Flan: not quite jelly, not quite cake.

Place holder

2011-03-30T01:45:00.003+13:00

This is just a placeholder to keep Calvin Shine happy. But I shall be doing new updates every second day now, for I am unemployed and the government pays me t live.

That living is paid by your wages. But to be honest, you would have just spent that 15% on booze and pissed it against the wall. Now I can spend it on booze and piss it against the wall. It is like you are doing involuntary charity and making another human happy. And what is happiness? You 15% that I recieve. OH YEAH.

On the plus side, most of my friends are also unemployed. It is not nice to be a friendly parasoite.

OR IS IT?

Pragmatism.

2011-01-21T12:50:00.002+13:00

I am alone, so very very alone.

But who cares? Enough of that self indulgent pity begging hilariousness, lets talk about PHILOSOPHY.

Begin Flan's Philosophy Extravaganza the First: Pragmatism! Or something.

Recently, my sister had a baby. It is small. It is wrinkly. Also lately, my friends Grandmother died. Also small, also wrinkly. If one were to be horribly cynical, as I intend to be, one could therefore deduce that the only things anyone manages in life is to learn how to speak and produce more wrinkly things. All other skills learnt go by the wayside, rendering them nill.

Add to this mix of misanthropy and existentialism the fact that I have been thinking. Thinking about things. I am to go and talk to some parlimentarilists early next month to give them reasons as to why a society for the promotion of the sciences should not absorb into its functions the promotion of the humanities. There are many reasons why this is a bad idea, the chief of which is that it won't work none good. But I'm having trouble thinking why it is a bad idea financially, which is, of course, the main way we measure health, happiness, and our place in the world. So I might be a little buggered.

Anyway. That was not what I was thinking about, well, not what I was thinking about to write here. Here I am going to complain about vegetarians.

Or at least about the arguments that vegetarians make for vegetarianism, and then I'll have a little bitch about ethics in general, ultimately showing that our societal constructs, where they aren't simply crap, are harmful crap. YES.

So. The most annoying argument for vegetarianism: Meat Is Murder.

Yes, it's snappy, yes, you can chant it though a loudspeaker, yes, it is the name of an album by the cold war kids. But when you are having new years steak in a restaurant and some smug bastard is explaining to the young lady he wishes to bed about the immorality of being carnivorous, using you in conjunction with dead kittens to illustrate his point, you apparently aren't allowed to go over and meat-slap the irritating goatee off his face.

I'm not against anyone not eating meat. There are damn good reasons not to: one of my friends will throw up if he so much as licks the stuff. I am not against individual choice, and for the purposes of this discussion let it stand that individualism is completely open within the scope of society and the law. But these arguments are used to try and convince others that this isn't an individual choice, that it is fundamentally wrong with the capital double-you. And perhaps it is. I haven't worked that out yet. And I think other people haven't either?

How is meat murder? Murder is a legal point of view, which requires, as much as my watching of Boston Legal has imparted to me, several things, two of which are intent and actually killing something. From our place at a restaurant table we can say that no, I didn't kill this piece of meat, nor did I form mental intent to do so. I was just like "Sweet! Meat!" Perhaps this is a deficiency on our part as we have severed the connection between dead flesh and once living creature, but still, murder as a legal charge is out. The goateed, bespectacled man who also, incidentally, votes for the more consevative parties and knows a lot about something boring, lets say the rate of fingernail growth at different stages of your life, would then retort that you are supporting murder. We are accessories to the crime.

Well, apart from having to change the original, oh-so-snappy saying, that's a rather large definition of accessory to a crime. Yes, paying for meat creates a market etc. but your paying taxes trains soldiers that are then put in kill or be killed situations sometimes? Your having a car creates need for crude oil which sometimes spills into a gulf as it is collected, causing untold harm to creatures you will save the indignity of eating? I suppose I wouldn't eat them either now that they are all oily and crap.

I can go on. Don't get me started on "natural law" arguments or questions of consciousness. We will be here all day. Suffice to say I find none of them airtight.

There are lots of reasons to abstain from certain foods, health risks and the lack of fish around the place for example, but the prescriptive you should not eat all meat has little if anything to do with these arguments. The problem with arguments for vegetarianism, and most other ethical and moral arguments for that matter, is that the person or people have already decided on what is either right or wrong and then created an argument to prove it. This is not as much of a problem if you are debating emotional matters where the only possible outcome can be for someone to respect your view (not to trivialise such debates, they are often more important than other types) but when someone promotes their emotional view as a logically reasoned one when it is really just the quickest rationalisation between two points then it makes me want to tear of someone's face and put it in a blender while shouting "WHERE IS YOUR REASON NOW CHEESE BURGER?" The face might well end up being mine.

Like I say, I don't know the 'right' or 'wrong' to the position on eating meat, ethically or morally. Perhaps at a latter date I will be convinced emotionally, or someone may come up with an airtight logical argument, and then either meat will be taken off the menu or I'll still have to be emotionally persuaded, for history shows us just what people are able to do or think in the face of 'hard' evidence. This course of creating an argument is called "pragmatisim" when the argument is to be judged against the practical consequences of that argument/ belief. Its a helpful tool, and is one way of moving from theory into action. However, it is often taken the opposite way, as in above, where the desired consequence is decided and the argument built around it. Not only does this often cause really bad arguments, but it can be used to give apparently reasonable consideration to really bad ideas. We can think of many ways and conflicts between races that bear this out.

The worst thing, I think, about this type of constructing an argument is that it already makes to many assumptions, which, as we all know, turn us all into a donkey. The biggest assumption in religion is that religion has all the answers. The assumption of science is that science can find the answers, and even that there are answers to be found. The assumption of pragmatism and the murder of meat arguments is that reason is that which gives truth, that logic is the way to dictate action, that empirical ways of knowing are the only ways of knowing.

Starting by asking questions about someone's reasoning is a good start, but sometimes I wonder whether we need to ask question of reason as a practice itself.

Years they come and years they go...

2011-01-01T23:46:00.002+13:00

...but god I love that rock and roll. Those fast blunt puns hit you at the most unexpected times.

A more socially acceptable new years was had this year: people, I think, were somewhat concerned about my plans to sit in solitude and drink three bottles of wine while eating new years' steak. Instead, Although the quantity of wine did not change, it was instead a new years' roast and a night of talk, shouting, sitting on roofs, making the word 'poo' out of legos. Today, the day of rest after the festivities, I watched four movies. Pizza for breakfast.

It could be considered the sweet life. Except, we all know this isn't life at all. Excuse me for being a whiny bastard, but you can feel it start to come down. The painting isn't finished and you're out of paint. We all fall down. Etc. Other expressions of woe and doom. What. The. Fuck.

Anyway. Other news. Yes. I am now the proud owner of the title of Uncle. Saw the small child of my sister on boxing day. Less than two weeks old. When placed in my arms to have my photo taken, the young one promptly introduced himself to me by emptying his bowels with what could be described as the throbbing noise you sometimes get when you hold a dry rag up to a window and drag it with some force. I'm sure it will colour our relationship forevermore.

Language is an important thing. It has certainly been my life for 7 years now. I will enjoy talking to a tiny human when he can, I certainly don't have a huge amount else to offer. But I can teach words like "oxymoron" and"prandial". Some scientists and philosophers think that language might be the defining factor between "human" and "animal". Neat.

Christmas also happened. I got bubble mixture, quite possibly the best present you can receive. Bubbles make everything better.

Your brain on machines.

2010-12-13T11:50:00.002+13:00

Well, this is that day where I was supposed to get my brain checked. I awoke this morning, full of the promise that a new day brings, especially a new day that has the distinct promise of having the insides of your head photographed, and even without coffee, skipped merrily off down the hill to the hospital at 8am.

I'll say this again: you can get the INSIDE of your HEAD...PHOTOGRAPHED.

We live in the future. You want a flying car? Go out and build one. I just want pictures of the inside of my head. Also, me in a car is a bad idea, me in a flying car is insanity.

Anyhoo. It seems today I was to be disappointed.

Apparently going to the neurology outpatients does not mean that they put you inside a rotating magnet tube like some hospital dramas would have you believe, I was just poked with a pin on various parts of my body to make sure I could still feel. The eventual diagnosis for my occasional stabby head pain is neurualga, which is when your nerves start decaying or something, which can be caused by herpes, but apparently not the kind I have. The leading competitor to this conclusion is a benign tumor, described to me as a "brain wart", that even if I do have they wouldn't remove because it is not actually doing anything. Apart from intermittent pain. But that pain be so intermittent I don't even need medication.

But at least they have referred me to get a CT scan. I will have a picture of my brain yet. And then I shall use it as my facebook photo, and put some glasses and a beard on it. Of this you can be certain.

In other news: Did you know you can make your own bread at home? Also your own beer, soups, and soap! Never leaving the house just got easier!

From on high.

2010-12-02T22:57:00.002+13:00

Soon I am going to go to the war memorial above Brooklyn and look over wellington as I drink some wine. It is easily one of my favorite places to be in wellington, that and the waterfront: for me it is a place where you can be closest to the elements without actually being in them. Above in the air, closest to the water. Without being all emo and crap.

It might be this kind of time that one young man starts to think about what the hell its all about, why are you here, ectera. I'm not entirely sure that there are any answers, let along my ability to know them. I'm going back to go see a "councilor" on monday, and the following monday I'm having my brain looked at my MACHINES. Apart for the awesomeness of being, like, a cyborg, and crap, I really don't want to go back on those green and purple happy pills. Even though I feel the worst that I have felt in some time, I don't want that kind of chemical influence over my life again. I know that those of you on such medication will sympathize with my position.

"Am I here?" "What the hell am I all about?" sometimes seem like more pertinent questions, although just as difficult to answer. It is a continual source of disquiet for me that I am not yet grown up. When you are eight and want to be fourteen, you are told to just wait. When you have your first breakdown as a teenager, you are assured that everything will be fine later. When you are in you early twenties, and finding that it is just a little harder to more, a little harder to get out of bed, you are reminded that you are still young. But apparently, at 25, well past the time of legal adulthood, you still face quandaries about your identity, your direction, your purpose.

This month I came very close to giving up on my Master's study. I have now been in study 7 years, and probably, one of the biggest reasons I decided not to stop study is that, according to the rules of assistance put forth by the government, this is the last year I can be enrolled in a NZ institution of study and be allowed to put my course costs on my student loan. Effectively this means full time study is an impossibility if I wanted to continue immediately after this year. I cannot go out of this path on a failure.

Have I talked about the bias against academia. I think it strange that in our "knowledge economy" a student cannot get assistance for the entirety of their study from high-school to phd.

Fantastic.

Anyway.

Has anyone read "The Wasteland" by T.S. Elliot? I'm becoming slightly obsessed by it. It seems true, which I suppose is what poetry attempts. Also of great truth to me is "the Rock" by Wallace Stevens. I guess that is what poetry tries to do: to arrive at truth through emotion, not reason (which are probably opposites). Why not.

"Come in under the shadow of this red rock"

Well.

Apologies for this ramble. A more cohesive post sometime.

In other news: summer is actually quite nice sometimes.

What does it take to get a drink in this place, pt.2.

2010-11-25T22:28:00.002+13:00

Time for something new.

Next year, unless someone creates the groundbreaking technology that in someway begets me a life partner, I shall be going off the map. To those of you who visitate this ramble, if you go to New Zealand on google earth (its those strange islands which look like an upside down japan next to australia) and zoom in enough until you can see the roads: where the roads are not is where I will be. In gods own, it is somewhat of a rite of passage for you to go over seas before you are considered grownup. And I shall do that: I've been informed that a Phd from my current univerisity means next to bat shit in a mountain cathedral if I want to pursue a career in academia, so I shall be going overseas for further study.

But there is so much of my own country that is not well trodden. In the southern Fjords people have believed they have sighted moose, which, unlike the sasquatch, was actually introduced to NZ at sometime in the history of European's coming over and fucking up the ecology. There are places on our islands where a blind carpenter can count the number of people who have stepped there on their remaining fingers. And since I was a child, my father has treasured a basket of rocks he scavenged from Mason Bay, one of the largest coves on our southern-most isle, Stewart Island. A number of those stones were greenstone, or what is sometimes called jade, still en-coated by the geode it was found in. Even as a child, I found it smooth, cold and entrancing.

It has been my dream of many years to travel to the south of our land.

In fact, I have always had a hankering to go south. If it weren't for my friends, and the fact that it would have been more difficult for my parents to send me food parcels during my first year of uni, I probably would have migrated further south. The south has an hypnotic pull on me: the cold, the solitude...its all that I wish for on those mornings when I wrap the duvets around me and keep hitting the snooze button late into the afternoon. Like I said in the post immediately previous, I'm getting sick of things. And hopefully this trip I am planning will be an acceptable compromise between being the sociable creature you all know and love and actively shutting myself off from the world, its inhabitants, its worry.

I called my parents today. I wanted to ask my father about the challenges of traversing Stewart Island. He said he wants to come on the hike with me. I'm not opposed to the idea, as long as I am left alone in the Fjords, but I know why he is offering. My parents are worried. I could hear it in my father's voice when he hopefully asked if all those people on facebook were wanting to hang out with me, if I was doing alright, said he was comforted by the fact that I was still making my usual status-update jokes.

Hah.

But I know they are thinking back to when I was 17 and, after a breakup, had a depressive episode and asked to retreat up into the mountains for a couple of nights. Those were bad times- these are bad times, but the difference is, I guess, that I am older. A difference that parents are often quite blind to. Sometimes I wonder why at that past time my parents let me go up that mountain alone. It must have stressed them like nothing else on the planet could.

Well, this really has no point. Someone once said that they could sum up life in three words: Life goes on. I'm not so fatalistic, I think. On my good days a least. And so I'll leave you with these encouraging words:

Herrings communicate underwater by farting.

The Mechanical Breathmint.

2010-11-24T00:21:00.003+13:00

Today I went and saw my ex-girlfriend. I know it is not a smart thing to do. People had wisely advised me against such action. Being the stupid twit I was, I decided not to talk to said wise people until after the fact. Apparently I enjoy hurting myself.

It is impossible to love me apparently.

Apparently. And again I say apparently. Such a nice little word.

For those of you just joining, let me reiterate tonights top news stories! There is no one trapped down a mine, no one give a damn about teachers wages or about the death toll on the roads, no, prepare yourself for tonight's channel [insert number of your choice here] special three hour broadcast about people you don't care about whining about something quite devoid from your life but that you watch because you like to pretend you are up to date, interested in the wellbeing of others or there is nothing better to watch until The Simpsons throw up another repeat that you are all too familiar with but you will watch because it reminds you how fantastically predictable life is. The Simpsons has all the answers.

So yes, once again, I have become the dumped in life's next new reality tv show: Relationships.

Relationships. If you are new to playing this game, please let me impart an old soul's advice: do not look for the instruction manual. There is not one. The only thing you can possibly do is understand yourself and, if the partner in question didn't appreciate the things you cherished about yourself, then be glad you are out of said relationship. If this sounds a little after-school-special for you, let me use the voice of Bill Crosby to tell you how it is:

"Minuufuu bughingginburg! Bragabfinhugandirgabfer? Hiklimbergerfortthatternbugh! Othhothma!"

And now everything is alright again.

But seriously. I'm getting a little sick of this.

This will be the second Christmas in a row where I have been recently dumped. Deck the halls and traa-laa-laa as much as you like but its not getting any easier with experience. I'm not too keen on changing the person I am. I'm am fairly gad-damn-arse-shit-cock happy with myself- or at least most o myself. There are of course things that are up for negotiation. But I am starting to get a little worried. I am now 25 and quite possibly single for the next few years. And this is a worry.

Oh yes, anyone who is older and trying to impart wisdom to someone younger than you? Saying "Oh don't worry, you are still young" does not help. At all.

What am I saying? I don't know. I was deeply into this lady. Balls deep. And her not being a part of my life makes everything sound a little hollow. Yes, I know things get better with time and I know there are plenty more "fish" in the "sea" (a metaphor I have always found disturbing, by the way) but I swear if any of you presume to throw another hack-kneed cliche at me in the sincere hope it will alleviate my suffering, then prepare to have your feelings worn like a second hand condom because I will be taking an eye for an eye in completely biblical fashion.

I do not direct this comment against the friends who have been truly wonderful to me in the past couple of weeks. I know that everyone is getting just a little bit sick of this; hell, I am getting sick of this. It's disappointing to know that we all have to continue growing up. There is no such thing as a grown-up: we all keep learning.

Damn.

That which happens now I honestly have no idea. Watch this space. No doubt with more time on my hands (hah!) I shall be blogging more.

Hooray.

In other news: I have obtained a part time job! It is the most boring piece of crap I have ever come across! YES.

I want to be a politician.

2010-09-19T17:42:00.003+12:00

Lately, as part of something I think of as my quarter-life crisis, I have begun to care about things. It's a very disconcerting sensation. Previously, I have only been directly concerned with things that directly influence me: how much I earn, my relationship status, the price of pies... but now, for some reason, obviously bread from a mind insane, I have become somewhat obsessed by a couple of concerns, not all that large, just, you know, something to be concerned about if you have the time. The couple of things, little things, minuscule, possible unworthy of your attention unless you can find the time in your busy schedule, that I am concerned about are the following:

1) The Media

2) Politics

3) Bias against academics

4) Absolutely everything else.

These are quite small and insignificant things, I agree, but I would encourage you to take some notice. The best place to take notice of these issues is, I would posit, the newspaper opinion pages. These pages contain such gems as:

"If the government is planning to change all European place names to Maori names, they should consider how this will impact pakeha tourists from other countries, as they will view us as a third world country"

or that from the minister of education came provably false claims about the rate of raise in teachers earning ability over the past four years,

or that in a recent mock exam given to 16 year olds a speech from our prime minister given at waitangi on waitangi day that stated that people were using the waitangi treaty as a crutch to avoid facing real life.

There are a great many more, but I admit myself as being too drunk from despair and wine to remember them.

I just ask that you read the newspapers, watch the 6pm broadcasts and think "why?" Why are they saying this? How does it benefit this or that person? What are the possibilities that we aren't being told about?

Now, more than ever, even more than in times of strife, when the change can be insidious instead of sudden, we need to be critical, questioning of what we hear and see.

Serious Procrastination

2010-08-10T14:22:00.002+12:00

You know how there are different levels of seriousness for murder? Murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, manslaughter- I get the manslaughter one, I mean hey, it was just a mistake, running with scissors ectetera, but what is the difference between first and second degree? You still go to jail, or so I hear, and them jails are not as nice as the pamphlets make them out to be. Perhaps its a status thing.
"I did a murder and all I got was 2nd Degree Murder on your tee-shirt or something. First the worst, second the best, manslaughter the golden eagle.
I never understood that rhyme. There were no golden eagles ever, and I was always last anyway so it didn't mak any difference.

Well, that preamble was just to set the scene and give you, gentle reader, something with which to compare my epic procrastination to. This has been a day of first degree procrastination. It was premeditated, willfully exected and I've been trying to cover up the evidence ever since. If this was a race, the person who came first would be about to be given the gold medal when suddenly everyone would realize that I had crossed the line first and had just kept on running and had in fact came first twice. Then I shot the third place guy and stole his eagle, the fucker.

I did have good intentions this morning, I swear. Got out of bed early, came to my office, armed with my notes on the article that I was supposed to write up, then somehow read three years worth of an online web comic. I think this action was provocotatededined by the fact that I still haven't got a job and I still have no money and I'd really like a drink. I'm going to go a beg people to lend me some money soon under the guise of various lies so that tonight I can forget that the work I was supposed to do today I have a meeting about tomorrow. I'm fairly certain I can get most of it done tomorrow morning, but still, once the spiral of procrastination gets to you it can be difficult to get out of.

Like alligators. All them teeth.

Fun fact of the day: Apparently you cannot find the sheet music for "Five Spot After Dark" for free online! I have sucessfully proven that the internet is not infinite, only infinite in terms of pornography.

Wild Horses Couldn't Drag Me Away...

2010-07-12T12:08:00.002+12:00

OR COULD THEY? I think you will find that they could. I'm not a particularly strong person, and nor am I some elephant behemoth cross, so I'm thinking that wild horses would have absolutely no difficulty in dragging me away, not even if I had a really good grip. They are, after all, wild.

Perhaps if there was only one wild horse, and it had been a bad year and it was rather weak and instead of being truly wild it was just a little bit peeved, perhaps it had just seen something stupid on fox news and so felt the need to complain about it but not actually do anything, then perhaps I might stand a chance.

Therefore:

""Mildly annoyed horses, who have not had much to eat

whit, perhaps, chronic fatigue syndrome, and been watching tv,

Possibly couldn't drag me away."

I was looking back at a few of my older posts (Or as I like to call it, accessing the cybernetic memory banks) and read my rant about the evilness of horses/unicorns and all equine life forms. It may have been a bit scathing. But far be it for anyone to accuse this news media of not giving both sides of the story, I decided recently to give horse kind the benefit of the doubt and try once again to be on cordial terms with said beasts of the field. The adventure occurring I shall chronicle shortly, but first a few facts:

- Once, I was thrown from a horse. So it's not like I'm horse racist or anything, I have reason to suspect that all horses, past, present or future, don't like having me on their backs. Who can blame them? Silly looking two legged creatures, I wouldn't let you on my back.

- Horses are big. Really big. Not big in an elephant way, kinda large and docile, in a strong way, no doubt, they can push over trees and shit, but in a compact, coiled, I-could-kick-your-kidneys-through-your-nose kind powerful while still being really big. Think of Bruce Lee. Now think of Bruce Lee with four legs. You are fucked.

- Horses apparently have a similar nature to that of cats, and also can tell if you are nervous. This results in an animal that doesn't really care if you are on it's back or not but probably has a short fuse for things that twitch and annoy them eg: said human passenger.

Alright. The tale.

Sunday morning, rain. Phone rings, Ellen (the pseudonym for my girlfriend, in Higlyflannable style) picks it up. We are to go horse riding. Now.

Neat. 3/4 of an hour later, we are in the middle of a paddock in the middle of nowhere which is inside a void and no one will hear me scream. I am introduced to the horse I will be riding, Mango (actual name, horses don't get pseudonyms) and I spen a small amount of time walking Mango round by her halter so as for her to get used to me. I spent most of that time talking to Mango, or rather pleading with Mango, and convincing her that I really wouldn't be that nice to eat.

So far so good. Up into saddle, complimented by Ellen's Aunt on my riding posture, but asked to keep only my toes in the stirrups, as, "she [Mango] isn't really a beginner's horse and if you fall and get your foot stuck in the stirrup, she'll just trample you to death, silly thing."

Please at this time go and re-familiarize your self with the horse facts. Silly or not, I wasn't too pleased about this predicament.

My horse was startled twice, both times managing to get me out of the saddle but not beneath the silly, murderous hooves. On our little hour long trek, Ellen said that when she looked at me I looked like I was trying to enter into a mediative state, all forceful deep breaths and weak smiles. This was true. I was trying to enter my cave and find my power animal. God help me if it turned out to be a horse. I may have been slightly less nervous if I was told how to operate the animal I was on, stop, start and turn for example, but after being told of my horses unsuitability for novices such as me I was reassured that it was ok because Mango would just follow old George, the gigantic old male horse Ellen was riding, which "I don't often let girls ride because he's so Gigantic that they can't control him. But Ellen's a good rider. Ellen, don't let George get a fright there, otherwise both you and Flan will be off!"

This proclamation was followed by a small chuckle.

So really, I cant blame Ellen for not giving me any advice, she was too busy just controlling old George so as our horses would throw us over a cliff like something very easily thrown and possibly trampled. We both managed it alright however, and lunch was well earned.

Slightly ironic that the scariest part of the endeavor was Ellen's aunts driving. On the way home, she showed us how the cruise control worked, in a downpour of rain, swerving in and out of traffic while cursing drivers going under exactly 100km an hour.

And, of course, I shall probably have to do this all again.

In other news: Apparently people have played some soccer. Well done them, I say.

No, seriously, you can't make me.

2010-07-11T11:07:00.003+12:00

Growing up. It's one of those terms that you have a strange relationship with. From when you are young and making sure that everyone knows that you are 8 and three-quarters thank you very much mr. butcher man I am a big boy but not big enough to not want my free saveloy to woo I'm 18 or whatever the age it is that you are legally allowed to drink/procreate/drive a vehicle and hoping that you stay that age forever but engaging in activities that make said age go past faster than a Concorde on speed and probably age you mentally just as much to the age in which I am now, 24, where there is a complicated process of nostalgia-for-the-good-old-days candy floss laced with the arsenic of sudden remembrance of what you actually did in those good old days, and it seems like the world is asking you to step right up to adult hood with its unfunny clowns and evil smelling ringleader with the seedy mustache which hides a leer that you know is directed directly at you...

Metaphorically speaking, of course. In short, you might be just a little afraid of what the future holds but have clear enough hindsight to see that you don't want to keep on going as you have been.

Welcome back to Highlyflannable! It's not really a mid life crisis but my younger sister is going to drop a sprog sometime in the next 6 months and I have a fairly serious female friend and these things make me think. I wonder what relationship I'll have with the aging process when I'm older. Hopefully I'll look back and think that I was an idiot who knew less than he thought he did and had the social grace of duckweed. That'll mean that as I get older I might just have learnt something.

And when I get really old I'll use my false teeth as a puppet in public, tell my grandchildren where their parents were conceived and generally push the limits of faking senility until even I don't know if the old loaf is working or not. That should be interesting if this blog is still around then.

There are many other things of fact about my life I could talk about but really, I think I'll just let you discover them through reading between the lines of the incredibly deep and complicated prose stylings of this publication.

Oh yes. I changed my profile picture too. Don't I look sagacious? Deep in thought? Scholarly? Would it surprise you to know that it was taken when I had passed put with my eyes open? Even if this is your first time here, gentle reader, you probably can.

In other news: WHY IS IT SO DAMN COLD?

Decade the second: More decader...

2010-01-01T02:35:00.002+13:00

Minions rejoyce! I return from the land of the living once again with blood curdling stories and interesting happenings! I tell you what, all that living really takes it out of you! It takes your life, some might say! Exclamation marks! But now I am really getting back into the ole Flan swing (TM) of things. A brief recapof things that have happened to me lately:
-Got Dumped
-Got Fired.

And that was the last bit of last year I remember. I would be still drunk and incoherant if anyone would by my junk for money, but, alas, it seems as though I have already sold all the things that are worth anything and now all I am left with are those sentimental pieces that you hang on to because they remind you of a rainy sunday morning three years ago when you felt you had crap all worked out. Not that there is anything wrong with sentimental crap, but if it is sentimental crap that is worth any money then you feel guilty if you sell it for money and sober if you don't A less sophisticated catch 22 perhaps, but still quite true.

Anyway:

Tonight is the night of a new year. I quite enjoy the new year times, compared to say, christmas, where this holiday and reflective occasion does not actually require me to be around anyone. This time, however, I did decide to spend the night with a couple of friends, watching movies and having a drink ect, and my new new years tradition, which is the new years steak. Just steak, nothing else. Because it is my personal philosophy that you should always start each bench mark of your life in the way that you intend to finish that period: for example, this is why I am always very, very drunk on my birthday and new years. I know I'm going to be that way at the end of the year.

Some people might consider this pessimistic, or even cynical, but it is simply maths and science, and its hideous offsping, hope, which through the proper steps you can keep chained up in the basement. Don't worry about feeding hope, that might breed an unadvised attachment to the beast, no, ust know that it thrives well enough on the rats of doubt that grow in you mind and gnaw at the side of your waking consciousness. Its not really a bad thing, it can in fact engender some comfort in life, and you soon lear to sleep through the banging nosies it makes at night.

Anyway:

Must all aquaintence be forgot?

Probably.

Woo, what to do, what toooo dooooooooooooooooo!

2009-07-06T15:49:00.001+12:00

I'm gonna go home, get into bed with a bottle of wine and drink while watching boston legal and playing video games. I AM A GENTLEMAN OF LESUIRE!

just thought you'd like to know.

In your face!

2009-06-23T23:58:00.002+12:00

Or rather, in my face. And what was in my face was a squash ball. Hit, may I add, at large amounts of velocities. My lip swelled up and then stopped swelling and now is no longer swolen.

Which leads me to enter into my thinky state (oh no not the thinky state) where I am thinking: what the hell is with the human body? I just got hit in the face with a small, compact sphere of rubber, so your responce is deform my face so's I cannot leave the contry due to not looking like my passport photograph (which I do not have one of but if I did there would be trouble)? If you are a scientist, do not answer the following question because I actually just like complaining about things, but why is it a normal response for your body to swell up when hit? Is it to stop kissings happenening? Brusies aren't contagious, I hear, unless you are of a low socio-economic background. Is the throbbing there to make you aware of the injury and then stop you touching it/bannging into more things? Because I don't usually spend time prodding my lip unless It happens to be gigantic and throbbing.

Perhaps it is one of those things one was not ment to know. Like those dreams of falling when you suddenly wake and realize the dream was a little spunky... and you wonder why, because I definately do not have a boner for heigths. But anyway.

PART 16 OF FLAN'S EXILE FROM CIVILIZATION IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD SLASH WAIPUKURAU!!!!:

Nothin.

Misinformation

2009-06-22T16:21:00.002+12:00

I am not back in Wellington. I am still in waipuk. Thats fine I guess. I'm ok with it sort of.

What I am not sort of ok fine with is the fact that I have an exam in a week. This by itself would not be too much of a problem either: I have alright marks for this and so as long as I am sober for the exam I shouldn't have much of a problem with the exam, even without studying.

And there we are: you have spotted the problem:
I get back to wellington on Saturday. The Exam is on Monday. It is traditional for me to get as drunk as possible on my return to wellington from the hawkes bay, it burns off the evil. And although it hasn't been a tradition, I should like to spend some time with my lady friend who I have not seen for two weeks when I return to wellington. You might not think that there is a problem here: two nights, two activities, you say. But I say I cannot put off the womanising for fear of deadly insult, and I cannot drink on sunday because I will not wake in time for my exam. I could wait until monday night to drink but I don't want to.

The is the possibility of doing both on sat, but that takes plans, and I don't know them.

In other news: Koalas.

In a serene land of serenity, full of serene things, like pixies of serentiy...

2009-06-17T23:09:00.002+12:00

...but not unicorns. I'm not buying that bollocks they sell to tweens for nineteen dollars and eighty four cents: Not only is it an ominous number, but nothing in nature is pink which sparkles and smells like cupcakes. No, a unicorn would just be a great big horse, smelly and rank like other horses, but unlike other horses, it has a great big horn, pointy, you note, and not for conducting a symphony or showing students the position of uraguy, oh no.

Look into the eyes of a horse the next time you see one. In that dark eye framed with long lashes, you will see the soul of a bloddy minded killer, waiting to imdiscriminately slaughter all until the streets run forth with blood...all it is waiting for is for evolution to give it what it desires: a weapon.

And don't even get me started on those mini horses. Just because there is less horse doesn't mean there is less insanity. It's just more compacted. And their heads are groin height.

Speaking of insanit, I am at home. Home home. Home on the range home. Home in the middle of nowhere home, Waipukurau. It's a place I come sometimes, sometimes for a place to unwind, sometimes because I feel guilty about not seeing my parents for so long, but mostly because I am sick of toasties and have come to eat all their food and beg for money. Also, now, in the depths of winter, they have a fireplace with wood to burn in said. I like fire. I also like lounging around all day in frount of said fire, reading and playing guitar. I am trying to be a jazz person, but all that is happening is jozz, or possibly juzz. Most of the reason for this, I beleive, is becuase a person who is proficient at jazz needs seven fingers on each hand and must contain all musical knowledge ever, future included, in their minds. Never ever laugh if you see a jazz musician's tounge protruding slightly from the side of their mouth as they play. It is because their tounge is being forced out of their head by the gigantic pressures needed to bend quantum physics and only by clenching their tounge between their teeth as they strum that Am7+5dim chord at 12/7 rythm can they stop that precious mouth organ from rocketing forth from their mouth hole, causing them to bleed to death slowly from the wound, not to mention acute embarrasment.

I'm noticing that everything so far has ended in blood. Don't worry: thats just Waipuk. I'm often surprised that my hometown isn't known for its bloody gun rampages, but apparently people are saved from the general populaces muderous intentions by a comblination of rugby, laziness, and top quality television programming such as "border control". Just because it's on, does not mean you have to watch it! It's not even out border! It's Austrailia's! I have better things to do with my life that spend half hour segments of "reality tv" which is, in reality, what was first produced when a camera man went to lunch with his camera left propped up against a pillar inadvertently left on in his house. The next day, as this is new zealand and the production crew couldn;t afford a new video tape, they spliced scenes from the horror/comedy movie they had previously been making "House of the Reanimated Idiots", spent a few minutes for voice overs and Big Brother was born.

And that was all true. All of it.

In other news: I had vastly importaint and pertinent things to say here, but as they say here, "EaSYning", which, I belive, is some sort of addage on the fleeting nature of life around here. Or its just a muddle of sylables spewn forth but a member of this town known for it's one invention, a shot cocktail known as the "Main":

Take one large glass.
Place a piece of mouldy bread across the opening.
Filter 1/2 bottle of methelated spirits through the mouldy bread. Place bread to one side as chaser.
Fill the rest of vessle with Viking ("Conquer the taste!") beer. Mix thoroughly.
Add vanilla essance, lime juice, or rotted leaf mould to taste.

The best part is that you think I'm joking. Oh well. Back to the metropolis on Sunday.

Life is difficult...

2009-06-05T21:34:00.002+12:00

...sandwiches are not. They aren't difficult to make, they aren't difficult to eat, and they aren't difficult to invent. Some bastard who was too lazy to stop playing cards, get off his behind nad make some soup. No, he sat there and his big old earl behind and said "O say I say serving woman, create me a meal that can be eaten in one hand while I construct this Royal Flush" and then when the woman had the great idea of putting a piece of meat between two pieces of bread he claimed the idea as he suggested and patented it and now thats why an egg mayo sandwich will set you back $4 at your nearest cafe. Earlcharge.

In other news, a friend of mine has just modified his remote control car so it travels at the speed of snail.

12 minutes before work super fast blog

2009-06-05T12:38:00.002+12:00

HOLDIDAYS! Holidays happen soon after today FOREVER! Well, five weeks, but thanks to a edict passed down from the world institute of naming things (they never claimed to be good at naming things) a stretch of time totalling five weeks exactly can now be called "Forever". The reason being that we have names for two weeks, four weeks and even a period of 52 weeks, and so we obviously need a name for five. And since they couldn't be bothered coining a new term they just used an existing word. It is also hoped that this will stop plumbers and electricians from quoting that the work needed will take forever, and then living off you till the end of your life.

Ever wondered why there are so many damn plumbers in Tahiti? Thats why.

In other news that isn't so obviously made up, I am going to play poker tonight. But not for money, because gambling is a vice that lays open your soul ready to be snared by the devil. And because we are all really bad a poker and the las time we played with money, none of us one. The fifteen dollars is now kept in an ai tight bok, buried at the bottom of the garden, along with with three hands of two pairs of two. Thats how bad we were.
But Anywhoo. Queens of the stone age and low priced beer will be my friends tonight, as we jelosly horde our precious match sticks against those who would take them from us. Tommorow I shall go to the birth place of Katherine Mansield and clean my rancid living space.

I now live alone, by the way. People have warned me, my friends, my father, the festering hobo at the buss stop at the corner of cuba and manners, all have warned me that such a move might, finnally, make me so crazy that I no longer have the ability to tell the difference between the imaginary people I converse with everyday in my head and the weasle ridden, post apocalyptic world I actually inhabit. Oh reality checks. You can bee too cruel.

And a time better you had not having...yes.

2009-06-03T03:42:00.004+12:00

It has been a long time... and yes, you may feel like you have read this line many times before, but many things have, in fact, happened.

I finished my teaching degree. Then I worked as a relief teacher for half a year. Unfortunately, my school, which was a rather un-traditional school and let me drink coffee while I taught, shut down. Such a shame I have never known. I don't think I could actually get closer to my ideal job, apart from my reccurring dream that when I retire I shall open a book-store/ wine bar. You heard it here first folks, and if I find you have stolen my Idea I shall hunt you down, take your kneecaps and sell them to foriegeners as overpriced trinkets from the japanese meiji era. AS you write in hell, know that you are part of a horribly racist conspiricay bent only towards money-making.

After having woked in such a wonderful school I found myself rather lacking in enthusiasm when it came to teaching in a more...traditional...school. Enter Honors english, at the presitgious university of wellington, where apparently I am a god. As you may recall, troughout my undergrad diploma I did mot much more than drink and sleep, only deigning to write an essay when curcumstances demanded. Not much has changed in my accademic lyfestyle now, but apparently even though I spend little time on my essays, and I hand in my first drafts, and my tutors know I hand in my first drafts, their cmments tell me so, but still I get A's and B's. I might as well just pay for an diploma over the internet and be done with it.

But now, against all expectations, I seem to have found myslef with a woman person. Perhaps that is why I haven't been writing lately. Or not. Maybe I just dont like you.

Next time I shall write more witt things, and soon, I promise.

Oh, those salad days

2008-11-18T19:55:00.002+13:00

I remember a time during our youth- when relationships were more about just having someone there, when all that crap was going down in our lives, the most importaint thing was to have someone who was there to listen to you for three hours plus on the telephone. Life was crap, and justifiably so: we were teenagers. Everyone, everything, including ourselves, body and mind, was out to get us. And so we needed someone else, a girl and slash or boy friend, someone we could garruntee would be there, any hour, to lend a sympathetic ear.

Now, we are supposed to be adults. Deal with anything because we all have full time jobs and shuffling paperwork and listning to people complain 24/7 means we are capable to handle anything.

Hah. Hah hah hah hah.

Apples and Oranges...

2008-08-26T18:00:00.002+12:00

...go together like bananas and pears. IN A BLENDER.

Which actually makes quite a refreshing fruit drink, if you remove the skins and the pips and the flesh and all the fruit and replace the fruit with Ice Cream and replace the blender with a bowl and add a spoon, unmashed, for your eating with.

It wasn't too hard, especially if you don't actually start with the fruit at all.

Alchemy. Always trying to turn lead into gold. Why didn't they try something a little less challenging? It seems to me that people are always setting their sights a little high, weather out of greed, or often, out of lazyness: set your sights really high and you have the perfect excuse for when it doesn't work. Because it was impossible to begin with. But if you pent your time not trying to turn lead into gold but instead tried to turn fruit into vegetables all you would have to do is produce a tomato and start a discussion, and by the end of it not only would have the tomato changed between the two states during the conversation but you will have probably discovered quantum- no matter whether the tomato is fruit or vegetable, it is allways, at some level, somewhere, a really stupid disscussion that doesn't change it at all.

A metaphor for life in general? Perhaps. I don't really know. But as a metaphor it tastes good on toast. And isn't that all that really matters?

Yes. Mechanics of the universe aside, we wouldn't have many scientists if they forgot to eat.

In other news: The olympics are over. Let us now start the Large Hadron Collider and end the need for journalism.

"The Understanding"

2008-08-15T11:34:00.002+12:00

"Women: You can't live with 'em, you can't live without them."
"You said it"
Both drink.

OR:
"Damn Women are crazy. Crazy like foxes! Rabid foxes."
"You said it."
Both drink.

OR the extremely abridged version:
"Women"
"Yup"
Drink.

This converversation happens all around the world, in many different languages, for many different reasons. It is said that a man complains about a woman about once every three minutes, and six times out of ten that woman hears, and punishes him for it. Because they have the hearing of foxes.
I'm sure that women complain about men too- but I've never been privy to such conversations, nor herd them happening. Part of the reason for this is that men do not have the hearing of foxes, but instead are unlikely to hear anything if they are concentrating on something particular. Like breathing. But we've all heard echos of the woman side of the complaint, when we are drunk and something slips, just a shadow of a suggestion, during the shouting match about the state of the bathroom when suddenly some female friend's opinion is suddenly quoted about your before unknown breaches of behaviour (probably past protests were unheard because we were breathing too loud) or the few of us man-folk who have stumbled into the secret coven meetings also known as "ladies night" and not been brainwashed. Often these remarks pass by our notice as we are fighting for sobriety, toilet seat rights or our lives, but at a subconsious level they regester. And this behaviour isn't confined to heterosexual relations either. Steriotypes of wincing, homosexual men with snarky comments and troupes of lebian women in face to face screaming matches probably had basis in fact somewhere.

The consensus is clear. We know you complain. You know we complain. We know that you know that we know you complain. Etc.

The question then arises, why do we do so?
Scroll back to the neanderthal conversation examples at the top of this page. Often a precursor to these discussions is the obsevation that no one really understands the other person. That we are all completely undefinable and therefore any sort of venture into the relms of love, companionship and casual intercourse is going to be as fraught with danger and spectacle as Oddysessussesssf (you know the guy) 10 year journey home. But the boast is often proved wrong. Not many men can fit ten epic years of adventure and longing into three hasty and sticky minutes.

We've had tests: the Freudian and Jungian archetypes, star-sign compatability asessments, the comparing of various body parts to see if they are similar shapes; we've written books: books on anatomy, books on mentality and even books suggesting that we are from different planets. Everyone has an opinion on the matter: your friend, their friend, the overly friendly guy at the other end of the bar. People have been known to take relationship advice from their cats. Little wonder. Cats are a species that have EVERYTHING worked out.

But still, with all the collaboration, discussion and literature on the matter, it still always boils down to this:
"I mean, what the hell are they thinking about?"
"Well, perhaps in your case it is simply a matter of inauspicious stars at time of birth, her tendancy to over romantasize the male as a father figure and your reapeated insistance on trying it from "the rear entry" as I beleive it is colloqually known."
"...what?"
"I mean... yeah mate, I dunno."

Are we really so complicated? Wait for it! The secrets of relationships both intimate and platonic are about to be revealed!!!:

No. Get over yourselves. There are only two vailid theories as to why we have so much trouble getting along with other people.

1:
We're all just fleshy bags of instincts and preferances who construct vast fantasies of themselves to make themselves feel better when spurrned. In truth there isn't alot difference between us in wants and desires but it makes us feel more justified when we speak to a long known friend about why he/she/they were dumped/dumped you if you say that it was because of a crucial incompatability in fundamental life philosophies rather than they kept you awake at night with their night noises and it's hard to be in a caring relationship when you are so tired that you fall asleap in your porridge and find yourself trying to put the milk back in the cat.

2:
Everyone, absolutely everyone, is insane.

Well, wasn't that fun? I should get one of those noble prize thingies.

Argrah weeble deeb bloob

2008-07-27T03:00:00.002+12:00

Came to waipuk on bus yesterday.

Had lunch with grandparents and extended family for grandparents 50th wedding annerversary.

Go back to wellington tommorow at 9am- staying awake now so I can sleep on the bus.

And now a word from my sponsers: The insanity demons.
"We ask you a question: is it insane to walk up to someone and ask them, quite polietly and perhaps holding a frozen fish stick in the manner of a microphone, ask them I do repeat myself but with deliberate effect, ask them if you are insane meaning am I insiane not are you insane because obvio0usly you would know if you were insane or would you for it follows that if I had to ask a complete strnger about the state of my thought jello while waving frozen fish products that you may, I state again, may have to ask someone else if you are insane.
SO ARE YOU/ ME/ MEYOU/ US INSANES?

It is a sobering thought indeed. I really hate this time. I am yes, as sober as I have been in monts, bored tired, finding my coherancy slipping, have just stayed awake to watch a test of rugby OF RUGBY a test of rugby. At 1am. Not alot of sports get mentioned here in this here blog because I do not care.

This is the third time I have listened to the dresden dolls albums today. I like their ability to shout. If there is nothing to shhout at they imagine the things that annoy them, and then shout. I should like to write the little (yet highly explosive) book of anger.

If you're feeling angry, stub your toe, then run down the street until you find that pet that your parents didn't get for your fourth birthday and kick it, with your sore toe, until it (the pet or your toe) bleeds.

Perhaps the little book of madness would be a better option. Anger is a far to considered and rational emotion, don't you agree? X happens, so you do X to Y, or possibly vice versa. Whereas madness is more a X happens and theirfore Y equals a mouse while you exist in a quatum certainty that both eats all the ice cream on the roof of your flat in your night gown screeaming obscenities at the kindergaten below. If mouse equals more than yesterday, you are wearing pants.

I have knots in my hair. I am only three bottles of wine and/or missed showers away from being your steriotypical rating, pantless madman.

Much like every saturday night.

DEATH

2008-07-21T21:54:00.002+12:00

Lets see how quickly I can do this one. I think it might be a post that will have more effect if it is brief:

Saturday landlord came fixed roof: also man came to dry carpet.
Carpet in room was wet from leaking roof. Carpet also mouldy.
Man-Dry-Carpet stepped inside room.
"What the fuck is that? Holy shit, this is some bad mould- do not sleep in here. Seriously, that mould will kill you."

Yes, I have slept in some pretty crappy places in my life, closets, bus stops, in beds with too many people, in beds without people, on roofs: but this is the first time a room in which I have lived in has become so pissed with me that it has tried to end my life. WOOO!

GO DEATH MOULD!

In other news- the room is now fine to sleep in again- it has been demoulded. I we out in celebration, to a

Why am I awake?

2008-07-18T06:17:00.003+12:00

Gah! Would you look at the time? It's both six am, and four days since I last posted. How come the time is going past so quickly? It's not as if I do much, but the days are falling past into the ether like a substance which is habitually preyed upon by the ethernites. Or whatever. I woke up at two am and finished the book I was reading and found that my brain was doing its buzzing thing with ideas and so decided to write some of them down. Then I decided to write something here without any clear purpose as to what to write about. And that's a story for the history books.
Don't you hate that phrase "would you look at the time"? Whenever someone says it I have the horrible childish urge to say "No, look at it yourself."
Anyway, how about dreams? Always a hot topic, and a window into your own subconsiousness, even if it is a rather grimy window and shows a dirty room with strange things on the shelves gathering dust. It smells like an old ice-cream container that has been washed many times and has mostly been used to store curry. There is an old woman in a rocking chair who appears to be knitting but on closer imspection there is no wool on the needles and the fingers aren't moving. The room contains a complete lack of cat.
...
But yes, my dreams. Haven't had too many lately, probably a reflection of the rather stagnant state I have been in creativity wise. But two have stood out, two which I have had in the four days since I returned to wellington where there is life.
The first was a rather bizzare dream about being chased though the air ducts of an office building by law enforcement officers and young children for undisclosed crimes. I tried to escape via the fire escape but since that escape is made for fire and not people I was caught by a large number of secret police looking people in black hoddies with riot sheilds. I am punished with, and here the style of the dream changes from the mostly realistic if proportionately askew style of the dream previously into a side scrolling video game where I am forced to wear a large dunces cap. I run from side to side as things such as oversized fruit, cows and even people which I am to skewer upon my dunces cap. There was much puree and blood. Dream end.
The other dream which happened the night before requires a small amout of preface: I had been to the bulk food warehouse place where they sell the feedstuffs and the booze cheap. The cheap booze that I had bought was a bottle of absinthe. This green substance of 75% is known to provide the drinker with strange visions, but in the storebought variety the vision creating substance has been mostly removed. Mostly. But still a shot before bedtime can often provide the drinker with some strange a vivid dreams.
So as I went off to bed that night I was well anticipating some excellent and bizzare dreams, clearly remembered in graphic detail and dolby surround sound.
What I got was a dream of a toilet.
It was a very clean toilet, very similar to the toilet in my flat, and very graphic, perfectly detailed in my dreamscape but, when all is said and done, it was a toilet. At one moment in my dream I looked over to the corner of the room where, in graphic detail, there was a cobweb. I went back to looking at the toilet. Nothing else happened.
Now, If I really wanted to spend some time looking at a toilet, there is one very handilly situated in my house. Amazing though it may be, it is not a pastime I send much time on, this toilet gazing.

I really, really hope that that wasn't an accurate representation of my own subconsious. Really.

In other news, now I try to sleep again.

It is now halfway through the morning side of the night...

2008-07-14T01:37:00.002+12:00

... and I am getting tired. Which is, in fact, the plan. Tommorow (or today depending on how you look at "time") I shall get up early, drag myself to the bus and then, very hopefully, sleep the sleep of a hundred men and women, post coitus.
It is my seafeguard against the evil of the bus. The evil enters through your eyes and strangels your occular nerve, causing images to last twice as long in your brain. Theirfor, a 3 hour bus trip laeves imprinted on your mind 9 hours of images of the wonderfully empty countryside of new zealand. There are only so many sheep you can count before you run out of numbers and your head explodes.

The reason I am not a maths teacher becomes apparent.

Speaking of teaching, I have to get my A into G as my old primary school teacher used to say, and apply for some releif positions. I've been put as number one on one list, but that's it so far. Although my plan is to reach enlightenment through the next six months by simply keeping my head so empty that something worthwhile will fall into it (whats up there is mildewed and cobweb covered junk or antiques, either way things you don't want to touch for fear of breaking) starving in the process is not part of the plan.

On my way back to wellington tommorow I shall be passing the bus that is taking ex-girlfriend-Uma to her new job in Auckland. I must say, I am starting to feel slightly bitter now about a,b, and the lack of c, and regretful about x, y, and upset over z. (ALGEBRA TO THE POWER OF AWESOME!) But me is thinking that is normal. Can't have an end of a relationship without regret, and since I have been sober since being in the Bay the cold knife of depression/regret has managed to prick the delicate pink skin beneath my insobriety armour.
As soon as I get back to wellington I will give that Armour a good repair at the blacksmiths. For those of you not so good with that tricky bastard Mr. Metaphor, this means I'm going to drunk at the nearest drinking establishment. See how I did that? The armour is booze, and the blaksmiths is... oh never mind. My wit be lost on the lower classes.

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Poo!

I then collapse into a fit of giggles and refuse to do an housework for the rest of the week. A wit like mine, I restate, is a heavy burden not meant for lesser mortals.

Well, now time for sleep. The faster I sleep, the sooner the awful busride be over, the sooner I make an ass of myself while trying to chat up the blacksmithess over a large mug of embers.

Damn it Flan! You broke Mr. Metaphor! AGAIN!

I have a cat upon me

2008-07-12T22:57:00.002+12:00

Yes, yes I do. I want a real cat though: not that this isn't a real cat, but this isn't really my cat. Its my sisters cat, and even though she dont live here anymore she wont let me take him away.
I like cats. They are just slightly more demanding females with slightly less yowling factor. And they hunt mice. The hauteaur factor is definately a plus as well. I have never had relationship anxieties with a cat- I've always known exactly where I stand.

Anyhoo, before this post gets freaky:

Sometimes I read over posts that I have made before, and that sometimes happened again reciently. I have noticed something: I seem to be a lot less bitter about things now than I was, say, three months ago, when I was comparing the circle of life with the circle of nature- two very, very different things. I do happen to wonder weather my angst will com eback again...I mean, In todays society, you are naked without your angst- and there are so many things to be angsty about: politics, relegion, poeple of the opposite sex, poeple of the same sex, lack of food, the eating of too much food, poeple of indeterminate sex, petrol, the eating of too many people... the list goes on and on. So what am I doing not being agnsty? And in Waipuk I canne drink as much as I would like, my relatives would stage an intervention...
Perhaps its because I;m in one of those "between spaces" I like so much. No job, no money, but i'm in a band. Hoorah.

Notice in the list above that no one complains about cats. Well, they do, but it's a short lived complaint. Viva los Cat!

Amazing occurances and Occular disturbances!

2008-07-11T22:19:00.002+12:00

Look at the bottom of the last post I made. It seems as if someone reads this humble thing from time to time: and probably, since it has been so long since I've done any solid block of posts, this person, from america, is probably one of the few people who have seen any of the new posts. Holla Dave. Probably. But word will get around and people whom I know will read the blog again, I am sure.

People have told me to publish this thing, but what do all you think, mysterious quiet readers from perhaps beyond our my own easy shores?

Anyway, I'm other news, last post I forgot to relate something quite importaint. Importaint things have a habit of slipping my mind, which makes me such a good teacher.
Anyway again: when I stepped off the bus last night a found that due to a telecommunications malfunction there was noone to pick me up, I sent another of my hard earned text messages and as I waited on the corner for my escort another car pulled up next to the nearby public toilets. Out jumped young lady, as they do, and went into the toilets for the public. So far so good, it's what public toilets are for. But then I hear a shattering sound and out from the public toilets come that same lady I saw going into the public toilets but this time burdened with two rolls of public toilet paper.

Many people, some I even know, will not use public toilets. Of those that do, one of the common complaints is the quality of the toilet paper that one can so easily put a finger through and has a texture not unlike greased baking paper. It may have been done for a prank, and if so, tut tut indeed, someones house is now several meter the worse for low grade dunny paper, but if someone actually had to go into the public toilet and steal toilet paper for their own use...
I'm betting on the former rather than the latter because, after all, this is waipuk.
The other public toilet in wapukurau (yes, we have two!) has been subject to defeacements, beatings and a car running into it. After that last occurance the council decided that they would erect on the site a toilet made of steel and declare in the newspaper that the new "state of the art" toilet of publications was "invincible".
That night the toilet was dowsed in petrol and set alight.
Hurrah.

In other news, today played scabble with mother and grandmother. I got all the vowels. My favourite board: I, I, I, U, U, K, Z.

If you can make a word out of those letters I shall buy you candy. So much candy.

Gah blah blah beh

2008-07-10T22:53:00.002+12:00

Busses. Oh how I loathe long distance bus trips. This one was worse that the ole bus trips of yore for some reason: I slept for two hours (yes! less bus to remember!) but then for the final hour and a half my brain did that really cool "well, since I know I'm not to long away from getting off this thing I'm gonna look at my watch every minute and make the time strech out reeeeeeeaaally long" thing. And for some reason, once it got dark, the driver didn't put on the lights so what I did was I sat in the dark, not reading, not writing, just listening to the quiet scritchy sound of someones earphones and play "guess the song". I couldn't.

So now I am in Waipukurau. Why? Why not. I can do what I like. I'm a man now, I have insurance and everything. There is not much to do here that I couldn't do at home, except eat all my parents food, kind of as a "thanks" for supporting my through all these years at uni. And when I say all my parents food, you can be assured that I mean all my parents food, and then I shall knick some teaspoons ahahahahahaha!

I don't mind being back home, as long as I am not here for too long, but one thing I do mind is my parents reliance on the TV. All the time it is on. Tonight, we had a choice between watching Beach Patrol, the american version, wife swap, between an unhealthilly buff familly and a family of dwarves, and corronation street, the only soap opera to have a character be born, age and die in real time and still not have anything of note happen to them. I voted to turn the TV off, but my parents vetoed me and watched beach patrol. A man drove his boat onto the beach and the lifesavers pulled guns upon him. It was the best half hour of my life. Honestly.

So yes, TV sucks, and my parents decided not to have sky anymore so no cartoons for me. Just the hollow, empty expanse of the internet, where intellegent beings have not yet been found.

"Oh, a slight against internet denizens! Haven't heard that one before Flan!"

...
...
...Shut up.

Unnaceptable

2008-07-07T16:22:00.003+12:00

Two months without doing one of these things. Unnacceptabblleee. So is my spelling. Always has been rather. This post may be slightly worse than usual because, even with my physical being wrapped in layers of clothing and a duvet, it is too cold to move my fingers properly.

Anyway, I guess everyone has been wondering what I have been doing reciently, yes? Well, the list of acheivements is not a short one, but here is a quick overview of my activities:
- finished my last TE
- finished all the assignments that I needed to do to complete my teaching diploma. SHould be getting the certificate of well done ness in the mail sometime soonish
- began a relationship.
- was dumped
- began the relationship again
- have been dumped again.
- drank
- had a few parties
The above list is not in any particular order, but you get the picture. Or a picture. Of the kind that your 3yr old spawn comes home from kindergaten waving proudly and you put it on your fridge even though the colours were horribly chosen and the people have no knecks. Or head. In fact, it is a picture of three blobs with four sticks attached standing beside a square.
Well, what is past is past- won't do us any good to dwell on such matters will it?
Perhaps a more pertinent question: What will I do now?
Well, although it may seem that the world is now the mollosc of my choice and I have obtained many of the knives in which I need to prise open the shell and eat the reciently living contents, I want to sit for a while. I will find myself some releif work at various schools so I do not starve but I don't want to move into full time work yet. I have been, now, in the education system of this country for a full 17 years- I need a break. I am tired. Sleep in until 1pm tired. Tired, in fact, to my bones.
And as they teach you in school, bones are importaint. It is time to drink my metaphorical milk, bandage and sling the fractures that I haven't had time to give due care to reciently. Let the bones rest in me closet.
Hmmm.

Well, anyway, I now have a bit of time upon my hands. I want to go out and see some of those people I havent had much to do with reciently. I want to keep hold of the relationships that I have now, and I don't want to move much. Unfortunately, not all of these are complementary motives. I may, in fact, just have to get off my arse.

In other news: a man sould his soul on trade-me for $3001. Much of my brain power at the moment is going towards get rich quick schemes that can be propogated via the infinate potential of the internet, which, when you think about it, sells tons and tons of nothing much to tons and tons of people everyday. Some of my ideas are good. Many are bad.

FEAR! FEAR A FLAN WITH TIME UPON HIS HANDS! The Flan disaster meter has just been upgraded to mauve! Stay tuned to find out how high it climbs!

Thar be a cold wind blowin' off the sheep, cap'nnnnn....

2008-03-18T19:28:00.002+13:00

Dot, dot dot.

Woooo, would you look at all those days! Why does it take me so long for me to get around to doing another one of these things when I really quite enjoy them? I really do need someone standing around me with a whip, dressed up like a demon, whose sole responsibility is to whip me every day until I post a blog.
Any volenteers? Oh, come on, I bet it would be really... neat.

Dot dot dot.

But then can you imagine how many whipping demons I would need to get all the tings I need done around the place? We would have the laundry whipping demon, the dishes whipping demon, the whipping demon of eating, the whipping demon of eating right, the twin whipping demons of waking up and of going to sleep, whipping demons dedicated to me walking places, getting to places on time, advioding certain places, remembering about certain places and remembering to forget about other places. And of course, the Meta-whipping-demon dedicated to whipping all the other demons.
Honestly, I just cannot afford all that demon food. I have trouble enough feeding the two or three demons I actually do have... and have you seen the price of whips lately? Lets just say we can be glad cheese is edible and whips are not.

I think whips would taste good.

You know what else tastes good? The idiots on the internet. Now, as we all know, I don't beleive in the internet which makes the fact that I am posting here until you recall the fact that I am a quantum blogger. Anyway, I was not on the internet at this parcticular time, which was just after a rather interesting discussion about the universal nature of music at the school I am currently practicing my craft at (yes, I am doing the teaching experiance thing at the moment, which is why, to all of you who were wondering, why I haven't been out and about lately, and nor have I been too pleased when people have rung or texted with demands of my company in the next ten minutes. more on this rant later in the program) and one of my students got on the internet and looked at a forum which had threads with names like "Creationallism vs. Evolution".
Now, I am sorry Bruce of the Endless Talking Tounge, but no matter how "powerful" a "tool" "ICT" has become, a debate that has been raging for many many many many years is not about to be decided by people of questionable intellegence and arguments like "I prayed and it came tru so the GOD IS RIGHT I"S RIGHT YOU WRONG" or "Science knows all and found none of your god in our genetic code". Also, as has also been noted and should be the topic of someones thesis in the near future, is that distressing phenomenon usually known as: even normally intelegent people become personally insulted by all mindless drivel and sink to the lowest common, maggotesque, denominator.

I propose a new meaning for the acronym "ICT": "I've contracted tourettes"

In other news, today I took the night off work because these 18 hour days are killing me. God on high I hate doing school all day (which on it's own is great, by the way) and then having to sit around and listen to the droning tedium of the washing machines for 4 hours. And its not perfect tedium either, not purgatory or limbo tedium, more an outer circle of hell tedium, where absolutely nothing happens until the moment just after you have stopped waitng and resigned yourself to the fact that nothing will happen. And there's no use telling yourself not to be tricked becasue they know that trick and as soon as you are used to the tedium BAMN! Something happens! But it is a tedious kind of happening, something that isn't all that exciting, something that later on during a lull in the conversation you will suddenly remember and declaim hopefully as a topic of conversation amongst you peers (who you hold in high esteem) but as soon as the words are out of your mouth you realise that you have already talked about this event and that it wasn't a very interesting topic even then. Your words fall into the pit that the conversation has become and make it, somehow, deeper.

Dot, Dot Dot.

And that will do for now, I think. I have decided I am going to build up a varied collection of cheap wine. I have six bottles so far.

Catch you on the side that flips.

Piction, Parties, and the mother of all desicions + a hangover (special report!)

2008-02-29T10:57:00.002+13:00

Oh dear god are you up there why do you do this to us it's like you've put a giant orange in my head and filled it with bees. I drank three bottles of wine last night and then some vodka. Needless to say I feel like arse. But I will say it anyway:
ARSE.

Things. This post wont be majorly coherant.
Went to picton. It was good. Told some Germans they drank vodka. Took a spa bath at 3am naked. Quit smoking because 5 years earlier I had told myself that if I went back to piction I would have met my goals including no smoking and pick up the badge that I left at anikiwa. Long story. Short story: five years after outward bound I hadn't yet met the goals I set for myself and not smoking again seemed like the easiest option at that time. It has been easy. Don't buy cigs= Can't smoke cigs. It's not calculus.

Last night had a flat warming. Very few people showed up. Spasm von Terros and his squeeze who I don't think I have a psudenom for and Uma Icnoyotl showed up for a time. I spent most of the night slurring drunkenly at Uma, who goes to t.col with me, about books which was nice. I do enjoy talking to fellow bibliophiles. When she left I get a little hazy, but apparently I took of my pants, drank some vodka, ate my flatmates beans. Hurrah.

Obviously there will be a more interesting and comical version of events later on, but right now I just feel like poop.

In other news.

Poo on everything

2008-02-22T08:28:00.002+13:00

So much to do so much to see so whats wrong with taking the back streets? Well, Smashmouth, it has something to do with the insane drunken people who have only just managed to cohabitate in said back streets, alleys and byways and get rather testy about you just barging into their living room.

I am depressed. Why? Oh, because I woke up and it was a fantastic day and I don't have anything much to do today, a bit of writing, some washing perhaps, I could just sit and do my card system for my books or read a book (wouldn't that be a novelty?) cook, play guitar, go for a walk, find a sharp knife and a rocking chair and spend the day whittling away the hours in the sun. But I have awoken to find that I have about as much motivation to do anything as a turnip. A turnip which has been modified with sloth genes to make sure it doesn't try to run away from the cooks knife.
I call these kind of days "dead days" - they are days in which nothing seems worthwhile, it can take literally hours to perform the most menial and basic of tasks and my emotional capabilities are severely compromised. You know how I can barely care about things much anyway? Well, today, talking to me will be like talking to the wall of an upper-middle class garden shed.
It's a day in which I fail courses or take to the bottle at 10am.
5 years! After 5 years you would think I'd have been able to drive this demon out, don't you? But no. Still hanging around my shoulder blades, gnawing on my spine. Sometimes I feel like the demon is now a part of me, and that desicion I made years ago to get off the fluox and let my mind be my mind whatever that whould turn out to be just left a little hole for which he could burrow into, put down roots, jack in, ect. He's kind of a part of me. Life would certainly be different if... and thats where we stop. Don't second guess it. Don't rewind the spring and hear the same old jerky melody of unknowable futures.

In other news that doesn't concern my mental state: Tommorow I am going to Picton. On sunday I come back from Picton. I do like the ferry and am happy to have a weekend where I won't be working. Isn't it sad that my enjoyment of such an event will be hampered by the fact that at the back of my mind I will be thinking of the small menial tasks I could be doing at home or the fact that I could simply be hanging out with my flatmate who I managed to see today only because I decided to sleep on the couch so's I could see him. We had a brief discussion before he went to work. Doing some calculations, I can tell you that a good nights rest for both of us will be 8 hours total.

I have to write two assignmants today. God I cannot be arsed. Everything should go take care of itse;f, just for an hour.

Do you ever have the dream when...

2008-02-12T11:00:00.000+13:00

...you are standing over yourself when you sleep? And when you are watching yourself stand over yourself your eyelids have become translucent so you can see yourself watching yourself and you toss and turn a bit and you get one of those images not unlike standing between two mirrors?
I think it is slightly scarier imagining yourself watching you while yourself when you sleep than imagining someone else watch you while you sleep, because although some complete stranger may be wathing you for strange perverted reasons or waiting for you to roll over so as to apply the poison via the ear in the traditional manner, just think about what what would happen if you woke up and found yourself? Universe implosion is a definate possibility, but having a conversation might be scarier:
"Yawn... oh, I had a dream about this, I though it might happen."
"Why did I make me so crazy?"
At this point I might start choking myself or something
"WHY AM I SO CRAZY! WHY DOES THIS GO ON INSIDE MY HEAD!"
Insert noises of me trying to answer while being unable to breathe. I, meanwhile, start hitting myself in the head.
"Stop hitting myself! ARGRAH"
I will then crawl into the fetal position while simutaneiously making myself a coffee and reading the buisness section of the dom post (its like its written in another language!). I have to go to school, but I hope that I will find time from my heavy schedule of bannging my head softly against a wall and mumbling to myself to do some laundry. It's going to be a nice day.
So, although the world would be a better place if it were populated by me, without the wars and stuff, there is still no gaurantee that the washing will ever get done. I did a load on sunday, but I haven't had the time to put it on the drying rack yet.
And so ends a long, rambly way to tell you about the status of my washing.

Anyway hoo:
People have been asking about my new flat. Yes, I have found one, and, with the approval of my shiny new credit card, the only person I shall soon owe money to will be the bank. But the whole stress of the situation has been gigantic. Teaching? Not as stressful as finding a flat. Peeling a particularly stubborn orange? Not as bad as waking up in the moning and having to contemplate the very real possibility that you may soon have to live out of a storage shed. Waking up in a newtown gutter without your pants? Not as bad as walking up the hill that is wellington and be charged $150 (+gst) for the pleasure. Letting fees. No, you didn't find me this flat. I found it. I found it by getting up at the crack of dawn for the last four weeks a trailing the streets, newspaper and trademe for a democile that didn't require me to sell my soul to satan to be able to afford.

Quirky Fact of the Day: Satan uses the souls sold to him as bath towels, or, on occasion, to wipe the mould from his skirting boards. Lord of Evil and constant Nemisis of Mankind he may be, but he just cannot stand the fact that he may not one day possess the full set of Soul Coloured Bathroom Accesories.

But the flat is nice. my room is of course the smallest one in the flat, but it at least gets some sun. And we have a LARGE living room. I don't need a large room when my work and play space is occupiing a quarter of our lounge where two of my friends who I have known for 8yrs also work and play. Hard. Many an evening has been spent blissfully, drink easy in hand, playing crib and 500, looking over the pretty substancial view of wellington, listening to music. Good time have been had and good times will be had in such a flat me thinks. Oh, and part of our kitchen bench can be moved around. We moved it into the middle as an island slash bar after we got D to move his damn matress out of it.
Oh yes, if you can remember that post of all the psudenoms of my friends, I am living with Calvin Shine and D. Or is his name Prometheis? I'm going to have to look that one up.

In other news: Not lots. Monday and tuesday are 18hr days for me, quite full on and not leaving much room for the simple pleasures. On wednesday the crazy ride again at the valve, and thursday is pretty much a solid block of classes from 8:30 to 5:30. but friday-sunday I only have work, and is as close to a weekend as I get. I plan to cook food and to wash my souls... I mean towels.

Hooray, its another day.

Her heart was as cool as a box of beers

2008-01-28T23:07:00.000+13:00

"So you don't think your brain needs cleaning?
Looked behind your stove lately?
See all that food trapped behind it?
ITS LIKE THAT WITH YOUR BRAIN!
EWW!
Hi, I'm Flan, I'm here to tell you about our new special on brain cleaning!
20% OFF IF YOU DRILL YOUR OWN SKULL HOLE!"
Etc.

Yes, the above is not only a nonsensical rant but also a deep and meaningful illustration of how much I hate certain radio adverts. I have been listening to alot of radio at the moment, for 8 hours a day in fact, and the above is the transcription of a radio ad enticing you to get your teeth done (to read the orignial ad, just replace the word "brain" with "teeth"). It is voiced by a woman who sounds like she is just about to fall victim to an anxiety attack. Now I realise Radio is a very different creature to televison, which has it's own stupid advertisments, and radio ads must act in a different way to compensate for the lack of visuals, but this doesn't mean I cannot hate it when it is poured into my ear twelve times a day and then pervert it for my own amusement.
Like the ad which starts off "Wow, thats a flash looking eftpos terminal! Where did you get it?" and then proceeds to list the things that you need to find it. People just don't talk like this.
But I think they should.
INTRODUCING: TALK LIKE A RADIO ADVERT DAY!
The fun and easy way to scary the strangers you meet, today!
Senario: you are at a busstop. Start talking like a radio advert!

You: "Man, I really wish I had a flash industrial sized ice maker"
Stranger: "Who are you and why are you talking to me?"
You: "Really? You got an ice maker supreme for only $89.99 including GST?"
Stranger: "No, what the fuck? I didn't say..."
Y: "A special slushie attachment as well? I must get one! Can you give me a lift?"
S: "We're standing at a bus stop!"
Y: "Of course I want you to take me to Ice Shop Bussiness Suplier 199 Tinakori Road! Or you could take me to my house where we could shop online at dubdubdubdotICESUPREMEdotcom... together..."

At this point, I suspect that the stranger will either run away or tazer you. I take no responsibility for either or any other occurance which results in hilarious pain, but I would like you to email me with the results. If you are still able.

Anyway...
After you get used to the tedium of washing clothes for 8 hours a day at $12 an hour your mind starts doing some very strange things. One of those strange things are the figures of rapidly moving bodies I see out of the corner of my eyes. The other is a tendancy to talk, whisle and sing to myself. I walk through the store when I am bored either whisling "Time is on my side" to see who has seen the movie "Fallen" lately, or muttering under my breath about how I am a chicken. Sometimes I dance. But on the plus side, I have come up with a new idea for a song and for a short story! Huzzah! The creative channels are be comming unglued along with the rest of my sanity!
Me having to pack up my room and clean it ready to move without actually have a place to move to yet doesn't help matters. My last week in this flat is next week.

In other News: I have joined a dating website, cause nothing else is working. The coworker I like still makes the end of the day worth it, though. Lingering eye contact, a swift look over her shoulder... ahh, unrequieted love! Killer of many many theatrical figures.

"You will most probably die
at the hands of my arms
When I go and fly and take over your face
with the blades of my hatredcopter."

The birds and the Bees

2008-01-21T02:40:00.000+13:00

At this time of year, with all the flowers growing and the sun shining and the lambs skipping and the skin burning and the release of Motheiths summer ale, people start getting together. I firmly beleiv that relationships move in seasons just like, well, the real seasons. The about four months ago, and for the duration of about two months, peoples blood starts fizzing around, and then they get their mack on. And about two weeks away from the end of winter, the dumpening happens. The true test of a relationship, I think, is getting through these seasons without being affected too much. For a single person like me, the test is observing these seasonal happenings and not getting depressed about those happenings not happening to you, unless you decide to be happening all by yourself, of course. HAPPENINGS.
Anyway, speaking of happenings, what with many of my friends being in relationships and terms like "marrage" being thrown around (admitedly, the only time such word was thrown around was just then, when I typed it, but still, if any of you guys do decide to tie the knot I am best man. If not, I get to be godfather for your helpless sprog. Cause if you don't do these things for me I will get drunk at your wedding, make an arse of myself and invite myself along to your honeymoon with a camcorder and a high speed wireless internet connection) yes, with the thoughts of marriage looming, I decided I had better give my readers "The Talk" before you get all suspisious about where all those little pink clones came from. You know the talk. The one your dad or mother gave you all those years ago.
In my case, my mother got a book out from the libary with diagrams and numbered parts.
In my dads case, he waited until I woke up one afternoon, made me a cup of coffee, and gave me a box of condoms. Both approches were valuable in their own way.
Some people call this talk "The Birds And The Bees".
I have often wondered about that. What do the birds have to do with putting the wee-wee in the hoo-hoo? And bees? What crackhead came up with this shit?
As it turns out, however, the birds and the bees are what we call a METAPHOR, which means to lie creatively so your eight year old son doesn't try it. But how is it a metaphor? Well, I have the truth from a very reliable source (I made it up with MY BRAINS) and shall now impart the truth to you with:

FLAN HYPERBOLE'S TRUTH EXTRAVAGANZA BEHIND THE BIRDS AND THE BEES: EXTRA SPECIAL TRUTHFUL ADDITION OF GREATNESS INSPIRED BY BOREDOM!

For a start, what are the birds, and what are the bees? Well, pretty obviously, birds are females, as this story was made in that time where women didn't have the rights they did today and slapping a man for calling you a bird would have gotten you thrown in the mental house or just a damn good rogering from your man, your master and social better. Also, birds have pretty feathers, which, just like womens clothing, they use to attract a mate. Their sounds have often been called attractive, but also damn annoying when they go on and on and on for no apparent reason in the early hours, the late hours and every damn middle hour. Birds also make eggs, just as human females do. Next time you eat a chicken egg, remember, your aren't eating a small chicken, you are eating chicken menstruation. For these reasons, Birds are Wommen in this story.
Bees, are therefore of course, men. They hang around in packs, have a pack mentality, make lound noises, dress the same (black and yellow for bees, jeans and t-shirts for human males), talk about the same things over and over again, are stupid and have a "stinger". The stinger is very importaint, for it is much of what the bees "buzz" about. So much so that many bees buzz that they wouldn't be bees at all without their stinger. Infact, that they would die without it. This too is very importaint in the story.
In the story, there are also flowers. Flowers are the child support services bacase they do nothing.
The story begings. It is of course a spring day, where, as we have noted previously, the warm air makes the birds sleek down their plumge and the bees stingers tingle. The bees have been with their bee friends all day, drinking necter.
A bee spies a bird across a crowded medow. Their gazes lock. It is love at first sight. They begin a complicated flight where both the bird and the bee try to get nearer each other while at the same time make no move to go closer to each other at all. To the bee and the bird this flight dance is incredibly confusing as neither knows if the other is actually dancing at all or meerly just flying around. To everyone else, however, it is blatantly obvious and they wish the bird and the bee would hurry up and bang so they don't have to hear about it.
Suddenly, either the bee or the bird makes a move. Either the other dancer flys away hurredly, or the two participants of this ritual meet in the middle of this medow which is hopefully a metaphor for a room and not an actual medow where anyone could see.
From now on it gets a bit mechanical. Coitus is on.
The Bees job is to inject his insides into the bird so that sometime later the bird will put forth new life. He does this by way of his stinger, which, after the bird and the bee have made themselves comfortable on a hopefully soundproofed branch somewhere, he pushes into the birds skin. However, because he is a bee as well as a man, his stinger is coated with poison and the resulting orgasmic "pleasure" at completing his act causes a full body spasm in which the bee shits out his internal organs and succumbs to the final sleep. The Bird, who I have often suspected gets the worse end of the deal in this encounter, at least when I am involved, is upset at the indignanty of having an organ pushed inside her, which, by the way, has been severed from the bee. The stinger is now the property of the bird, and by extension, the bird now owns the bee. A pity the bee is now dead. The chance to lament this situation does not last long, however, as the poison left by the bee from his stinger courses through the birds blood stream. The bird too succumbs to death and falls from the branch to rot on the ground.
Nine months later, the miricale of life is witnessed by the flowers who do nothing as about seventy maggots, the deformed ofspring of the unnatural union between bird and bee, explode from the corpse of their parent and begin, slowly, to devour it down to its bones. Soon, the maggots shall turn into flies, the pre-pubescant stage of the bee, and until they develop their stingers most of their time shall be spent eating, pooping and hanging upside down from things.
And the great cycle of life continues.

Wasn't that wonderful? Just think, when your parents told you this story, what they were really telling you was if you stick it in her, or let him stick it in you, you gonna die. As far as metaphors go, I think it is a pretty good one, and has the added bonus of being sickly.
But isn't that what sex is, anyway? I was thinking about it, as I do, and even though I bemoan the fact of its lack in my life, isn't sex gross? Your parents doing it. Eww. Your grand parents doing it. Ewwwww. Even that fat guy from school who used to breath with his mouth open and had bad hygine has probably paid for it by now. Ewwwwwwwwwww. I mean, I certainly wouldn't want to stick my junk, or anyone elses junk, in my mouth, and although it isn't essential to the maggot making process but many people do it. In fact, many things in the lead up to and during the creating life process are pretty gross, but as soon as someone else is doing them to you it all works differently.

But then again, like I say, it's been a while for me. I forget things. But I don't forget when you put something inside someone THEY OWN IT. Have fun fucking, fuckers.

In other news: I have been seeing a lot more people who aren't there. It be strange. Oh yes.

acid into, the total cows, yes?

2008-01-19T01:05:00.000+13:00

Well, today should be a fun post. I am that stage of drunk where I can still type, but cannot remember my day nor be pissed off at anything. Ah, the powers of alcohol. Making angry people suitable for everyday life since a long time ago.
THis being said, it means I don't really have much to talk about, as being pissed off takes up about 80% of my time nowadays.
I could talk about women, but there is nothing new there. In my life, there aint none.
I could talk about money, but the situation there is much the same as above.
I could talk about emo poetry, but it's all the same eg: I slit my wrists FOR YOU!
And then they don't. Selfish buggers.
I think much of the problem with today is that there are too many people. If you are feeling like life is too much, well, life has had too much of you also. All that global warming, consumerism.... I mean, is there anything more worthy than ending it over a few degrees rise in temeperature that is trying desperately to keep in step with the price of oil. And don't forget that nobody loves you. It's not like there is another X billi0n people out there for you to get it on with you. You might as well hang yourself because one of them dumped you. I mean, what is the chance of finding your one and only amoung all those millions and billions of people? I don't think there could possibly be anyone out there with your exact taste in music.
Oh, it's fun cock-blocking your own excuses.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes...
At the moment I am drunk, eating cackers and pate in bed. Tomorow morning I am going to get the newspaper and go looking for flats AGAIN.
Oh, the joys of life. I remember typing something similar a number of years ago, where I beleive I compared looking for a new flat like eating corn, which is the natural habitat of azazel the angle of death, or something similar. I now have 17 days to find a flat and raise the money that I need to shift from flat to flat and it is... disparaging. Flat prices are on the rise. When I first moved into this flat I thought that $135 was alot to be paying per week for a room. But now, looking through the "To Let" pages and the rental property section of Trade Me I have found that you will be luckly to find a carpark in wellington for $135 a week. My god. I've slept in a carpark, and it just simply wasn't fun. The rabid rats nawing on your ears really make it hard to get comfortable. People say this is because the minimum wage has increased, and since employers have to pay their employees more they have to pass on that added cost to consumers and that pushes the price of EVERTHING up. At the moment I am on minimum wage, and everthing is just as expensive, comparatively, as it used to be. THe good news is that halfway through this year I willl be qualified to teach, which the minimum wage is about $700 a week after tax. The bad news is that until then, everything is going to be shittily, shit arse crap damn bloody soddomy difficult. Le Sigh.
In other news, YOU HAVE YOUR BLOG POST NOW STOP BUGGING ME i would like a pet aphid. Imagine all the things you coulf teach it to do. Like chew leaves.
I wonder if I could make money chewing leaves.
On the plus side, halfway through this year, I should be starting a teaching job which

I hate it when saying you'll do something more often means that you actually have to do it.

2008-01-09T01:07:00.000+13:00

I think, personally, making promises about things that you don't want to do shouldn't count. Like saying anything to a woman. Don't count.
Look, I haven't the horizontal tango with anybody for...what, two years now? It's not fair to be punished if I'm not doing anything to be punished for. And before you say anything, no, going to watch the pole show at mrs. palmers place ain't no substitute to tango.
Isn't metaphor fun?
Anyways, thought I might write something since I am up at an unreasonable hour, and something actually note worthy happened at work yesterday.
I was hanging about cursing because the laundry was a mess cause they had some sort of "differently abled" person doing the morning shift. This ment that all morning there was only four uniforms ticked of the list, one hundred uniforms being ready to be ticked off the list, coathangers on the floor and the cleaning hadn't been done. I don't know about you, but I can certainly sort uniforms at a rate greater than a peice per hour. Also, to make matters worse, the cd player had given up the ghost, I could only find "solid gold" or "the breeze" on the radio staions and the intercom system was being filled with the same four sickly sweet love songs that, after half an hour, make you feel that you have just been fucked in the ear by a throbbing, phallic sugar cube.
After about an hour, however, something wonderful happened. I smelt gas.
Now, as we all know, what I see, hear or smell, probably only has about a 40% chance of actually being there, just like the met service predictions. And just like the met sevice, the appiritions/predictions only happen if, figuratively speaking, there is a chance that the prediction might rain on the four loads of washing you put out that morning. But after ten minutes of inhaling the possibly phantom fumes, a coworker finnaly came in so I could ask them if they smelt anything. They said yes, so I turned off all the machines, and got the supervisor.
When I got back there, he couldn't smell anything, so I said, hey, come back in ten minutes, it might have something to do with the machines, so I turned them back on, and two minutes later I found myself drowsy and light headded. So yes, turn of machines, find supervisor, gas smell not there, I say I'm gonna sit down cause I'm woozy. He says he's gonna check out a few things.
Now, there are a few things in life that kinda annoy me. Many of them you have found for yourself by reading this page periodically. But allow me to add a couple more:
- not being taken seriously when I report a potentally serious situation. Wise cracks are not an appropriate way to deal with someone who says they've been gassed.
- Sitting in a smoko room for half an hour waiting for both my head to clear (I got a headache after the high-headdedness went away) and for any news eg: was it ok to go back to work? Was anyone being called about this?
- Having to go and find the supervisor after I got sick of waiting, and him telling me that "well, I couldn't smell anything". I told him I was going home. And I did.

You know what I like? Sitting being paid for that half hour in the smoko room. Oh, and entertaining the thought that the thorndon new world will explode. My favourite co-worker wasn't at work so I didn't really care what the hell happens to the place.
Since the smell went away when I turned off the machines I don't think it was actually gas, but one or two of the machines do use "wear goddam gloves when using this" chemicals, so, unfortunately, I don't think the place will actually explode.
Do you think that burning down your place of employment is the most common of employee dreams? I think there's a little arsonst in all of us.

In other news, I went and saw "I am Legend" at the movie theatre. It scared the poop out of me. I also saw the trailer for the new batman movie. That was good looking indeed.

Is it wrong that cliking my knuckles while half cut almost gives me an orgasm?

2008-01-07T01:07:00.000+13:00

Yes. For the love of god, I hear you cry, yes it is.
So yes, tonight is another night of being suedo-drunk and reading web comics late into the night. I forget why I decided that after, what is it, four months now, it might be a good idea for me to start doing some blogging again, but hey, some of you asked for it. Now here it is. And just like the fairy tales of yore the thing that people think they actually want ends up biting them in the arse. And it ins'nt a normal bite, either. It's a "we've just crossed this bull-mastif with a shark so not only does it exert 20kg of pressure, but it also has three rows of teeth to do so with, some of which will remain lodged in your arse until surgeons come along and remove them with scalpels and, for some reason, a complete lack of anesthetic" kind of bite.
Click, click, click, ahh. It's better than sneezing.
So yes. My life. Most of the persons who read this actually already know about it, because working in a laundry for the daylight hours means that there is suddenly a lot of spare time in conversations to fill, but since part of the reason for this page, apart from making you allsquirm in anguish over my overly graphic descipctions of pain, is so that I have some record of my life that can be used to remind me of how things used to be after the booze-fuelled brain worms of ytinasni devour what little brain cells I have left. I am glad that I had the foresight to create myself a psudenom before I become a teacher, for I beleive that having my students find out about my drunken life might make them a little harder to control in the classroom. For some reason, even though many of new zealands youth cannot in fact put together a coherant sentence half the time, this does not stop them from dropping thinly veiled, and not so thinly veiled, hints about informant that they know, and they want you to know that they know, that you would rather all the other students in the class do not know. Like the fact that while teaching you were living with your parents. Anway...
My life at the moment:
Soon I shall be moving from my residence of the last year, into a flat with Calvin Shine, Hobbs and... the other guy whoose psudenom I have forgotten. Plays a mean elccletric guitar. It shall be a grand time, filled with fully clothed manifestations of testoserone practicing handstands and the art of week long binges. When I do get my teaching degree and teaching job halfway through this year, my salary will be able to accomidate a modest lifestyle of such activities and, hopefully, small things that will make my life more enjoyable, like furniture and a blender for magiritas and morning after vodka-with-fresh-fruit-drinks. Life, I beleive, will be good. Also, the absence of a certain petty as fuck flatmate with whom I have finally lost patience will also be a plus. She's a good girl, but as one of my friends remarked, in the case of flatting, we are like chalk and cheese. I prefer the anology that we are more like horisima and a certain weapon of mass destruction. Or is it wrong to compare the deaths of many and mutations of subsequent generations to my living situations? Ask my conscience. It was last seen in Hawaii.
I had a christmas with my family. That was nice. I received many books, and some bottles of grog, which shows that people know me, and a fair amount of chocolate, which shows that they do not. But you know christmas. Its the thought that counts. And apparently it is a social fo-pah to say: hey, thanks for the thought but did you know that chocolate is often too sweet for my tastes and makes me pee like a boozed fire engine. Then again, my gifts to people were really quite sub par, so I cannot complain. My new years resolution, apart from the one to stop drinking (I haven't been sober since christmas) is to save money when I start getting $700 a week and usesome of that money to get people I actually care about some nice, costly and thoughtful presents. I am of the opinion that the thoughtfulness might be harder to come by than the money, which, as my good friend pointed out to me, I have a good deal of trouble holding onto anyway.
Anyway anyway...
There is a girl at work I like. No one knows this, becase I haven't told anyone. Her name is Shanshan, but I have never greeted her by name, because I don'tknow if I would pronounce it correctly. But most of my day is spent looking forward to when she finishes work, half an hour before I do, and she gives me a radiant smile and I find my face contorting into that same unusual sape and we both kind of stammer out our hopes that each other have a good night and our wish to see each other the next night. It's not much of a conversation, I agree, and you would have thought that after years of life slowly but repeatedly hammering my soul into the calloused thing that it now is would possibly give me more conversational finess in such situations, but it doesn't. Although I tend to take my stammering embarassment as a sign of love at first sight, or something near it anyway. The same thing occurred when I met Satomi for the first time.
Gosh darn and emotions. These aren't even emotions based on anything, but they are the best i've had since my crush on the goth-y boarders coffee girl with pig tails, who seems to have dissapeared.
Is that all? Well, it is probably all you can be bothered reading at the moment. This has been a rather long post, and not all of it filled with side splitting hilarity. So I guess I should probably make it up to you with this famous joke:
Poo.

More next time. I promise it wont be as long comming as it has been previously.

Long time, time for thought!

2007-10-30T13:03:00.000+13:00

Three blogs in three months. Wow. THats productive.
BUT WHAT HAS BEEN PRODUCTIVE! TO SEE A COMPLETE LIST OF THINGS I HAVE BEEN DOING, SCROLL THIS PAGE IN A DOWNWARDS DIRECTION!
-Boozing
-Karioke
-Eating raw fish
-Roller Blading
-Eating cooked fish
-Winning almost all the money at poker
-SUMMER ALE!
And thats about it. But it is importaint to not that yes, summer ale is back on the market again. Why is this importaint to note? Because it means that I offically have mo money, and any money that I do procure from various sources shall be immedately spent on that light substance that fills your mouth with the spice of many bees, deposits a warm liquidy tase of golden days witin your spleen and, if you have been drinking in the sun, inserts the compulsion to sit upon the roof tops.
As we all know, I am not a fan of sunshine. I dispise summer and it's underfed, moody child that is spring, I laugh in the face of sunshine (preferably from behind a heavy curtain) and new born animals smell funny. No. No I do not love the smell of puppies. The smell of a poorly formed gastric system.
But summer ale... oh how you delight me, how you make my taste buds flutter in delight! The creamy taste of your drunken emphoria is enough to draw me out of my dark enclosed spaces to squint painfully in the afternoon sun.
So raise your glases, filled with summer ale, and give them to me. I shall be outside more often this summer, me thinks.

In other news, shock events cause scandal within my immediate surroundings! More on that when Highlyflannable returns!

Why do I smell funny?

2007-09-29T12:38:00.000+12:00

Becuase I stayed out for a substansial portion of last night drinking. Must shower.
Anyway. Long time since last post, ectera, no not dead, ectera, life much the same, etceterara... back in wellington from teaching placement, that seemed to go well, no trouble, good reports, kids are still disrespectful, good to see that the traditions of schooling have been passed down from Father/Mother/State appointed caregiver to Son/Daugher/Motherless Barstard. Weee.
What will I do tonight? I don't know. Let us find out by spinning the wheel of fortune!
Chunkachunkaghunkachunkachunkachunkachunkachunkchunkchunkchuuuuuuuuunnnnnnkka!
NOTHING!

Teaching Experances, Vol.1

2007-08-20T15:59:00.000+12:00

I am back in the Hawkes Bay, back at my old college, which I probably cannot name due to copywirght issues, and I have just spent my first day teaching. Well, observing how to teach. And telling students to settle down. But honestly, it has not been half as weird as I thought it would be. It has been kind of like stepping back into a pair of old shoes. Stinky, full of holes, but comfortably moulded to your feet. It's also pretty amazing the level of respect you obtain just by wearing the tie and "teacher" label. I would like to think it is my presence within a classroom that creates a respectful awe in the students, but I am thinking that it is more likely that they are figuring out who I am. Noone really knows what this "Student Teacher" creature really is, and it is far too early days for me to count my chickens yet. I haven't even seen any eggs. It's all guestimation.
Anyways. I sit in on three drama classes and two english classes. In fact, tomorrow I am doing my first actual "Teaching" thing. I am starting off a lesson for a year 12 english class, period four.
Fun times indeed. When will I know that I have actually become a "teacher"? When I stop using the quotation marks will definately be an indication.

If Julius Cesar were a teacher:
"I came, I glared, I kept the entire class in through interval."

Where do Tuesdays come from, Daddy?

2007-08-14T17:09:00.000+12:00

What purpose does Tuesday serve? All it does is seperate the space between the Monday, typically a bad day, and a Wednesday, also a typically bad day for many people. It is breathing space, a small void which, in my opinion, could be better served by being an extra friday (and extra saturday would be too much to hope for). Go on, ask sopmeone what their favorite/ least favorite day of the week is. I bet the awnswer to either will not be "tuesday". If it is, throw fruit at them and call them rude names. You can download both these things, in throwable form, from the amazing internets.

To recap, Tuesday is the bastard son of all times that you just feel too lazy to sex yourself or others. Remember, everytime you complain of a "headache", another tuesday is born.

So really, the moral of the story is, the more you get your bone on, the faster the week goes.

Shin Nibblers

2007-08-13T21:15:00.000+12:00

Oh, what time has passeth since I last bessed my flock with apparent wit! What things have happened! What miraculous events and spectactularities!
So many wonderful things have occured! My dancing sandals flap with amusement!
"Have there really been many miraculous ecteras occuring in your life since your last post oh sage Flan?"
...
...
...No.

Well, yes, there has been somethings happen. But I'm not going to say anything about them at the moment. Because I don't wan't to. But to take your mind off things, look around you. Look around you. Just look around you. Have you spotted what we're looking for?
Thats right, the correct awnser is BOREDOM.
BOREDOME, chemical symbol B3m, has manifested itself in the form of me renovating this little page. New photo (Sexy, yes?), new words at the tops and bottom of things, same old disgusting green colour. Because I like you to suffer, and crap green is the best way to do so.

Anyway. Most of the reason that I have been too busy to do stuff here is that I have been training to be a teacher. In fact, soon I shall be going upon my first Teaching Experiance, where I have to teach small people of little maturity the England. Extra In Fact, I shall be doing so at my old college. I hated that place. The only reason I am going back there for four weeks of what I expect to be tourturous tourture is that I can get free board and I know my way around. More about all this jazz later.

The apple does not fall far from the trees my friends, unless that apple tree is growing on a cliff and drops small rocket propelled fruit into the void on windy windy days.

SUPER DONE!

2007-07-03T12:07:00.000+12:00

Looking on the intranet, I find that I have pased my last two courses, with and A- and a B.
I am now finished my BA.
I am "Flan Hyperbole, BA"!
Or possibly "BAFlan"
...
This kinda works better with my real name. Anyway, a giant Huzzah and Waley Waley Waley to me!

Seaweed

2007-07-02T20:49:00.000+12:00

Oh, the upstairs brain jello is percolating nicely. I keep on seeing people out the corners of my eyes, but really it is just junk. Actual junk or brain junk? I don't know. In these kind of situations I don't really think it makes much of a difference.
Speaking of people, I am now back in Wellington. I went home of r a couple of days to see the parents and eat food and do a bit of detox. I entered a story in a short story competition. I won't find out about that for four months.
Speaking of people, why won't people contact me? One person in particular. Of couse, this thinly veiled attempt for meaningful human contact will probably be seen through instantly by said person, provided she still looks in on this page every now and then. The question is whether this is a badly coded shout out or simply just a cathartic purging of what is bothering me. It might be both.

It's hard to see through the shadows in the jello.

And if THAT isn't simutaneously the strangest and most emo comment you've heard today then, well... I want to read that comment.

With the passion of a dying sun. Whatever that means.

All alone again...

2007-06-25T15:08:00.000+12:00

My flatmate has just goneback to the ole hometown for a while, therefore leaving me COMPLETELY ALONE for a few days. What will happen to me without anyone keeping my mind off my horrible lonelyness? Want to place bets?
One buck will get you three on the bet of me turning to Satan dark lord and master in an attempt to populate my house. With the souls of the undead. But at least they will keep me company.
One will get you eight in the bet that I go stir crazy a do absolutely everything I can do, such as read all the books on next years reading list, whitewash the walls and fix the leaky tap which keeps me awake at night.
One will get you twenty eight if you be that I will remain completely sane, or even become more sane.
Same odds for me obtaining spiritual enlightenment.
If, however, you decide to bet that I shall become a drunken wreck while watching scrubs in my dressing gown and not showering, well, you will have to pay me for ever dollar you bet. becuase, come on, betting means you have to risk something. Otherwise it just isn't fun.

Now I am going to go to the supermarket, to hopefully stave off the odds of me starving to death, but unfortunately raising the odds of me burning the house down or asphixiating myself through gas stove cooking mishaps.

Another day

2007-06-22T01:52:00.001+12:00

Another whiny post about how little I do, or at least the fact that all the things I do seem to be remarkably similar to all the things that I have done before with very little...muh. Word that means change, but more eloquent.
Man, I wish I'd never seen Groundhog Day. Sometimes that movie seems like my life, but I AM GETTING OLDER!
Ok, more positive stuff. Gotta re-write some stories for the competition which has its deadline at the end of the month. Good fun. Got helpful feedback from my co-partner in this endevour. She had actually sat down and done close readings of my stories.
Close readings.
My stories.
This is pretty much like a dreamy thing come true. If someone likes your crap enough to read it that thoroughly, well, it's like random people walking up to you and saying "Damn, I wish I was as hot as you."
And since the latter probably wont happen to me, I better just get writing, huh?

Yup. Huh. Huh. Yup.

ANd now it is done!

2007-06-20T00:56:00.000+12:00

Thats right! The forth sign of the apocalypse! Flan has a degree!
...
It's alright, I swear I won't use my new powers for evil.
You can come out from under the bed now.
Well, seriously, I won't know whether I have obtained my degree or not for about a month, but I felt pretty good comming out of my exams, and my internal marks were pretty damn good also. I really font think there is anything to fear this time round. Also, I have to pass this time round, otherwise my parents will kill me and then my grandparents will dig me up and use me as a scarecrow. Oh,you think Im joking? My grandmother can be pretty damn scary.
Sometimes it keeps me up at night... all that white poopie...
Anyway, in other news, some of my friends are graduating tommorow, and my cuzzie is having a celebration for finally tunring 21 on saturday in which me and the band shall be performing. Good times. Good times indeed.

Untill then, I am going to read web comics.

Almost done part2.

2007-06-18T21:51:00.000+12:00

Well, it has been along time since I last posted, and I would like to say it was because I was studying dilligently. And I will say it. I have been studying diligently. And now I have just proven myself to be such a fucken liar. Clinton wasn't this much of a liar. I might as well get up on a podium and annouce that "I did not have sexual relations with that bottle of wine and her 12 sexy alcohol cousins." But it was all oral, nothing carnal. Oh, I am going to hell.
Oh, a Clinton joke! soooo who knows how long ago. Well, yes, I don't keep up with current events. At all. So old things that absolutely everyone knows about will have to be my comedic staple.
Anyway, in current Flan events, tommorow is me final exam, hopefully for ever. Instead of studying, I drank the last of the beer hanging around my room and have been reading a webcomic called "Questionable Content." Apparently, hanging around a coffee cafe will get you women. I should hange around cafe's more often... hang on, I fucken work in a cafe! I should be covered in hootch by now! Instead I am a burned out shell of a man who wears his jeans to bed because the effort of putting them on in the morning seems futile and I am afraid I will wake up too angsty to pull on pants one morning and end up in prison for indecent exposure. And prison is one place you don't want to be without pants.

Ah, I forget how fun this is. Anyway, tomorow, in celebration of my rapidly approching barmitsfa into the world of adulthood, I shall be at B4 from 5pm onwards. Assemble, minions! I shall be drunk and in the need for pool playing!

Almost done...

2007-06-03T15:38:00.000+12:00

Time, oh, it's running out, soon I shall be out and about, in the big wide scary world, I shall be teaching both young and old, but first there's exams, and a millon other plans, that fist I must execute, before I start a major commute, first to karori's teaching school, then to places in New Zealand's rural, or perhaps to major cities, It's so scary sometimes I think of quitting. The workloads immence, after I commence, and soon you might not see me, as often as you'd like it to be. But before then you should take this chance, to ring me up and have a rant, for when July 13th rolls around, I shall simply have to go to ground.

Its exciting and scary in equal mesure, along this path I hope to find pleasure.

New Guitar!

2007-05-30T11:28:00.000+12:00

I have a new guitar! It be beautiful, it be sound beautiful. It be really really good. My dumb ass flatmate said something nasty about it, but I don't care. I have the semi-accustic guitar that I have allways wanted, I bought it a new bag, and it be the feel good.
Words cannot actually describe what it feels like when you get a new guitar. It's kinda like a blind date. At the start you can't get your hopes up cause you don't know if you are going to be paired up with a un-immaginatve strict schoolteacher or a smoking hot biddy with your sense of humor, but when you are staggering home supporting each other because of too many appletini's and you look into her eyes and just know she's going to ask you in for coffee, well... that kinda comes halfway to the feeling that you get when you have run home from the music shop, put your fingers on the fretboard and her the notes ring clear from under your flying fingers. It's good. Really good.

And now fate has tragically torn us apart for hours, while I have to work. Damn you social commitments!

#263: 2nd Birthday of Highlyflannable!

2007-05-27T13:19:00.001+12:00

Today is the sencond annerversary of that fatefull night when I decided I was simply too bored to not create my own blog. Nothing was on tv, I was in waipuk and somehow my mind decided on this ultimately tragic form of entertainment! Weee! Looking back on my life I have found that... well, not alot has happened. I could do a top ten list of things that were good, thinks that were bad and things that were drunk, but as I was looking over the events of the last few years I noticed that I would be severly lacking in some events to fit in the good catagory, and that many other events would be included in all three catagories. Really, life is a mixed bag of emotions and activities and trying to pigenhole anyone, including yourself, is bound to be an exercise in futility.
So, instead, lets look to the future... together!
Pretty soon I am going to be going to teachers college. This is going to mean a huge change in the way I do things. For a start, the course will run pretty much from 8.30am to 5.30pm EVERY WEEKDAY. So, no more working at vickies. No more days off. I shall have to find a job that will let me sacrifice my weekends for money, and after five weeks of classes I shall be shipped off to somewhere in new zealand for teaching experiance in some school somewhere. Then I come back for five weeks, then away for five weeks, back for five weeks, away for five weeks. Then, and only then, will I be able to join the exciting and actually quite frigtening world of teaching secondary students about the wonderful and grotesque world of Shakesphere and other notables. But that wont be until after this time next year, so I can safely not worry so much about that. But I do have to worry about not being such a drunkard. Mostly because teachers cannot be such booze hags, but also it occurrs to me that perhaps it is not "my life is empty theirfore I should drink" but more "my life is empty because I drink". It is difficult to do stuff when you are hungover 24/7. Besides, have you woken up sober reciently? It's not a bad feeling. Not at all. It may be harder to get to sleep when you are sober but it is a damn sight easier to get the hell up.
As far as writing goes, I reciently received a positive peice of feedback from the last short-story competition I entered. Very positive, in fact. I didn't win, but most of this stuff you simply have to chalk up to experiance. Today I plan to write some more, after this blog, in preperation for another few competions that are comming up. If I could get myself published within the next year I would be completely over the moon, past mars and into those uncharted reaches of space, racing the hubble telescope into galaxies unknown.
Musically, at the moment I have $149 dollars left to pay on a nice new semi-accustic guitar. If I am able to get the money my parents pledged shortly, I shal be able to pick up "Dusk" on wednesday. This is another strategy I am employing in my fight against the bottle: If I spend money on stuff I need, such as clothes and books and what have you, I can't get so drunk due to lack of funds. And, of course, I will have a lot of sweet stuff.
My bedroom is tidy. I am washing my sheets. Yes, I am actually trying to de-stink my bed rather than just complaining and festering within it. Don't I feel like a proper human being? All this activity and trying not to smell bad. Yes indeedy, I certainly seem to be trying, don't I?
On the negative side, on friday I got exceedingly drunk at my friends going away party and made lots of noise when I stumbled home. I also mangaged to make myself some food, of which I only comsumed half of, and had to wake up and clean. Ewww. But I am trying, I swear to whatever invalid deity you care to name.
I keep on stealing pens from work. There is a fly in my room. I am sorry if anyone was expecting any glorious insights into life as we know it in this blog, but I am afraid to say it is more likely that I shal simply harp on about my pathalogical aversion to things that fly and other unimportaint topics. I sometimes think that after these two years, or even more, I have not learnt a single thing. Except for a lot about english. Which is pretty damn inportaint. More importaint than your silly "science" or "law". At least English can admit when it is a fiction, rather that hiding assumptions behind a mask of fact. I have never actually seen an atom or a subpoena. Have you? Huh? I thought not.
Well, a load of rubbish here so far. But I am moving towards my eventual goal of being a teacher/lecture person/writer extrodinare/person who lives in a house which he owns and has three day weekends. It's nice to have goals in life. And all that traveling I want to do. Good stuff there.

But right now I am going to get out my electrified tennis racquet and kill this damn fly. I hope everyone in the world is able to also conquer their annoying flying insect too, weather physical or metaphorical.

Now that is a wish for the future.

Many things have happened

2007-05-20T15:19:00.000+12:00

Days Sober - Who Cares?

Yes indeed. Since Thursday, I competed in Battle of the Bands. We got through to the next round, but my guitar was fucked, so I had to ask around on friday morning to borrow someone elses. Managed to find a guitar. Boss shouted a couple of drinks after work on friday. Went to battle of bands and played very well, but unfortunately didn't win. Went round to friends flat afterwards with six bottles of wine and some groupies. Drank wine. On way home, got a vegeterian kebab. As I was eating my kebab, Calvin, who was also walking home, got punched in the face because he wouldn't give someone a dollar. I got home and said rude things to my flatmate about her clogged up nose (she has a cold.) I woke up in the morning to a text message from my Gradparents announcing that they were comming to wellington and frenzedly cleaned my room in an effort to hide or discard all incriminating contraband. Then went out to a restruant for my great-uncles 65th birthday. Grandparents shocked at my ability to drink five glasses of wine. I beleive I may have laughed. Had sushi for lunch today and farewelled my Grandparents, and then wrote an essay.

I have done so much this weekend that I am having difficulty feeling anything about the particular events. All has just been a blurr of movement.

I feel nothing.

Do I have any other news? No, I think not. I news nothing. This comming week I have two assignments to hand in, one completed one not started, and an appointment in Karori for teaching stuff. Busy busy busy.

And I need to fix/buy guitar.

My skull is leaking!

2007-05-17T09:47:00.000+12:00

Days Sober: 1

Gah! Today I have to work at premise, the staff club on campus. I hate working at premise. It is hot and muggy and I don't know where anything is. It reall sucks. And they use stupid coffee that tastes like crap.

In other news, tonight is the first round of the Battle of the Bands, at Tussok bar at massey. So don't be surprised if my sobriety counter has reset itself tomorow.

Now, I must work. Sigh verilly.

Liquefy

2007-05-16T08:09:00.000+12:00

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Days Sober - 0

So, who hads bets that I'd crack after two days? Oh well, just gotta start over I suppose. WOO!

Had something to say. Cannae remeber what it was. Going to buy myself some jeans this morning. FOR REAL this time. Mostly because yesterday I spilt warm milk all over the buggers. And I gotta go buy new guitar strings. And some curry or something.

My friend Calvin had the opening of his exhibition last night. It was pretty good. He sold an art work, life is good. I had to celebrate. Thats my excuse. Whats yours, huh? You don't have one! Put your judging fingers away people!

I have lots of things I need to do. Everyone should come and see me and other people at massey bar this thursday and or friday for we be playing in the battle of the bands. Then this weekend I really, really have to get some work done. Otherwise halfway through next week I will have essays comming out my yahoo.

Which is a fictional humaniod character from "Guliver's Travels" writen by one Jonothan Switft. I have a modle of one in my room. And that is where the essays will be comming out of. The yahoo modle in my room.

No boozing

2007-05-15T11:38:00.000+12:00

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Time sober, 2 days.

Well, one of those days doesn't really count, becuase I was HUNGOVER LIKE AN OX. But yes, I, Flan, perpetual drunkard extrodinare, am planning to go for a whole 30 days without alcohol. There is only one exemption to this clase, and that is while I am performing in my band I am allowed one (1) handle of beer. All other times the vine, yeast and potato water water shall not pass my lips.

Oh yes, I hear some of you say, we have heard this one before! The flannanator cannot but help himself in the presense of alcohol, wether it be free or retailing at $8 a bottle from the local convinience store! And yes, I do admit, there is a hig chance that I shall fail in this endevour. But I am going to try. A thought occured to me on sunday night, and that thought was that perhaps the reason that I feel really bad a lot of the time and connot sleep to well and often look like pure shite is not because of a vengful god, but perhaps because of the incredible amounts of toxin I put inside me each night. I know, crazy, but it might be the cause. So I am going to try this "bandwaggon" for a month, and if I don't feel any better after that then, well, I am going to be a drunkard until I die.

If you wish to sponser Flan in his endevours for a more healthy lifestyle, you may pledge money that I will collect after my month long sobriety-binge. I promise that money wont be spent on booze.

Probably.

In other news, I had banana, muslie and apple for breakfast this morning, with a coffee. Healthy breakfasts may be cool, but now I need to poo before going to work.

Catch you later, carnivioururs amphibious lizards.

Weekend

2007-05-12T14:28:00.000+12:00

It feels like a long time since I have had a weekend. Like a proper weekend, with things like sleep and leasure time and just enough motivation to do some needed things so that when you turn up at work on monday you feel a nice little bit of self satisfaction from the knowledge that you have, in some small way, made your life a better place for yourself.
Of course work soon burns that feeling away but it is still nice to bave it, even if just for a small while.
So what am I doing with my weekend? I am reading. I might watch some Scrubs, I might have a few cans of beer. But what I WILL be doing is reading "Prelude" by Wordsworth, "Songs of Innocence and of Experiance" by Blake, "To a Gentleman" By Coleridge, and something or other that will help me with my essay by Byron.
Byron is actually a damn funny poet. Pitty he has such a fucken stupid name.
In making these grand gestures of will and intent, however, I also know that sometime later on today Calvin will ring and we will play pool. And after pool, who's to say that there might not be a party close by which needs our attention? Or a bar? Or a gutter? Unfortunately I know how likely this is.
But I can resist. I am resistance king. Except temptation. Temptation is pretty hard to resist. And booze. Yeah that too. And just sitting around. In fact, you know what sounds pretty tempting right now?

Doing something.

Oh Jesus Christ, Part Two.

2007-05-10T10:50:00.000+12:00

Ah, would you hark at the drunk man. Boy, that is one incomprehensiable blog, the result of a comment made by a friend while I was drunk at Wendys 21st dinner. I had a really good time at that dinner, and probably a bit too much to drink (but hey, this is me we are talking about) and had put it to the back of my mind... unfortunately, the comment was still at the back of my mind when I got home at about 1am, where upon it exploded into the wide world of the internet as incoherant drool.

I like the internet. Sometimes its just like a really big sponge for all that mess you don't need any more.

Well, anyway, now I have stuff to do. Meet with my agent person regarding a short story competition (I haven't heard from the previous one yet. When did I enter that? two months ago?) and do some work on some essay and go to work. Businiess as usual.

Oh jesus christ...

2007-05-09T01:57:00.000+12:00

...blah blahbalh, maon, bitch, whine, rubarb, rubarb, rubarb.

I was going to give you the extended version of this post, but unfortunatly, my computer died halfway through it. So this is the condensed version.

I don't care what anyone says. These are my feelings. This blog is my feelings. Yes, they are edited, either by the booze that I have consumed or by the feelings of the people who I know read this blog, but these are my feeelings! If you find them stagnat or unreal, deal with it. My life is basically filled with booze and essays. Well done if you find more meaning to my life than I do. Well done indeed. You are obviously the kind of person who willshift throgh a ton of muck to find a penny.

Oh Jesus Christ indeed. Save me fromthe critics and editors of this world. You cannot seem to save me from anything else. And beleive me,when I get down to Hell, I am going to make a pact with Satan (because even he seems to see my soul as a useless comodity as it is now) to work with him until I can find a way to kick God in the balls. Hindsight or no, drunkeness or no, I emplore my readers to realise this: yes, sometimes I do not rememberwhat is importaint. Yes, sometimes I omit what is improtaint because it could be harmful to those other people I know. Yes, sometimes I omit things that I think or feel or do because itcould be halmful to myself to remember. Sometimes language, as much as I hate to admit it, is simply not enough to convey the true emotion that ripples beneath everyones everyday mask of acceptability.

This blog is not reallly her to immortalise my every move. It is a amalgamation of what I am, what I feel, what I say, what I do, what I think, what I cannot think, what I write between lectures, what I think between moments, whatI cannat envision without an atlas to "lifeas WE know it".

No one knows what life as WE know it truky is.

So please forgive me if sometimes this blog seems like a rushed narraitive, but it may surprise you to realise that I think in narraive. I am consantly re-editing the sentences I spoke a minute age, I am constantly framing my own experiances within that framework of the human mind that demands a cohesive plot. Unfortunately, Life dosen't work that way.

We are all spirals, and I am sorry if you do not inderstand what it means to feel the tug Of that "other space'

This other space is my own .Accesable, and the MACHINES cannot function.

oH DEAR GID,i AM POSSIBLY too drunk to be typing.

Obviously.

But I live on, and hopeflully, friends will accept my appologies for what has happened and my life will return as normal.

A future where the human body a gave a flame...

Ps: Imogen and Clarisse, I will be comming to pay you a visit unnnpanned or a lightsfalure.

peace out.

Alright this is ridiculous.

2007-05-08T08:14:00.000+12:00

Gotta write something here. Been too long. Unfortunately, I am in a rush. Have to run up t ouni soon to orint off an essay I wrote last night (Its not due in for 13 days! This is the most organised I have ever been, ever. EVER.). Have been drunk lots, have to write two short stories tonight, have to sleep, have to hve my beard trimmed... gotta do some crap.

GAHHH! I STILL LIVE!!
I shall put more pertenent and interesting things in this space when I have a small amount more time.

Time, its on my side. Just now, however, it's taking the day off.

Say No To Toast!

2007-04-28T20:37:00.000+12:00

We have been in the "Post-Modern" era too long!! Come on people, it is time to throw off the shackles of an undefinable movement for too long. I mean, come on! How can we be respected as poets/writers/musicians/artists/dancers/actors or even people if, when the history books come to name us, can only describe the period that we were creating within as "the period that happened after the modern period, kinda like avant guard but with less direction." Less direction than the Avant Guard? That particular movement thought that turning a urinal upsidedown and calling it a fountain was a work of art. Certainly, with all our brains and creativity, we can come up with something with more substance.
And so, myself and my friend Calvin have. The new movement shall be called "Say No To Toast" or "No Toast" for short. Basically it is based on and overblown breakfast metaphor. But it has direction. Observe:
-There are basically three types of people in the world, Dough, Bread and Toast. People with no inclination to strive or goals that they are reaching towards are dough. People who work are Toast, either being Toastees if they are employed or Toasters if they are employers or bosses. Toasters are all part of the giant mechanism, "The Toaster", which chars everything that comesinto contact with it. Bread are the people who have their own goals and heated by their ambitions they rise towards them, free from "The Toaster" in mind or body. The world in which we live is "The Plate". We all start off on "The Plate" as Dough, but it our choses in life that will determine what we become, or if we change at all.
-What people leave behind them, what they give to other people, are crumbs. Of course, dough being the sticky substance that it is, leaves no crumbs. Bread leaves little crumbs but what it does leave is useful, a substance that is able to be used in other types of cooking, for crumbing chicken and the like. Toast leaves many many crumbs, but these are burnt and corse things unuseful to all and are, after a small amount of time, need to be washed from the plate. Unfortunately, in this process, most of the bread crumbs are also washed away.
-Being bread, toast or dough is not just a fact of life status, but also a state of mind. It all depends on how much you think on things, bread being the optimum state to both be useful and still retain its adaptability. The main point of the movement being that people need to think but not become set in their ways, not to submit to "The Toaster" which burns and makes a person fixed, unmoving and unchanging.
Of course, this is not all there is to "No Toast". There are subclasses such as "Breadwinners": Toastees that mistakenly beleive that their own goals and that of "The Toasters" are the same, which may seem innocent but too much time inside the machinery of the toaster turns them into burnt out crusts, or "Vogels": those that were born to be Toast, and their aptitude for being able to think things through in minute detail lets them turn the machinery of "The Toaster" to both their ond everyone elses benifit. There are also loaves, which only like minded Bread can form. Inanimate objects, historical events or present happenings can also be refered to as "Toast", but here the meaning is slightly different:
-To call something "Toast" in the negative sense is to say that it is normal, unchanging, stagnant, of no use, but,
-To call something "Toast" in the positive means that it is something unexpected and amazing, while having the appearance of the above but, against all expectations, the Crumbs of the object/event have managed to form into something that is useful, interesting, changable and full of worth. It is like a person who has never played chess before winning against someone much more experiance: all their mistakes have come together to create an unbeatable strategy. Of course, the person who they were playing was probably halfway Toast if they couldn't adapt to meet a new chalange, but the event of this occuring would be "Toast" in the positive sense in any case. Occurances of positive toast make us refelct on what it really means to be bread.
Of course, people themselves cannot be toast in the positive, only their actions.

And that is the start of the Say No To Toast movement. Pretty spiffy huh? No doubt things will change or expand, but its a start. And you should start as well. Say No to Toast today.

Before the stuff happens:

2007-04-24T19:07:00.000+12:00

Just a quick blog before I have the band practice that is tommorow night at the bodega that happens with glee. I have been enjoying waving my hands in the faces of friends and co-workers and complete strangers and shouting "WEDNESDAY!" to remind people. Of course, many people didn't know what I was reminding them of. But im a busy person, and if they don't know then Im not going to tell them.
Childish, yes, but it works for me.
Anyway, it has been nine (9) days since I last posted and if people aren't thinking that I am dead then you should be. Not that I was. But the last half week was pretty much a no-go for me. I had things to do, people to see, exhibitions to attend, parties to dance naked at.... and what I actually accomplished was a whole lot of fuck all. Just stayed in bed mostly. Not alot indeed.
But on the bright side, I got an "A" for an assignment, a grade that I contested because I thought that it was too high but apparently I am actually good at essays. My horn that I have been blowing has not been blown with hot air. This is good. This next essay I am actually going to try, get a draft done and have someone proof it and then re-write it. Yes I know, these are familiar words to some of you, but I finish my BA at the end of this trimester and I'll be damned if I am going to go to teachers college without the warm glow of satisfaction that I beleive an A+ will bring.
Also, work and school has started up again which forces me to do things. Perhaps not the things that I have to do, but things none the less. I have tidied part of my room, done some washing and almost finished a couple of short stories. Not too bad me thinks. And tommorow night shall, with our ten song set, hopefully lift me to new highs of grand feeling-ness and leave me motvated and eager to do everything I possibly can, at least after the hangover goes away.
Man, is all I do moan and whine? Perhaps. But Lymph means "pure water". Put that in an essay. People love big words.

Also, I knicked three paninis from work today! Go tomorows lunch! I am sure my George Forman grill will help me knock out that excess fat. I whish I'd George Forman'd that pie I had for breakky/lunch/dinner (Just the one for all three, thank you) because man it tasted like poo. But what is it about those pastry wrapped, easilly held, warm parcels of meat that tempt us every time? Who knows. Who knows. Do you know? I thought knot.

There goes the text message for my ride. See you tomorow night.

Wouldn't ya know...

2007-04-15T12:13:00.000+12:00

Immediately, and I mean immediately, immediately after I posted my previous post on how noone exists, the phone rang. It was Calvin. Then my flatmate came home. Then Charlie rang. It just goes to show you: weather it be karma or god or a giant hamster, someone upstairs really enjoys messing with me.
Anyhoo, so I went to the party that I had mixed emotions about. It wasn't too bad. It had a theme. That theme was "Flat Idol". Yes, everyone had to get up on stage and do a little performance. The winners got a pech snapps and lemon shot and the losers got losers punch, the components of which are a mystery to everyone who spends more than $5 on alcoholic substances. I wowed the audience with a solo performance of "Apple Tree" and advoided the punch, and the shot was quite good. At bout 12.30, after one and a half bottles of wine, three snapps shots and a glass of vodka with diet lemonade, I walked home and made myself some toast.
And thats about my night. Toast.
It was alright. Nothing splendific happened. Nothing awful happened. I just did what I usually do- try to drink away the social uncomfortableness and, when I run out of alcohol, stumble home. Good times.
Well, today myself and Calvin are going to meet for some chicken curry, play some pool and then retire for a night of drunk and music. So I shall catch you all, my lovely captive audience, on the flipside.

Flan out.

Eureka!

2007-04-14T15:55:00.000+12:00

...I somehow think I might have used that as a title for a blog before. Anyway...
I have come to the conclusion that noone else exists on this lump of rock we all inhabited until sometime late last night. I have been trying to ring people to organise things to do, but there is no one at the other end of my telecomunications devices. I was supposed to be going to a party at Charlies house, an event that I have mixed emotions about, but it doesn't seem too likely now. Why? Well, I left a message on that wonderful invention the automated answering machine, and received not one but two phone calls when, as soo as I picked up te phone, the person on the other end meerly expelled air at me or hung up. So when, after waiting a few hours, I decided to ring her land line, all I got was the suspicious sound of someone taking the phone off the hook. Strange hey? So then I rang Clarisse, but alas, no one home, and my friend Calvin, ditto. I want to go have a beer and play some pool but you feel really really lonely when you do that.
Yes, I know, blogging twice in the same day kinda elicits the same response.
Hmmm... look at all those psudenoms that start with the letter 'C'. Coincidence? I hope so.
So now I am basically going to wait for things to happen to me. For the phone to ring, for my message alert to sound, for my flatmate to come home, for the armegeddon. Whatever.

This blog is brought to you by the number 7.

Nature, and all the joy it brings.

2007-04-14T12:28:00.000+12:00

Of couse, I am not a nature person. I don't like to think about outside much less frolic in it. But it strikes me that my sanity does, and when ever I go back to waipuk *poof!* there goes my sanity off for an extended romp around the contryside with all its birds and bees and butterfly trees.
Now, back in wellington with my mind back in the, if tenous, grip of my sanity, I can clearly see, looking over the last few posts, the downward slope my mind takes when I am left to my own devices for any amount of time. And I wasn't even working.... it is unfortunate then, because of my apparent undesirability to the opposite sex, that after all this studying and so forth my chosen life path shall lead me into a single apartment somewhere wher I shall be spending most of my time writing in rooms with the blinds drawn, sipping vodka from a wine glass. It is a scary thought when you consider how much I can get unhinged in a weekto extrapolate that into the future...
Fortunately, crazy sells books. Just look around you. All the famous writers were either depressed, drunk, or doing the addictive substances fandango. And all of them were crazy. With this trend in mind, I think I am going to be an uber-author, the kind that has not been seen since the time of Dryden. Oh yeah. Flan nee Dryden. Of course, im not marring the guy, just appropriating his muse. I dont think you need a civil union for that.

Ok, so perhaps over emphasised the grip my sanity has on me. Did you know that in america there are toads the size of coconuts?

BACKING into the TOWN of TOWELS!

2007-04-13T14:01:00.000+12:00

Today I go back to wellington! I just cannot wait to start worrying about all those things that you have to worry about when you are, you are... well, I can't say I live alone, I suppose "live apart" is a better phrase. Yeah. That looks good. Has a nice feel too.
Anyway. Yes. Worrying. Bills. Assignments. Classes. Work. Women. Friends. Money. Booze. Health. Meals. Clothes. Carpet. Whose that cat is. Other women. Parties. Illegal drugs. Legal drugs. That cat is still in here. Organising... all of these are things that most of us have to worry about on a daily basis. Thats why it is nice when you go and stay with your parents for a time. Because when you are at your parents house, certain things are a given. Such as "Do I have any clean clothes to wear?" becomes "Hey, look, my clothes drawer has magically filled itself up!" A similar thing happens with your stomach box. That cat is probably your cat and is more than likely up to date on its anti-flea stuff. Everything else you dont really have to worry about if you dont go outside, and who wants to do that anyway?
As for all the things that I said I would do when I was at home and away from all these stresses I have done about half of them. And of course they arent the most importaint tasks, oh deary me no.
But on the positive side, I still have anohter week off work! And a bit of money! Which means I shall be procrastinating while engaging in drunken practices with my friends. Yes, this means YOU. Sometime this week I will be turning up at your house with a bottle of wine and no I do not care if it's a tuesday morning. For soon I shall be back at the soul-rendering, foot-disease giving lovely front-for-satan's-planned-invasion-of earth cafe and before then I am going to make sure that I dont have much of a soul left to destroy. And we all know that spirits is the only way to do that. "Lose yourself in the first, find yourself in the second." Of course, when people say that, they mean the first and second sips. I mean the first and second bottles.

Also: Come see us play! Bodega 25th. Be there or I shall never talk to you again. Seriously.

Ever wondered...

2007-04-11T00:27:00.000+12:00

...about the trend of goth girls becoming the sidekick/ love interest of the hero in cartoons aimed at teens?
....the etymology of the word "etymology"?
....why the sun goes away at night when clearly the light would be more helpful?

Is your mind bamboozled? Of course it is. Mine is. His is. Everyones is. I had something to write here at one stage today, but I have forgotten. Oh well. Tommorow I go to get my eyes checked again. I think they are getting worse, but I am not sure. Becusause I am not an optometrist. If I was, I might know.
OK, seriously, I have nothing. I suppose it is time to go read some of the illium.

Oh yes, and the awnser to question no.2 is:
[a. OF. ethimologie, mod.F. etymologie, ad. L. etymologia, a. Gr. , f. -: see ETYMOLOGE.]

Of course, the problem with many of life's awnsers is that they only raise more questions. And so the cycle of life continues, birds migrate for the seasons and somewhere far away a small lion cub is born, the only hope for a young script writer down on his luck who will do anything to make a buck. You reading this Spasm? Money lies not in your fancy art house films, but in movies about talking animals with a snappy soundtrack. Oh, how I used to cry when Scar dies...

Anyway, talking of people dying, at the moment in the Illiad Archillies is busy laying about with his heavy ash spear and since I have read 3/4 of the book for this bloodshed I had better go read about death rather than inflict it on all of you with this insane [ad. L. insn-us unsound (in mind), f. in- (IN-3) + snus healthy, sound in body or in mind, SANE.] prose.

Apparently "eccleptic" is not a word. Well, from now on, with the power vested in me by our lord jesus shakesphere I proclaim it to mean "illogical and disjointed writing [a. Flan's diseased mind], '2007 FLAN: Writing in which an active condition of insanity is passed from writer to reader through a lack of understanding on either participants part as to how one paragraph, sentence or in extreme case, word, could possibly follow logically from the other weeble weeble weeble.''"

Weeble weeble indeed.

My shoulder aches.

2007-04-10T00:06:00.000+12:00

Today I thought it would be good to grow some swan plants. You know, those plants that only monarch butterfly catterpilliars will eat. Unfortunately, Monarch Caterpiliars eat alot. ALOT. And lots of swan plants die. So what I would do is grow lots of swan plants undercover, and then when they reach maturity take the covers off for a day or two. Then I would recover them. Hopefully this would mean that only a few butterflies would lay eggs on the plants so that the caterpiliars would have enough to eat and the plants would not die and I could do the same thing every year, the releasing of the grown monarch butterflies beccoming a yearly event for me which I would enjoy with a bottle of wine made from a few of my own vines as I slowly grew old and bitter and more cynical on a small lifestyle block just south of gisbourne.
Where this thought came to me from I do not know. I breifly considered making this little segment a part of a story, but I think I can do better. And this is what this website is partially for: the dumpbox of Ideas I no longer feel need to be inside me. And a dumpbox for the occurances of my life, of course.
In other news, I am supposed to play squash with my grandmother tomorow (or today as the case may be, you picky bastard). Unfortunately, my shoulder hurts like fire and brimstone for some reason and, as I am sure you are aware, my gradmother is not an easy opponent. Some might say that I being 45 odd years younger than her would be an advantage, but in squash the more experiance you have the better.
Or I am just greviously unfit. GREVIOUSLY.

Man I like that verb. Is it a verb? I get confused between verbs and the other ones. Anyway, "Greviously" is a great word. Think about what it means.

You know you have a problem when...

2007-04-08T17:14:00.000+12:00

No, I shant tell you about the house. Except for the fact that in the new house there is exactly the same toilet as we had in the old house. As far as I know toilets usually come with the couse, so I think thats just odd...
Andyway, time to list all my crazy-makers:
- I have a phobia of marshmellows, I can eat them, but I cannot stand touching them. Which makes it rather difficult.
- Last night I found out that, even in a room full of people I know who I am comfortable around and even when the relaxitive known as alcohol is flowing smoothly, I am decidely uncomfortable in a large group of people. Even if it was a room simply filled wit clones of my best friend I would still need to go outside for a breather. This is disturbing, because along with my being uncomfortableness with large, open spaces, it now means that if I want to feel comfortable, I have to spend time alone, in a box, without marshmellows.

Why do my brain be the crazy? I like people, sometimes. I want to hang out with them in social situations, sometimes. I dont want to spend my life in a box! Please dont put me in the box, mother!

Back on the home turf

2007-04-05T22:38:00.000+12:00

Yes, I am back in waipuk. I have many things to do while I am here but, becuase waipuk is an energy pirate, I do not know how many I shall get done.
Things to do:
- Read: The Illiad, The Golden Gate, My bloody poetry anthology.
- Write: The rest of the crazy short story I mentioned some posts ago, some more of my novel that has been on the back-burner for too long.
- Play: Guitar, with the hope of wiriting some songs, and FFXII.
- Sleep: In a bed. And that one I am going to do right about...now!

More about the house/ random rambling on rubble / life nexttime on Highlyflannable: It hurts your kidneys not to read!

Quickly! I have things to do!

2007-04-04T10:59:00.000+12:00

But before you go, admire the crappy things I do when I am bored and cannot be bothered proof reading essays that have to be handed in tomorow!

And now I must fly through a shower and onwards towards my last day of work for two weeks. I am the hyper excited.

It has been said before...

2007-04-03T18:26:00.000+12:00

but it needs saying again: I am an essay God.
I got up at seven am this morning to write my stupid 2000 word essay. Two and a half hours later I was finished. Ohhh yeah. Well, I am about 200 words short and I do need to proof read it, but hezus christ almighty Essays come to me like mud. Mud filled with WORDS!
Unfortunately, now after an essay in the morning and six hours work my mind is now, yes, filled with mud. But the non word enriched mud. Just plain boring old mud. Thick mud. Mud you can lose pennies in. If we used pennies in new zealand. Perhaps mud you could lose a fifty cent peice in. The new ones, not the old ones. You seen an old fifty cent peice lately? No wonder we changed to the new monies: if you threw an old fifty cent coin hard enough Im sure it could penetrate concrete.
Seriously. They were pocket sized weapons.
Anywoo, tomorow is my last day at work for a while! Huzzah, and I shall celebrate the only way I know: with WINE! COPIOUS COPIOUS (that isn't spelt right, is it) COPIOUS I SAY bottles of WINE!

And then the day after I go home. Expect more bout that later.

One down one to go.

2007-04-02T08:13:00.000+12:00

And so starts another week. This one shall be filled to the gunnles with ESSAY! Thats right, not just with essay, but with ESSAY, the new and inproved version.
Yes.
Well, on a brighter note just before I hand in the first essay and get swallowed by the second, on this thursday I get to go home to see my parents. They have a new house. No doubt this shall be a strange experiance, so expect to hear more about that after I filter it through my mouldy brain.

Alright, time for the morning coffee. COFFEE!

Park Bench.

2007-04-01T14:49:00.000+12:00

It must be hard to be a hobo. Waking up on a park bench is not one of the most enjoyable ways to start your morning. No wonder the homeless are always swearing.
Yes, you guessed it, last night I was the drunk. THE drunk. The penultimate drunk. The god of drunks. Nay, I was so drunk that even the god of drunks looked up at me as I staggered down the lonely Palmy street with a burger in one hand, two burgers in the other hand and a beer in the other other hand and said "oh shite man, that guy is fucked up". And indeed I was.
So what was I doing in Palmeston North? Celebrating with an old school friend who had managed to turn 21. We did so with 520 cans of beer. And 21 bottles of wine. And a five litre bottle of rum. Oh yes, you can get 5 litre bottles of rum.
Ehhhh... I really dont have much to say, except that I am a smoking hot bitch on the dance floor. Not with all this hipping and hoppin, jiving and joving buisness you all do these days, but that old school stuff, with the arms. You know what I mean. I am going to get some dance lessons inside me so that I shall be immortal. On the dance floor. You better bet I look good.

Now I have to finish an assignment. Yeah, I didnt get round to it on thursday. Essays + Hangovers = F.U.N!

The "F" stands for "Fire". I'll let you think about the rest.

This is the winter of our discontent.

2007-03-29T22:08:00.000+12:00

"Oh, look at the big English Major, quoting Shakesphere! Woodeewoodeewoo! He must think he's soooo smart!"
Yeah, well, shuddup. Anyway, I am smart, as you will find when later in this post I make a reference back to the title that by that time will have muchly slipped your mind and you wont notice the connection until you re-read this post on a quiet rainy sunday. Besides, you didn't know it was Shakesphere at all. You just guessed. Ever noticed that shakesphere is quoted much like the bible? Pity ole Will isn't still around today. He would have all the money in the whole wide world and, as Gwen Stefani remarks, he would indeed be a wealthy girl.
Well. Now for something slightly more serious.
My place of employment was built by Satan himself. And Satan is a good builder. He put something in the wall, or the ceiling, that makes whoever works at little old "mount st cafe" have a mental breakdown at some point. Kinda like aspestos (yeah, no idea on the spelling of THAT one), but aspestos for the mind juices.
Take our last boss. Had a fisking heart palpatation one morning and had to go to hospital. Cause: Stress. Next boss now breaks into tears randomly perhaps once a day. Probably stress. Third boss now no longer talks past the nessicary. You would think that there would be quite alot that you would need to say when you need to run a cafe, but you would be wrong. Today my boss said two things to me, once when I arrived and once when she left. They were "Im going to quit my job" and "Make sure you lock up." Reason? Mind Aspestos.
And its contagious. Everyone at work is feeling it. People snapping at other people for little reason, or at least little reason that is other peoples fault. I am not doing so bad because Im certifiably insane and so rely less on my reson than other people. But still it is not a cool place to work at the moment.
But I still seem to be a carrier of the disease. Many of my friends seem to be having problems at the moment- people aren't sleeping, people are breaking up with eachother, being depressed, being anti social... and again, I am not too bad. It seems almost as if everyone elses problems have become to prevalent for me to be too concerned about myself at the moment. Which is alright. Gotta have someone around with a semi-consious grip on life, even if that person happens to be the aspestos-carrying, cynical and pessimistic person we all know me to be.
Of course, if the aspestos theory isn't right, and I am perfectly willing to accept that this may be the case, then I also have a counter theory.
Tis the season.
By this I do and don't mean the actual seasons. It is a proven fact that peoples mood is affected by the weather. Duh. I mean, even though I am a huge advocate for the overcast and windy days when you can feel the tempest rile your blood, I also like the rare calm, blue skied sunny day when you can feel the life soak into your bones. I just don't like them when they wont stop. I like change. I like the seasons of change, spring and autum.
But not everyone else is me. And although the change in seasons might account for some of what Im seeing around me, I actually think we are in winter. A dark cold winter where everyone has had the seasons of joy and laughter that is the end of a year and the season of hope which is the innocence a new year brings, and now many of us have hit the wall, the mirror wall, that makes us look and assess and think about what we think has to happen.
Mirrors are difficult objects. Many people have trouble with them. And right at this point I think what many people are seeing reflected in their mirror is a long and difficult winter. There is snow and ice, and not like a postcard either. The trees are bare and the wind is strong and the road is too damn long and you cannot stay still for fear of freezing but you cant go on for want of a destination.
These are scary things. And unfortunately there isn't too much anyone can do about them. There will always be snow and ice and biting wind, just as there is night and day. All we can really do is weather such a season together and hope that it passes soon.

Just as the song says.

Halfway through an essay.

2007-03-28T10:21:00.000+12:00

I dragged myself out of bed a 7am this morning (yes, there is such a time) so I might do some actual school work. It has been some time since I have had to write an essay, and I must be rusty, because even though I have been writing for a couple of hours and this is only a 200 level paper, I am only halfway through my word count. So I have decided to shelve said essay until thursday night when I should have a clear head capable of thating a fresh view which will fill another 800 words.
This would usually be fine, but unfortunately I have other demands on my time. Friday I have a "flat warming" for Hobbs, Lilith and Wendy's flat. Flat warming gets inverted commas here because they have already had several parties there and besides their living room is so small that, if you have more than three people in it, it heats up to roughly the heat of a kiln oven. I can feel my clay-ish insides harden at the thought. And the thought that I shall have to be close to quite probably many people who I don't know. I don't like socialising.
Then on Saturday I am expected to go to Palmeston North for an old school friends 21st. Travel, more unknown people... gah. And Sunday will be spent with that great monster friend of mine I like to call "Hangover Beastie". So, even if I do get this essay done on Thursday, I will only have Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights to do another longer, harder essay that is due on thursday.

In other news, however, TONIGHT I ROCK! 9 songs, 9 somthings, 9 beers afterwards, and close to 9 hours of work the day after! Should be a good time.

Except for the work part. And the essay part. And the part which isn't me on stage, basically. Sometimes its hard being me.

It Lives! It Lives!...Again!

2007-03-27T11:39:00.000+12:00

Tomorrow night "The Crazy" rides again! Thats right! All the completely idiot things that you can think of crammed into two guys and a girl (and that FIGURATIVELY you sick minded individuals). Come down to "The Valve", corner of Cuba and Vivian streets, walk through the broken wall and spend Wednesday indulging your OMG insane side.

I am quite excited. And so should you be.

I have a story in my head!

2007-03-26T10:02:00.000+12:00

Finally! You know how you sometimes go though life without a story in your head and you feel slightly hollow? It's as if the real world isn't quite enough to engage you. You need something else to carry you through, something else to let your mind carry you through your everyday actions. Huzzah!
But let me tell you: This story looks like it is going to be stranger than anything else I've written. I know, Im not exactly an author who is on par with sanity, but hezus, if I can pull this one off, I shall be a very happy, if crazy man.

Because the odd numbers are before, and the even ones afterwards.

My Chemical Romance

2007-03-24T16:42:00.000+12:00

Hah, no just kidding. I just wanted to put that as the title so you might have thought that I had well and truly gone off the deep end and into the happy limbo that is "emotional punk".
Yes, I know, its too easy to poke fun at emos. Or goths. Or punks. Or any other social group that defines itself as "being individual" while still looking all exactly the same. Strange that, isn't it? Something in our brains just goes "click" and then we suddenly feel the need to wear alot of dark, dark clothing.
Notice how many "inverted commas" there have peen already in this post? I love inverted commas. A couple of lines on a page, a small waggle of the fingers and suddenly you can make the meanings of your words "different".
Anyway.
Another week of work over, another weekend to do, another group of hours in which I have completely failed to do any schoolwork or tidy my room. And I really do need to tidy my room. it is filled with all sorts of undefinable crap, crap being the most undefinable when you actually really need to define something. Like schoolwork. Or underwear. But my room is now such a hideous mess that its chaotic nature has somehow worked its way into my ability to recognise things. And if you accidentally confuse schoolwork with underwear then you just know the day is not going to go your way. Basically because you have just been thrown out of your course and it's impossible to get biro ink of the skin.
Your evil shadow has a cup of tea. I like Lemon Demon. Yes, Lemon Demon is a band. No, those previous two sentences were not just random groupings of words.

Or were "they"? Ohhh, that ones a good one!

Idiot

2007-03-22T16:32:00.000+12:00

Man im and idiot.
Read over the last couple of posts, and especially the comments. Can you see my chain of thought? No? Neither can I. Perhaps the reason that I am socially retarded is not because God hates me, but because I unintentionally sabotage every situation but running it through my paranoid, booze addled, worm ridden mind.
Sigh.

"Watashi wa baka de wa arimasen ka?"
"Hai. Baka des."

And that about sums it up sometimes. But oh well. Things could be worse, me thinks.

OH FUCK!

2007-03-22T10:45:00.000+12:00

Look at my last posts comment.
...
...
...
If this is Clarrise, which I am supposing it probably is (unless it's Calvin messing with me agin, in which case NOT COOL) then... well, I am kind of at a loss of what to say. One of the dangers about putting your thoughts on the world wide web is, of course, that people might read them.
A key board never looked so intimidating.
I would say sorry, but I dont think I need to. These are my thoughts. And like the little screen above your head, if you read something you dont like, I suppose its better you find out now rather than later. Hopefully you dont read things you dont like, but oh well.

Damn damn damn. That date got me through yesterday.

And in almost unrelated news, talked to a friend who tells me that yes, Vivi did believe that waking me up at four in the morning for a little game of tonsil hockey was simply a game. Shes just a friendly person, in her words. Well hey, I dont know about you, but I belive that there is quite a difference between being friendly with someone and skull fucking them. Really.

So yeah. Hows it going up there god? Having a good little giggle?

Dating

2007-03-21T11:44:00.000+12:00

Well, just had my date with Clarisse. Drank too much coffee, but went pretty well. We just had a good chat for about an hour and a half, basically filled with all the mindless small talk that happens when two people who really dont know what their relationship to eachother is. But good just the same. It turns out that we are both pretty much socially inept at meeting people. Always a good starting point to have.
Oh well, now things shall just float around in ether untill we meet again, I suppose. No numbers were exchanged, only hazy plans about another meeting hatched, just have to wait until life throws us back together again I suppose.
But all is good, when your down in my hood, as they say. i wasn't stood up, and that, I posit, makes all the difference in the world.

Now I go off to work for what may be an 8 hour shift. GOOODIE! Ever noticed how the word "Goodie" also looks suspiciously like the words "Go die"? I thought not.

Anyways.

Just a Quickie...

2007-03-20T11:38:00.000+12:00

And you know with a comment like that I must be on the up. And really, after half a dozen beers and and hour or two of scrubs, who wouldn't be? I actually think the reason why God no longer awnsers peoples prayers is because the producer of that show somehow found a way to melt God down as his base material for those DVD's. There's no other plausable explanation!
So yup. As long as I remember not to think I be fine. in other news, tomorow I have a date! Huzzah! My friends tell me I date more than any of them put together. Except for perhaps Calvin. Calvin is a date machine.
So fingers crossed and all shall go well. Until then I have six hours work to endure, and then I am off to a small party which shall include me, my friend, and yes, more beer.

Living life to the FEEL! Well, not too much feel right now. More a live life to the "do lots of stuff so you don't think" FEEL!

I just like saying FEEL really.

Life

2007-03-19T06:37:00.000+12:00

Well, you know with a serious title like that it has too be bad. And it is. Oh yeah.

Good News first:
On Friday was my friends 21st Birthday celebrations. Unfortunately, I cannot remember her psudenom right now, but anyway, it was a fine and reserved affair that was very much appreciated after the week long reaming that work had been. Yes, I was ready to get very very drunk, but decided to limit myself to one bottle of wine. Yes I know, not like me, but I have been drinking alot lately and didn't feel like making myself a fool again just yet.
I am glad I didn't. For at this shindig I met a lovely person I shall call Clarisse Von Pink. With a sense of humor which almost blends seemingly with mine, chatting away the night was the highlight of the weekend. We have a date on Wednesday to drink coffee.

But hang on just one minute! Thy say: What about this Vivi that you have been writing so much on the topic of Flan? Is this not a kind of hedging your bets a bit? A playing of both sides of the fence as they say?
Well yes, and I was worried about that also. What happened if, as I was going to Vivi's flat warming on the saturday night, we somehow got together and the date with Clarisse had to be cancelled or, worse, acted through so as not to hurt the emotions? I really dont know how I would have coped with such a situation.

As you may have gathered I no longer have to worry about that. For now Highlyflannable Theatre brings you the Really Horribly Bad News:
On Saturday it was my friends, and Vivi's, flat warming. They live up on the back of the beyond, a suburb on top of a mountain they call Roseneath. I decided to take only one bottle of wine. Yes, I know, not like me, but I had been out the previous night and didn't feel like making the usual fool of myself that I do.
I wish I had taken eighteen bottles of wine.
On saturday night I crashed. I had an emotional breakdown the likes of which has not been seen since I was 18 when I suddenly had to leave school halfway through the day and go climb a mountain. I sat outside the Roseneath flat for a good part of the night and was bothered about things that shouldn't bother me and then about things that should have bothered me. Because of this moment I am washing my hands of Vivi. What is it about me that makes women want to mess with my mind? I do wonder sometimes about how much a labotomy might cost. I know I was being hypocritial in some of the things I was thinking on that night, and indeed still am, but my mind is so bundled up, so tangled up, I am surprised that I am still able to function, even if it is a very curtailed function.
I ended up walking home from Roseneath at 3am, along the waterfront, shouting at God. He didn't reply.

So now begins the difficult and painful process of re-evaluating my life though this latest event and trying to align myself with it in some way so I am not constantly slicing myself on its fractured edges. In time to come, I shall aborb this new peice of glass into my bloodstream, as I have done with all the other painful events of my life, and my life shall be just that small amount colder.

I am really hoping that my date goes well on wednesday. I hope for the best but know that the worst will probably happen. Sigh.

Its damn difficult being me sometimes.

Its Thursday, so that means...

2007-03-15T19:04:00.000+13:00

Yes. I am hungover to buggery, through buggery and so far out the other side of buggery that I can barely see it. Even at 7pm I still feel like a stuffed and wall mounted trout. Its amazing how much two bottles of wine can make every muscle and sinew in your body burn with the stiff fire of pain.
But there are upsides to being hungover: Everything tastes really really good. If you can keep it down that is.
Anyway, nuff bout the hangover. More about women.
Why are women crazy?
I dont know.
You dont know.
Women themselves dont know.
And why the hell do relationships have to be so much problems? Not that I am in a relationship, but last night as I was sleeping on a couch Vivi comes along and tries to wake me up. Unfortunately, on this occasion, I was too far gone to be roused. But come on! What is going on here? Is it on? Is it not? Is every single time and drunken mistake? Or be there something more?
What humans need is a small digital readout above their heads so that you could see exactly what someone is saying or thinking. Then there would be no miscomprehensions, people wouldn't go around backstabbing or messing people up, at a glance you could easilly see if you should be hanging around with this person or not. Might be a bit nasty while people get used to the fact of exactly what others are thinking of them, but in the long run it would solve alot of problems.

Wouldn't solve this hangover though. Why wont it go away? Imagine what a drunk persons digital thingy would look like. Swirls of colour with the occasional demand thrown in there: Drink! Smoke! Coma on that couch! And then people could watch your dreams as you slept.

How disturbing would that be?

My Coat Smells Like Cheese

2007-03-13T10:22:00.000+13:00

i guess thats what you get when you leave it in a cumpled pile on your floor for three months. But no worry, the smell will go away in a few days. Hopefully.
In other news: HERE COMES THE RAIN! Bwhahah! No more sunny weather for us! You wimps. After enjoying a few days of happy inducing sunshine and working on your 'tan' (what the hells the point in that, anyway? Painful sunburns so you can look like a forigener in our pasty city? It doesn't very long anyway. You noobs.)
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a nice sunny day as much as the next man, as long as the next man is as hungover as me. Sun hurts you eyes. But no, there is little better than sitting on a rooftop in the clear summer sun drinking summer ale.
Unless it is feeling the thrill of weathers rage UNLEASED!
I like the wind. I like the rain. Thats why I moved to Wellington. When I was a small child and still immortal, I would climb trees in the rain and shout offences at god as their ire swept the tree near right angles to the ground.
Of course, in a few weeks we will all be incredibly annoyed at the fact that we have to carry around an extra pair of socks and that our coats still smell like cheese and that valuable dance around space has been taken up in our rooms by clothes drying racks that, yes, I do beleive also smell of cheese. But untill then I have put some nice thumpy music on my MP3 player and intend to puriotte through puddles as my fellow storm clad wellingtonians watch in horror at my not too lithe and pasty form and book themselves sunbed appointments. Idiots.
In other news, I bout a new Final Fantasy game. You know those games which EAT YOUR LIFE? Yeah, one of those ones. Im not going to bore you with any details, but many nights are going to be spent in bed with that game.
When you start supplementing women with video games you know your in trouble. Oh well.
And in other other news, basically nothing. I work, sleep, yada yada yada. I want to go throw things of tall buildings. Like watermelons. Or pennies. Or Penny. Pity I dont know any Penny's.

Thats enough sensless rabble for now: Puddles await my jolly boots of doom!

Happy again!!

2007-03-08T16:15:00.000+13:00

Yes indeedy, I am happy again! No demons on my spine, no bears in my dreams, no crazed thoughts of pancakes. Its good. Bloody old depression cycle. But now I can get through a shift of work feeling good and not much is bothering me. Still drunk though. Oh well, one step at a time.
What has been happenening? NOTHING! I have almost finished my scrubs dvds, I have some books to read, and I might just buy myself an icecream.

Yeah, life is pretty good, even if just slightly void of any true meaning. But again, one step. Paved with good intenetions, perhaps, but at least im moving again.

Placeholder

2007-03-06T10:17:00.000+13:00

Woo! NEW POST! Would it horribly dissapoint you if I had nothing to say? I know it would I.
Yes, it has been 6 days since my last post, but6 I cannot exacxtly remember what I have been doing. Mostly the usual mixture of class, then work, then home or someones house, where alcohol is consumed until I fall asleap, bout 1am-ish. Don't you love the suffox (damn you god of spelling!), yea verrily, the suffox "-ish"? Makes making up new verbs a breeze. Nothing like another "-ish" just to continue the buctering of the English language. Ishly.
Where was I? Oh yes, God hates me. Yes, I know this is a pretty old theme in my life, but I think it must be true if I feel crap every single day for no reason whatsoever. Been drinking for five days straight now. I know thats not a record in my life, not even close, but it is compared to some of you "normals" out there. How do you get by? I just dont know.
Anyway, enough whinging. Time to talk about the greatest thing IN THE WORLD!!!!
There is, on campus, a vending machine selling Lift+ bottles at $1 a peice (RRP $3).
For someone like me who lives from day to day on the three poisens (Alcohol, Tabocco and Caffeen) this is like finding the holy grail of really coolness. I shall never have to feel tired again! I shall be able to go countless days without sleeping! Which isn't all that hard actually. If any of you have tried to go even two days without sleep you soon find that it becomes pretty difficult to count anything.

But still. Countlesslyish.

Man, they don't make ballons like they used to.

2007-03-01T10:12:00.000+13:00

WOOO! Into the swing of a new year now! Classes each day, radings to be done from books that the bookstores dont actually sell, eight hours of work each day and a lonely beer before bed each night!
Hip hip hooray indeed.
Well, I have had my hair straightened. Chemically. It be all spiky. I likes the spiky. And it's not normal spiky either. It insane spike. You would think that having my curls of insanity straghtened out would make me look slightly more normal, but no! I now look kinda like a cross between Einstine and a fuck load of electricity. Oh yeah. Cause its really long on the sides as well on the rest of the head. And did I mention spiky? Cause it is.
Lah.
I be working lots. I dont have much time to go out. I was planning on going to see me friends Hobbs Wendy and Lilith tonight but I think I might just go to be. Especially because Im going to be finishing work at bout 11pm. FUCK... I shall be glad when this week is over. Because then I am going to go to Spasm's house, even though he dont know it. Then again, he dont know anything because he must own the only house that, since the invention of the phone, has no phone jack. And his cell phone sucks. Cause he is gay.
Well.
Me brains dont hurt yet. Thats good. But sometimes I have dreams that my auntie is a plam reader and gives me holographic cards that will show me my fourtune but she accidentally gives me the wrong card and I end up seeing floating numbers. Then I wake up and The Bear is in my room and I am afriad to go to the toilet. He wont kill me, I know that, but goddamn hezus its strange.
The next cool thing I am going to do is buy myself a new guitar. But first, especially after tonight, I think a drink is in order.

Or five.

Big old drunk weekend

2007-02-26T10:39:00.000+13:00

So nothing new there really. I am always drunk in the weekend. Oh well.
But on the plus side, I did hook up with Vivi again. You know, one drunken moment I could have fobbed off as an accident, but twice? Might be something there... I was hoping for another experiance on Saturday night, but unfortunately I got too dunk and passed out in the drive. People thought I had gone home. Nope. Just sleeping on the concrete. When your drunk that kainda crap just doesnt matter.
Well, this week is going to be fun. Classes have started up again, and I am working eight hours each day. JOY!! Oreintation is going to kick me in the balls repeatedly. Man I hate working late. I would much rather do an early shift. But at least with the night shift you get the food you would chuck out at the end of the day. Oh well. And I have some beer at home for after those particualrly hard days. Which is going to be all of them, me thinks.
So don't touch that dial! Comming soon on Highlyflannable: I get reamed. Constantly. For five days.

Dear God.

Last legs.

2007-02-22T15:17:00.000+13:00

Today I got my guitar, Tuesday, back from her clean-up/fix-up. She looks good, and sounds good, but unfortunately the prognosis is dire. A fret needs replacing and her neck is warped, kinda like the ribbon off a coke bottle. It would cost about $150 to repair properly, almost as much as she cost in the first place.
Then again, I have had Tuesday for about seven years now. Shes had a good life. We've shared many a good time together. So within the next year I am ging to have to buy a new guitar. Its not unexpected- kinda like putting down an old dog, but what am I going to do with her? I really dont want to simply get rid of her, but she is going to be pretty unplayable in a few years. Sigh.
Well, at least there are some funky new Takahame semi-accustics going at the moment for bout $350. Me thinks I might have to get me one of those. Takahame are a good brand of guitar. Ive always wanted one.
Another thing for my Course Related Costs, me thinks.

Ohhh, and next wednesday cool things happen. I'll post a picture when it does. Till then, I have a busy weekend ahead: Drinking and feasting and dancing aplenty.

Ole!

Its hot and muggy

2007-02-21T14:39:00.000+13:00

I had a few drinks last night. It has been quite sometime since I have been at work slightly hungove. Dont get me wrong, on the hangover richter scale this hangover barely makes a mark at 2, but you know what? As soon Ias I am not the godlike and onto it person that I usually am, even if just a little bit, God showers me with his evelasting love in the form of a two hour never ending rush of people wanting burgers. Uhhhh...
But of course, this isn't stopping me. I think im going out again tonight, to Lilith, Hobbs and Wendy's flat.

Its just a little too close to Newtown for my comfort, but hey, I'll handle.
Basket.

Dude... your hair...

2007-02-20T15:07:00.000+13:00

I like having my own Mp3 palyer. it rocks.
I also like milkshakes.
Man, my life has gone downhill, hasn't it? I haven't done anything interesting for ages. All i do is work and read and sleep... although tonight I have band practice... hopefully. I was supposed to have it last night but it was cancelled. Not much of a bother I suppose, as I was tired and wanted to read, but I do hope it happens tonight.
You know what else I like? Money. I have a box of beer next to my bed. God did something right when he taught us how to get alcohol from yeast and graps - there is little better in this world than a beer after work or a a glass of wine with a meal. Good, good shit.
Also, this morning I went downtown and dropped my old and beaten compaina guitar "Tuesday" into the rock shop for a clean and general tune up. The guy at the rock shop actually said "ew" when he saw my fret board. I suppose seven years of accumilated dead skin can look pretty unappealing. But then again, so did his haircut. Ew.

Well, back to work... only have to work until 5.30 tonight though. Yay!

Bored

2007-02-19T15:43:00.000+13:00

Work is supposed to be busy. Work is not busy. Work is not busy in the least. Work is, in fact, as busy as the grave. A deserted grave. In the middle of the desert. And corpses dont eat much.
SSo I am bored. And stuck here until 6.30. Ohhhhhhh yeahhhhh. SOOOOOOOOOOO BOOOOORRREEEEEDD. Nothing to do. On a half hour break. Nothing to do.
NOTHING.
So bored I cannot even get my mind to spew forth its usual incontinent ranting. That be how bored I am.

incontinence is for the weak.

Kicked out o Kumera!

2007-02-17T12:05:00.000+13:00

Well, not kicked out exactly. More denied entry.
Bouncer: Hows your night?
Flan: Shlper.
Bouncer: How many drinks you had tonight.
Flan: Oh, jush a couple at the mighty mighty
Bouncer: When did you start drinking?
Flan: 9am. I mean. Oh Shit.
I had been dancing in Mighty Mighty for about an hour when I decided I needed a ciggie and was not alowed back in. Mighty Mighty is a fun bar. People boogieing out to some latin jazz stuff, doing the twist, just having a good ole lark.
It had been a hefty day of drinking, so I am quite pleased they turned me away. I certainly needed some sleep.
Now I am going to have a shower, because I smell like the brewery. And then I am going to go shopping. I just got my Course Related Costs! GO TEAM!!

Early Morning Post!

2007-02-15T09:22:00.000+13:00

How long has it been since I have posted? I don't know. Like on so many topics, the hazy cellophane curtians of time envelope and obscure everything in a collourfully festive way. Then again, if I could remember such a trivial detail to the date and time I would also be exceedingly worried. I think that there is an upper limit to how much any one person can remember, and although it differs with the individual, I certainly don't want my memory-box filled with dates and times and other strange things.
I fill my memory box with books. And command inputs for video games. But mostly books. I can remember almost every title of every book I have ever read. It would be an interesting experiment to see if I could write them all down. Knowing the author is a little more difficult, but I am pretty certain I could do that with the books of the past three years or so. But right back in my early childhood my memory does fade, and I am haunted by books without names that I really enjoyed and cannot find again.
Sigh. Senility sucks.
Why am I up so early? Well, for a start I have work at 11, and also I was worried that Fuckers-Link might not have given me my money. If that happened I would not be able to buy anything this week. I wouldn't be able to pay my rent. I might as well have just curled up into a fetal position in the bathtub and let the shower run until it went cold. But I did get money, so there is know no need to commit suicide through hypothermia! Isn't that nice?

Well, since I have only been awake for half an hour, not much has happened to me. But that doesn't mean I cannot predict crap! FLAN"S SELF MADE HOROSCOPE FOR [15th, Febuary 2007]:
1/ Someone will have forgotten that valentines day was yesterday and instead have to declare their love for me TODAY!
2/ Work will either be sodomizingly busy or mind numbingly slow. Also, I may have to confront/confort and member of my family/co-worker/friend who is younger OR older than me. Or possibly both.
3/ There will be a small terriorist attack made against the Hunter Building. This, however, will simply be a coverup for the fact that a slightly smarter than average first year realised, while standing in the enrolments line, that he was not actually signing up for three or so years of free sex and drunken revelry but for sheer hell, and tried to leave the compound via the nearest wall. Unfortunately, he will be drugged and dragged back to the mind controling government facility we know and love as Victoria University.

So a good day ahead.

New? WHY?

2007-02-14T18:52:00.000+13:00

Why do I have to upgrade to the new blogger? Why? Iliked the old one just fine.
Oh, I've almost finished my bottle of wine. Oh well. Too drunk to really blog anything. I'm listning to Jazz, courtesy of Jacob. Gool ole jazz.

You know, I have no photos. I wixh I had more photos. Except for this one. Shoody photoshop job again! Me monster!

On the upswing

2007-02-12T21:11:00.000+13:00

Today I went to coffee training course. Then I went to work. Then I came home and did a load of washing. I had some toast about that time. With marmite on. The rest of today I have spent reading a book...
See how boring my life would be without incomprehensable tangents? DO YOU REALLY WANT THAT? I think not. So, let the tangents begin!!
Apparently for the price of a bag of popcorn you can find lasting love. Excellent. Sign me up. I found out this importaint fact when I was doing my bored and trawling though the internet thing, in one of those side little advertisment tings. But the advertisment which continues to impress me the most is the one for Sumo sized bean bags. I have a bean bag, and it's cool and all, but I want a giant one, coated in that nice silkly yet fulffy material you get on those neck rolls I am sure youve seen at the wharehouse, where everyone gets a bargain, and four tins of tuna with specail flavour for four bucks. I have a tin of tuna next to my bed. This is because there are very little amount of cupboard space in my flat and besides, I want my food near by for when the zombie appocolapse happens. Unfortunately, I have neglected to keep a can opener in my room, so all my tinned food will be useless. Not that my room is very secure. If you were a zombie crazied by the scent of my brain-meats you could easilly break through my window, like a well thrown potatoe.

Why am I on the net at such an unreasonable hour of the night (its 9pm by the way)? Because I don't sleep like I used too. And 'cause I don't have work until 11am tomorow!

Sleeping in is sweet, sweet like the candy of St. Nick.

Oh yeah, and I recently got photoshop, so here i(or at the top of the post, apparently) is a badly doctored photo of me as a vampire:

ARSE

2007-02-11T21:22:00.000+13:00

Today I got my eletric guitar back. You know, Tomi, the guitar that you read about a few posts back. She looked like shit. Apparently, a few months in a guitar bag is not good for your guitar. I should have paid more attention to her.
So as I was scrubbing her tonight I thought about how much music is a part of me. I'd say about a quarter of my soul is music, the rest being made up, in equal parts, of writing, reading and friends/family. But my god did the music part of my soul look a mess. Fortunately, I have cleaned up Tomi very nicely: A good thorogh scrub with paper towels and Pledge and she is looking quite shiny and clean. Unfortunately, there is no Pledge for my soul. My sould is going to stay grimy, mouldy, dented and unclean. You have a different view? Good for you. Obviously you have been in direct contact with that big ole Pledge can in the sky, and about once a week you probably give your sould a good once over. Well, if this is the case, could you tell him to just pop round my way? And bring a scourer. Because my soul is disentergrating, and I could really do with the delux treatment.
But no matter how often I ask all I get is silence.
I am not going to bore you with my exploits of the last few days. Just be content in the knowledge that I feel like arse. No doubt sooner or later I shall get over that. The arse just seems to come and go. Like a bear weaing a chicken suit, with human eyes the vibrate back and forth showing the diseased and discoloured whites that nevertheless still see through you and hack you into peices as they twitch pass with each ossolation.

A bear in a chicken suit you say? No, I am being one hundred percent serious. It was the scariest thing I have seen in a very long time. I woke up in a sweat.