else, not even that eye contact, you know, that basic acknowlegment that you exist. Now I'm not advocating awkward bus chatter- like sex talk with the scruffy twitching guy with his hand down his pants. No, not even supporting innane weather-centred conversations. Just a bit of interaction would be healthy methinks. If everyone (including me) could pull their headphones off, drag their eyes up from their feet and have a laugh with someone they've never met and probably won't bump into ever again.

War on Cat

Whenever the family goes anywhere and leaves me with the house for a while, me and my cat have some interesting times. Topsy, her name is. A cute name. A rather innocent name really, especially for the FUCKING DEVIL.

When the family isnt around, we don't interact much. But when they go, suddenly she has to come to me for food. I can see it in her eyes when she realises everyone else has left. Its very much a look of 'oh fuck.'

It can be argued that maybe sometimes just a little bit i forget to feed her for days on end. But she gets her own back. If i leave anything on the ground, or the door to my room open, its pissed on. She doesnt pee on anyone elses stuff, just mine. And if there was ever a guy that left stuff on the ground, its me. Wallets, bags, clothes, assignments, it has all fallen victim to the Urine Assasin.

So getting my stuff covered in urine really bugs me, so i refuse to feed her, you know, to teach her a lesson. For her own good! So shes starts meowing and meowing and meowing AND MEOWING AND MEOWING AND MEOWING! Seriously, she carries on like she couldnt live without this goddamn catfood of hers.

I realise i could just make peace and feed her, but that would be letting the cat win! The War on Cat is a war that cannot be won, but it is a war that must be fought nonetheless.

Play your part in the War Against Cat...

And God bless Dogma!

In Bed with Junk Mail

If there is one thing I truly despise, its junk mail. The invasion of my letterbox, the bright colours, the demands that I buy loads upon loads of just plain crap. The sheer inhumanity of it, I would be much happier to have a door to door salesman drop by. There's no fun in firing the shotgun at a glossy bunch of paper now is there? Oh the glossiness, thats what really gets me. So shiny, so fake, spruking their lies.

Which is why it is strange that for the last couple of weeks ive been sleeping with it. No, nothing sexual... I swear! There has simply been a pile of junk mail taking up one half of my bed. I don't know how it got there, and I have no idea why I havent just thrown it out. It stays on it's side, I stay on mine, curled up as far from it as possible, glaring at it. Why have i left it there so long?

Could it be that i secretly like it? Maybe there is a part of me that loves the pretty colours and consumable wares. The bargains... ooh the bargains... I could be a closet capitalist.

Or maybe its along the lines of 'i keep my friends close, and my enemies closer'. Thats right junk mail, i'm keeping my eye on you. A constant reminder of what I'm up against here.

Or perhaps its because i'm simply a lazy pig that never gets around to cleaning anything up, and its never occured to me to just pick it up and throw it away.

Yeah, thats it.

God's diet and Dad the murderer

Ahhhh, today. I had a 9-5 shift at my cinema job, and thanks to my 'fight the automobile' revolution (i dont have a licence) I have to walk to work. And it is raining in a very serious way. Normally my dad would give me a lift in these circumstances, but he had a court thing to go to involving getting a alchohol licence for a cafe he's building.

So i'm stuck walking in the freezing rain. God is not just pissing down on me, He has slit His bladder open and tipped it's contents onto my poor umbrella-less self. (speaking of which, God has very clear-coloured urine, maybe He should get that checked out? I was always told that if it was clear you didnt have enough iron in your diet. Yellow= healthy fellow. Although I guess Him being immortal means He probably doesnt have to worry about his diet. Still, we want to keep Him in shape, who wants a fat God? Not me thats for sure!)

Anyway, I get to work soaked beyond belief, deciding i need to invest in one of those noisy car things or an umbrella. My co-workers reveal that apparently today is something called 'walk-to-work day'. So everyone at work thinks im REALLY dedicated to this special day, and all look at me a bit funny. I reassure them that i didnt know about this cause, and that it was just that dad couldnt give me a lift. Everyone then looks at me like im neglected and have a bad father, so i reassure them further by saying 'dont worry, he would have given me a lift if he didnt have to show up at COURT.'

Ok good, so now they all think my dear father is some mass-murdering nutcase who dumps his victim's bodies in a sea of their own torture-induced tears. Thats just dandy. I move on to an exhausting day of work at the cinema, its school holidays which means lots of screaming children. Unfortunately they arent screaming in pain, but in some kind of...its hard to explain... you know, that look kids have? This disgustingly free, innocent joy. That joy that requires tipping over popcorn and making inhumane amounts of noise.

After work i went to the pub for a bite to eat, then another bar for a sip to drink (lemonade of course) and got home and typed in my online journal the end.

Deflowering of a Blogger

This is it, my first 'blog'. So many questions leading up to my big first time. Will it hurt? What if I don't do it right? What if, after I've stripped myself bare, they don't like what they see?

I know what you're thinking: 19 and never done it before! Especially in this modern climate, where most have whored their thoughts online at every blogspot in town, it is strange to think of such a matured blog virgin. Well call me a late bloomer I guess.

So why now, instead of my angsty teens? You see, for a long time I've considered myself a 'writer', yet lately just havent been putting pen to page. Instead, when I get some spare time around the house, it gets pissed away doing some innane crap on the computer. So why not hone my scrawling skills while I'm at it?

My real-life journal is collecting dust, it's time to modernise dammit, it's time to blog!

I just better not get fucking pregnant.