New Guitar!

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!

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

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!

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

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

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

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.

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...

...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.

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!

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:

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...

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!

...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.

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!

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...

...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.

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...

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

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!