Oh Yeah

Friday, August 31. 2007
Who would be so foolish as to give me a credit card?



Richard Branson! That's who!

Bits and Pieces

Monday, August 27. 2007
Equine influenza, or “horse flu”, is threatening to put an end to the spring racing season. I for one will be cheering for the pathogens, having been able to bring about the kind of utopia that not even a pair of 747s could achieve. I cannot imagine a more vapid event than the annual horse racing merry-go-round, glossing over the horrific damage to society that gambling causes (no matter how celebrated) and the animal rights issues – it is little more than a filter to strain out the moronic end of society and all those truly disgusting fashonista types. To hear their outcry at the possible trashing of their sacred event has been a fucking opera to my ears.

Plus, it’s not a sport either. It’s not a fucking sport and fuck all the people who say otherwise. It’s almost as big a load of tripe as saying motor racing of any kind is a sport. Please.

House of the Dragon: plugging for the virus since 2007

Classical Animals

Saturday, August 25. 2007
Hey, can you see them? Out on the porch, they don’t stay. I see them, round the front way, yeah, and I know and I know, I don’t want to stay. At all. I don’t want to stay… I never knew whether I was the boxer or the bag.



I’m proud of myself, and the things that I have done
So proud of myself and the loner I’ve become




Wasn’t a vital part of the plan to get the fuck out of here to NOT get too attached to anything? That only makes it so much harder to leave… Or educes the symptom of “I’ll stay here for you, I’ll make it work somehow” which is, as we all know here at the Dragon, nothing but verbal diarrhoea, even if the signs don’t present the usual way. It looks sweet, but it’s pure shit coming out of your mouth.

Even if I mean it, even if I want to say it, those words so sweet, words that my mouth was made to say, words that get me into more trouble than any other. Here I stand, the same old picture, new magazine. It feels like there’s tiny bear traps all over my keyboard, I have to negotiate a maze of pipes and wires to hit each letter; turn to page 46 for your centrefold! Looking to the bleakest possible future, but it might just be one where I’m not alone for once.

Just come inside for a while, we can watch a movie or something, there’s no-one else home right now. I can see something in her eyes. I’ll just tell her I’m not hungry, because I can’t eat when she’s around. This means I’m gone and what yesterday sounded like such a good plan, oh how I love a decent plan, is now just another catch-22 and a gun with more bullets in the chamber than blanks. Burn down something beautiful. I almost wish there were no blanks in there, just bullets of certainty. Just come inside, it’s so much fun just hanging out. I almost forgot what it’s like to watch a movie with someone else around.

I know there’s no answer here. Just her, her eyes, her voice. I knew them years ago and I wanted them years ago, but the scene never revolved around so the blocking put us next to each other. I spent most of the time she was around drawing on the desk. Then running home to someone else. So what’s a guy to do? I stuck with what I had. It’s hard to say ‘I do’ when I don’t. I went back to where I lived, pretended to read for a while and then went to her room. Another her, past her – and what I might have been thinking stayed in the book, stayed at school, stayed somewhere else.

Later, I told a friend about her, and how if things had been different, I’d have wanted her. At the time I never thought about ever actually seeing her again. Those days I really didn’t think too far ahead.

But now here she is and here I am. Emotionally, I’m right in place. I have my shit nailed down. It’s a few other critical failures in my life that stop me from saying anything. Thanks for the ride, you want to come in? I think I have some food, we can put a movie on. I always thought you were beautiful. And it’s not the leaving, it’s so much else. It’s not even me this time, it’s so much else.

What’s to lose? I fucking hate that question. I’ve been asked this cliché on the phone in late night calls from close friends. Oh crap, she’s calling on my other phone. Gotta go. Good luck man. Defend and never find out, live in this extended state of semi-agony. Or play the game and set up a massive fall down the bottom of this hill I know we can climb together, I just know we can make it. When’s next time going to be? (It’s always fun.) Two week’s time? OK, see you then. (I wish it were sooner.) I never could have had you before but I want you now, I always liked you.

See you later.

Yesterday's Man

Wednesday, August 22. 2007
I hate you so much
But I can’t wait to see you
I know you never think of me
And you won’t be giving up on him anytime soon
But still I want
And still I hate
You’ll never give me what I want
That poor simple truth
And what relief it might just be
Ain’t ever coming, is it?
So hate is all I got
And it’s you I hate the most
And it’s you I want the most


Stuck on a sweaty train, the window won’t open and the air-con is years long dead. Wrapped in a dirty t-shirt and it feels like there’s sand in my arse crack. Except I’m naked in the shower and for another night I’ve given up totally.

Why can’t I sleep? All day I can barely talk to anyone. I want your sunshine but the words just don’t come out anymore. I’m full of this love that turns to hate like oil spraying through a flame, torching everything good I once saw in you all.

Nothing looks as good as it once did. My eyes have faded and all I see around me? Other people fading away, only not all of them see it, possibly this is better than being bitter. I just want to tear apart something beautiful, I want to run the electric supply into the river and kill whatever I can. Explode the Statue of Liberty, just to officialise it, and piss on the ashes of the Vatican, piss on the ashes of the churches, piss on the ashes of the Pope himself. If I saw you, God, I’d sodomise you faster… Faster… Faster.

Nothing is real, I’m not real, you’re all not real, you’re all wrong, everything is wrong, even I am wrong.

On the other hand, I am one step closer to stopping my mind.

Dear You

Wednesday, August 22. 2007
Eyes need to see you so I can hate you some more

There’s no room for me in your pretty little head, not while he’s still in there

You won’t give up, I won’t give up

Still wanting, still hating, still I never give up

Not from you, I can’t get it, simple and poor

My truth lies bleeding on the floor

I hate you so much, I want to hate you even more

But I can’t hate you or even forgive you

You and my hate would never make anything

Dear you, love you, just give me some relief

Because it’s you I hate the most

And it’s you I want the most.

Saturday, August 18. 2007
What’s the sound
Of lying awake
Even when you’ve been awake some twenty odd hours
What’s the colour
Of a greasy feeling
In my head
That stops for nothing and nobody
And what’s the taste
Intangible and foreign
Of a mind spinning non-stop like a typhoon



There will be no impending posts until I can get some real sleep. Warm, comforting sleep. Rolling, happy, dreamworld sleep. Healing, giving, freeing, sanctifying, gratifying sleep. Wet, gratuitous, sneaky, unfettered, steamy, unrelenting sleep. It’s around here somewhere. It’s got my sanity held hostage, it pulls my very soul apart and kicks me in the heart every single day.
No work will get done, unless you want artless drivel. That, that I can do, sure as Saturday afternoon.


Just so you know, Three Panel Soul is exactly how I feel. All the time.

And even ‘John’ knows the glory held within the refined air of xkcd, but don’t be surprised – he’s really quite clever, you know.

From the whole crew

Monday, August 6. 2007
If I didn’t know firsthand that every other country in the world is just as, if not even more fucked than this one, I’d be running in a screaming wreck to the airport.

I get like this when elections are in the air. Me and politics, we have a sordid history together. Since I figured out just how important they are to life in general, back at age 15, to the heartbreaking realisation that they’re not in it to make my life any better, to the unbridled joy I now take from the incendiary nature of any discussion of them, we have done almost everything vile and contemptable to each other possible. Truly, we hate each other – but someone always calls back and keeps the relationship alive. Because neither of us can escape, not really, not forever.

There’s little to say about the American scene that Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert don’t offer up on a daily basis that I can’t agree with. Something is rotten over there, something is bad. At least they make you laugh. And it’s not happening to me over here, just to the unfortunates who get stuck in the cracks of modern America. Or Iraq. Or Afghanistan. So make that a not yet.

The local scene, I have spent a lot of time watching this year. It just makes me mad, and when it’s things that don’t directly affect me, I do not get to worked up about it. I can a little, especially now I can play the ‘not with MY tax money!’ card – but mostly, above and beyond me is where it stays. For the good. I have enough anger as it is. But it seems that more and more the people in power are coming after what is left of things I hold dear, pampering the generations above me and gratifying the tax brackets so far above me I can barely make them out. Making life colder and colder for me. It is things like this that make my anger for everything they do come afresh with emotion and cold rage. The divisiveness of it all might be the worst, because my parrying off people into two camps they get us going at each other – while the really important things go on without enough people knowing or caring. Our ignorance lets them get away with it. There are a few solutions to this, but more later. The other great big fucking elephant that I’ve noticed staring at me is the totality of the corporate way things are run these days. Marketing campaigns, media trained politicians, not straight answers, the kind of thinking running the Coca Cola conglomerate now runs my country. We need to see through all of it, but when the people who control the curtains have the most to hide, we will never get what we deserve or the respect we require of the dealing.

But rather than bore you with my bile about the state of things, of make remarks that will inevitably stale faster than the rest of what I serve up on here, I’m going to have a shot at getting laid out two of my favourite personal ideas. Manifests, if you will. Essays, no doubt, that will still be full of holes no matter how careful I am, but the central ideas will be there, out there, knowable, wantable, living. These are two ideas I have never, ever received positive feedback on. No matter how I put it or who is listening, not once have I been told that someone thinks it’s a good idea – but I persist that it’s just my telling that’s the problem. It has been noted many times that I am not a very good salesman and by gods I will attempt to rectify that injustice here.

So get ready for this knowledge I’m about to drop.

Tomorrow, maybe. I’m going to sleep now.

Announcement

Sunday, August 5. 2007
The House of the Dragon is pleased to announce the 2007 Xiao Gou Summer Tour of Taiwan. That's right, my little brother will be here on Tuesday 7 Aug through to 22 August. We've got a full schedule planned (sort of). If you're in Taipei, or nearby, email or call me to hang out and down beers. We're heading to Penghu next Sunday, and after that we'll probably head south or east (relative to Taipei of course).

Man, I'm stoked about this.

Saturday night feverless

Sunday, August 5. 2007
I’m scared I’ll get scared…

I’m going to die alone.

Everything, in the long view, turns to dust; all growth, all achievement, all record, all memory.

There is no God. There is no reason. There is no truth. There is no glory.

I’m scared I’ll get scared and try to nail you back up there…


More power to the J for his stunning victory over the Canon corporation and their institutionalised hatred of customers! More power to him and his continuing pursuit of perfection for the site’s layout (even though the very computers that we view it with, and all the others bits of machinery that comprise the internet, will all turn to rust and dust before long) and even more power to him because of the simple fact that HE IS COOLER THAN YOU. You know that song by Ben Folds, about how no matter how hip the person before you in line might seem, there’s always someone cooler than you? He is right, and that person is the J. If you disagree, fucking e-mail me your address and I’ll go over to your house/apartment/flat/slum/hovel/underpass and beat the ever loving shit out of you. That’s a promise, the kind of solid promise this house is built upon. Motherfucker.

But as for the traffic damage incident, I would have handled it differently. I have to assure the gentle reader here that I am a committed non-driver, that the handling of motorised transport of any kind is strictly the realm of the generic other people in the world – and as such, anything I have to say on this matter is pure theory, genuine fiction and 100% pure bullshit. I’d have just driven off with a squeal of rubber on road, middle finger raised – in whatever direction was viable. So it was a stop light – there’s a time and a place to run red lights, and I say that is the time. Failing that, start punching.

That’s the be-all and end all of it. But my heart goes out to the J, whose recent endeavours on the road and in due course to take down the Canon corporation have highlighted the very factors that I hold the world in contempt for. These are the very real, very innocent dangers that you take with you every time you step out of your house. Nothing you can do but hope – and hope is nil but dust on the winds of indifference that fill our universe.

I’ve had an epiphany. I’ve fucked everything here up – but it’s a case of when life hand you fucked up lemons, you should make things fucked up. That wasn’t very eloquent. But it’s true. Coming back here I realistically had 0% chance of making things work and so it goes, that I have almost nothing to show for my time. So I’m giving up, putting plan C into motion, and getting everything in place to just fucking get out. What could that possibly mean? What’s plan C? What has been going on to push me this far? Fuck you for asking, just fuck you. Easy as that my friends – it’s easy as that. It’s just not as simple as it ought to be and by doing this, I bring the simplicity factor into line with the accepted levels. Accepted by what, you might ask. Accepted by WHATEVER FUCKING MEANS I GODDAMN WANT, you nosy fucker.

So when, and where? And before what? Who goddamn knows. Watch this space, because while some things come and go – the House is eternal.

Up yours, Canon

Saturday, August 4. 2007
So today I finally bought a set of jeweler's screwdrivers small enough to take my video camera apart. About 40 screws later, I was finally able to get at the record switch. It was a sealed unit, not meant to be serviced. I tried to track down the part online. Of course I couldn't find it. Fuck it. I pried the switch open. Inside, the delicate electrodes were obviously a little dirty. I abraded them a little, reassemblem and reinstalled the switch. At this stage, the camera was still in (connected) pieces, like some kind of dissected animal. I connected the power and put it a tapel. Well, it still turned on... then success! The record button works again! I reassembled everything (somehow managed to get all the right screws back in) and powered it up again... still good. Canon in Taiwan would've charge me four grand for that. That made it all the more satisfying. Fuck you, useless Canon Taiwan.

後悔 - The NT$11 000 Coffee Break

Thursday, August 2. 2007
On Tuesday, I made the biggest mistake of my year.

Just before I got on my bike to visit Dinna on my lunch break, Cankun called me to tell me that the second fried memory module had been replaced and I could come pick it up. This was good thing to happen No. 1.

As I rode along Zhongxiao East Rd I heard the sky rumble. I looked up at the looming storm clouds and wished I'd taken the MRT. I was going to get rained on when I rode back.

Approaching the intersection of Fuxing South Rd, the light turned orange. No one hear brakes for orange lights, and not when we're almost at the line.

Except for the idiot in a van in front of me.

BAM! I slammed into the left rear corner of his stupid, stupid car. I was still standing up. My bike was on its side. I had tried to get through the gap but it had been closed by the car in the left lane. I looked at my bike. Then I think I kicked it, swung at some cars. I should've kicked his stupid car, or maybe his stupid face. He got out of the car. He was tallish, fat, 40 with glass and chewing betelnut. Another, blonde guy appeared. I assumed he had heard the noise and wanted to stick his nose in it. It started to rain.

The fat fuck came over and started looking at his car. "You'll have to pay me," he said. What! Pay you! Why did you slam your brakes on?

He mumbled something in pathetic English about safe distances. I realised he had a point. I was fucking at fault in this. It turned out the blonde guy had actually had his bumper scratched by the fat guy. Shit. This could get complicated. Fortunately, he wasn't concerned.

I argued the toss with the fat fuck during which he kept threatening to call the cops.

Blondie said he had a friend who could help. The left rear taillight was smashed, the pillar and a small part of the rear glass was scratched, and the bumper was broken. The scratch on the pillar is nothing, I said, that's easy to fix. I was ignoring the scratch on the glass. Fuck that, I am not going to be up for a whole new sheet of glass. Blondie called his friend and told me the light would cost about 3K to fix, the bumper about 4K. "Don't worry it, should be less than 10 thousand," he said reassuringly. "Do you need me anymore?" he asked the fat fuck. Fatty waved him off. "Don't give him a hard time," Blondie said, indicating me. "Yeah," replied Fatty. Which of course, he then proceeded to do. He then called (presumably) the Ford Dealership and asked them what it would cost. 3000 for the light, 4000 for the bumper, 3500 for the pillar. Eleven point five K.

Actually, I've got a friend who can help you fix this, I said.

He wasn't interested, the chiselling bastard. He kept going on about calling the cops and hassling me about my license. Eventually I caved in. We agreed to move the cars.

After a frantic phone call to Jeremy from Bikefarm, then one to Dinna, and more haggling with him, I handed him eleven thousand bucks. What a cunt. I suggested my friend again and he didn't want to know. He wanted to take it to Ford to get it fixed. Yeah right.

I walked away with a scratch on my thumb, a banged knee and elbow, and a seriously injured wallet.

My bike wouldn't start. It didn't seem to be getting any spark. I found a place to park it and caught the MRT to grab a coffee for 10 minutes with Dinna.

Later in the evening, when I had time, I rode my bicycle out to where the Kawasaki was and had a look at it. The clutch lever was bent and broken, the bars slightly bent on one side, the front right indicator light was snapped off and the timing cover and flange was smashed. Fuck. At least it wasn't leaking any oil from the case. Inside, the ignition pickup coil was bent out of shape. I pushed it to a nearby mechanic who managed to massage it back into place. Success! It started, and he refused to take any money. That was good thing number two.

I rode to Bikefarm and inspected the bike more. I assumed I would have to import a new side cover but Jeremy said I could have it welded up for a few hundred NT. Really, the damage was not that bad at all. Adding it all up, I might even be able to keep it all under a couple of thousand NT. That was good thing number three.

I had been saving that money for so long: I have resisted temptation to spend it on crap for my bike, or music stuff. And then, in the blink of an eye, I had to hand it over to some chiselling moron who was obviously out to get me as he refused to have it fixed on my terms. If I ever see you again, I will follow you and I will slash your tyres.

Fuck.

Re: Missing Memories

Wednesday, August 1. 2007
Having been informed what the memories might contain, I no longer desire to see them again. It was good while it lasted. It’s just better this way, trust me.