Grand father.

This is for my Grand Pappy, who likes my blog.

http://rhodg.tumblr.com/

Enjoy the exact same thing in a different place, hahahaha. Love you Pop!

Adios.

All Mediocre Things Must Come To An End

"I'm still young,

But I know my days are numbered
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - and so on.

But the time will come,
When these numbers have all ended,
And all I ever seen will be forgotten.

Won't you come to my funeral,
When my days are gone?
Life's not young,
So I hope when,

I'm finally dead and gone,
That you gather 'round,
As I am in lowered into the ground"

Things are mediocre. I'm feeling increasingly like a tinman. Not the singing type, either.
Life's going smoothly, every thing is dandy, I consider myself very lucky ... yet, I'm still rusty. I miss being able to make people laugh by putting on silly voices. I miss offering people balloon animals when they're sad. I miss taking photographs ... it's been so long. I miss cleaning my carpark. I miss Harold, on my walks. I saw him the other day, trying to relive my morning routine (at midday). He had aged 10 years, his eyes weren't focused, his voice was so quiet and he said "You're a nice man. Any girl you gets you is a nice girl, too."
I almost cried. I doubt I'll see him alive again, having moved and seeing him then. He called me a man. A nice man. As though I had lived to a degree that I was a man. My father has always called me Redman. More than he has called me Ryan, infact. I don't hear my name from family. I'm 'Nino', 'Neen', 'Rhyno', 'Red', 'Redman' and, occasionally and to my discomfort 'Ryry' or, the worst, 'Rynie-Dynie Doodoo'. Point being, I'm not a man. I won't deny that I'm nice, because I try an aweful lot to come across as nice - or at the very least likable.

Change is good, I suppose. Not for Harold, but I'm not Harold. I'm Nino.
This is why I'm going to stop blogging here. I'm packing up and moving to Tumblr. A site that I don't know my way around. A change from what I started getting used to. Perhaps I'll stop altogether. Either way, all mediocre things must come to end. This relationship I have with my blog is something I didn't think I could have. I never realised how uninspired and square my thoughts are. Like I claim all the time; I'm not good at anything, I'm just enthusiastic.

If you want the address to my tumblr, which I'll have up in the next couple of days, message me on Facebook. I'm not deleting this blog, still. I'm too egotistical to destroy my own work.
Also, I have to stop condemning myself so much. A self-loathing egotist. Oh God.

Where's my mind?
I still don't know.

Adios.

LA Noire

"Oh, the shark has,
pretty teeth, dear,
And it shows them - pearly white.
Just a jackknife
Has MacHeath, babe,
And he keeps it - way out of sight.

When that shark bites,
With his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows - begin to spread
Fancy gloves, wears,
Old MacHeath, babe
So there's never - never a trace of red."

I was not alive in 1947. I tried to be, but it didn't work out. I was born on September 7th, 1992.

When it comes to film, I love the old ones. The old American ones. European film is lovely, but my heart is with the American Dream. Not because I adore their values or think they had better directors and actors. Their ideals were outdated from the start and their directors and actors were pioneers, not masters (although a few were damn close)
What I love is the sound of the accents that are fading from existance. The Guido Tycoon, the 2nd Generation Irish Imigrant, the Traditional Jewish Parent. They're all just becoming 'American'. I also love how they pumped the American Dream into everything ... it almost seemed like they satired themselves. A nation of used car salesmen. Charismatic, proud and morally superior. 'Nuclear Family', 'Girl Next Door', 'Till Death Do We Part', 'Honey! I'm home!' ... 'In God We Trust'.
That's why I want to go to America. American TV raised me and I want to show it how good a student I am. I want to talk like an American in Cafes and see if they pick up. I want a MEDIUM McDonalds meal ... although I doubt I'll finish. I want to 'hail' a 'cab'. I want to fill the car with 'gas'. I want to shout "Hey, I'm walkin' 'ere!" while crossing a New York street.
Considering what I've said so far ... the next picture might confuse you.

The picture above is a camera rig that is built in Bondi. Right here in good old Australia. It's being used in the biggest industry on the planet. Remember what that industry is? Cement? Steel? Music? Film? ... nope. Video Games.
Yeah, this is 'one of those' Blogs. Still, it's sprinkled with national pride and personal meaning. Why do I always feel like I need to explain myself to you, Mr. Blog. Do your job and just trust me.
It's being employed from a game titled LA Noire. Heres a picture of what it can do;

Maybe you don't find this kind of facial mapping as amazing as I do ... but until you seen a CG man twitch, and look to the side in a manner that hints that he is lying without the motion being obvious ... well, you can't judge my interests. The subtlety of these actors faces are perfectly implemented and used as a game mechanic. I try to convince people that games are just films but three dimensional and completely explorable, and many people don't listen. Some games use a gameplay element online multiplayer. That never interested me hugely. This game allows you to literally read the faces of actors, playing the roles of characters and step into the shoes of a Detective. Follow leads, explore the city, question witnesses, search for evidence and solve crimes. Trust me, it's better than watching someone else do. We're entering a new chapter of human entertainment ... and I'm excited that Australia, Bondi, is heading the movement.
Here's too the American Dream!

Adios.

Send me the Bill.

This week ... month. Uh.
Actually, I don't have predetermined time periods.
This ... time, I wrote a poem for someone very special to me. They've been there in the thick and the thin. During my Ebola scare, during my tetraplegia, leading up to my disappearance and following my reemergence ... during my drowning and all through my deep depression caused by the knowledge that dexterity does not apply to feet. Rather, feet accuracy is called podexterity, apparently. That turned my lift down on its bloated head.

Here's the poem, I'll elaborate afterwards;

Heated dust - a loving thing,
The bones of drones asunder sing,
And in my purse,
By Mummies curse,
I find a humble commodity.

Love is not for losing soul,
Like Elder Scrolls from chapels - stole,
But if you spy,
This milky eye,
Ten points in Scrabble diagonally,
Urge submerged in back allies.

I want you to come back and carry me home,
Away from these long lonely nights,
I'm reaching for you, are you feeling it too,
Does the feeling seem oh so right,
And what would you say if I called on you now,
And said that I can't hold on,
There's no easy way, it gets harder each day,
Please love me or I'll be gone, I'll be gone.

And so by some foreign twist,
Of God's slimey reptile wrist,
A sea of hair,
And disrepair,
He says you are the Prodigy.

It took eleven minutes to write and I stole the third bit from 'I'm All Out Of Love' by Air Supply. The message remains the same, obvious as it may be. It's about a young boy I know name Bilfred Saint Guest. He was absent in most defining parts of my life and is actually more of a supporting role in my life. Like one of the murder victims in CSI: Miami. I get to be the guy with the glasses who always says things like "I'm DYING to solve this mystery", "what's a corpse like you doing in a public toilet like this" or "Hey, dead guy. You look DEAD tired."

Long story short. Billy exists.
I'm an idiot and have a lame sense of humour.

Billy, here's to you and all that Voodoo that you do so well.

Adios.

An Anniversary, a Birthday & a University update.

"You'll be older too,
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride,
Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?"

Today is a magical day!
The 19th of January.
It was today, 365 days ago that I told Caitlin Knight that I love her and she giggled and didn't say a word for too long and I was freaking out. Then, not long after, she decided we would be better off as friends, and I agreed ... and by 'agreed', I mean went insane.
I did a lot of frowning, walking around ... taking pictures of cereal and puddles. I didn't handle it very well. I complained a lot and didn't change my socks. So, my idea was to write a lot of poetry for her. Letters, too, trying to explain my thoughts, saying things like;
"Everytime I look at you, I just feel like none of this has happened. Your eyes never change. Your browline and mouth does change though, and it makes me feel sick to see you this concerned, but I know you desperately want me to move on and stop thinking about you ... I'll try to be normal and comfortable for you. If your lucky, this will be the last time I ever feel compelled to tell you how I feel, how much I love you... If your lucky I'll get over you, but I don't think I can."
... and sometime after that, she invited me over. It was weird, I had no idea why she did this. I ended up lying next to her as she was falling asleep, on her request. Once she was asleep I slipped back into the other room, into the vacant bed and fell asleep - more confused than ever. The following Monday was our half-yearly Trials and for my English Creative Writing segment, I simply wrote what happened. I got 100%. I showed Caitlin. All was well.
Of course, I was difficult too. I always had boundaries. I'm easily socially exhausted. I some how love being alone for large periods of time. No man's an island? Ha! I'm an island. I still feel this way, but it's slightly different. Like, I'm Tom Hanks and Caitlin is my Wilson - stranded together.
... at any rate, we're fine now. I miss Caitlin a great deal right now and it's only been 3 days since I last saw her. Before that, we spent everyday together for a 2 weeks. Her pig and I are best of pals. Her horse is jealous of the attention I recieve. Her dog stands between my larges and smiles. Her little sister thinks I'm the coolest person alive. Her mum likes our cooking. Her dad likes my humour. I love her.
Here's to Cait!

She is part of my family now;

Picture are; Cousin Miley being pushed by Cait on the swing. Cousin Shannyn with the wonderful blonde afro being pushed by Brother Aden ... with a headband.

Today is also Cate (Voldemort)'s birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!
She is Caitlin's magical friend from Outer Space (Germany). At first, she was like a 'Behind The Scenes' option on Caitlin's life. Now, she is a friend. A great friend. When Cate and I join forces, we have the power to make Caitlin cry out of happiness. That is pretty special. It's pretty amazing to coincidentally meet someone on the other side of the world and instantly click into an 8 year friendship via mail. Cate & Cait are both very lucky for knowing each other. In fact, soon I'll have known Cate for a year and we can continue to write tales and advice for the next 80 years.
Here's to Cate! Hip-Hip ... HOORAY!

Also, on a final note. We get our Uni notices back today. How exciting! :D

Adios, amigos!

I must dash, Mr. Moustache. Farewell.

"Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home 'stache?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then"

Caitlin told me to shave off my moustache, and so I did. Slowly.
I'll admit, it was a terrible growth. I tried to grow it at too young an age, but I was used to the feeling. Moustaches are so amazing. So, please vow a minute of silence for my fallen son.

That aside, I'm already used to being naked-faced. Now, I'll grow another ... maybe later. When my face yields a good crop of hair. Straight, crimson shoots. Once I have a moustache I can actually be 100% proud of, and not just an experiment, I'll keep it. Caitlin disliked it, and I didn't treasure it too much, and so it died.
I also shaved my chin, which I personally saw as a major improvement. Here are Caitlin's documentations of the events. Be warned, the following content is graphic ... as all pictures are ... it's a stupid warning when you think about it.

I love the reactions, they reflect my feelings exactly. Fear and sadness turned into an obnoxious
pride which soon transformed into regret and finally, shock. Also, I need another haircut! My God, my hair grows too fast and I only comb it once a month ... and by 'my God', I mean your God. If you don't have a God just insert some other significant item; "my Necklace!", "my Hat!", "my Sockpuppet!", "my Psychopharmicological Encyclopedia!" or "my ... Moustache!".
Sad Face.

Adios.

Geek or God?

WARNING!
Nerd Post, Nerd Post!!

"DOVAHKIIN, DOVAHKIIN.

NAAL OK ZIN LOS VAHRIIN WAH DEIN VOKUL MAHFAERAAK AHST VAAL.

AHRK FIN NOROK PAAL GRAAN.

FOD NUST HON ZINDRO ZIN.

DOVAHKIIN FAH HIN KOGAAN MU DRAAL.

AHRK FIN KEL LOST PRODAH DO VED VIING KO FIN KRAH.

TOL FOD ZEYMAH WIN KEIN MEYZ FUNDEIN.

ALDUIN FEYN DO JUN.

KRUZIIK VOKUN STAADNAU.

VOTH AAN BAHLOK WAH DIIVON FIN LEIN."

Not song lyrics those. Well, not officially.

It's a prediction. Written in the 'Tongue of the Dragons', it tells of the Nord God Alduin returning after thousands of years to swallow the planet.

Not in reality, no. In Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
Think of Lord of the Rings, but completely interactive and much deeper. It's a game that represents thousands of years of fictional history. Elves, Man and Beastfolk living in a rich story. Here's a map of the 'game world'.

There are few things I enjoy more than a deep story and being allowed to personify myself in a fictional character. Its such a God-like feeling. Its like acting, filming, writing, reading and dreaming all at once. The reason I put the warning at the top is that many people are closed-minded when it comes to fantasy, sci-fi and video games. As though geeks and gamers are lazy, unattractive people with no imagination of their own. These people are idiots. Games have nurtured me through-out life, expanded my intrests of art, music and humour. They have given me an escape from reality and also a reason to delve back in. I'm a gamer.

These are 4 of the 10 playable races. The Imperials, one of the Human races, along with the Nords and Redguard. The Elves, this one being a Bosmer (Wood Elf), others include High Elves, Dark Elves and Orcs. The 3rd is a Breton, a child of both Human and Elvish blood. Then theres a Khajiit, one of the two featured Beastfolk, the other being the Lizard-like Aragonians.
That Asia-sized Continent above is populated with these races along with various 'wildlife' creatures. I personally love it. I can understand if you don't.

While I'm on this geeky subject, I thought I should mention that I found some old Warhammer figurines. John, Nick and I used to have lengthy debates about those pieces of plastic. Once again, we learned centuries of History that had no relevance to ... anything. It was all good, expensive fun. Painting is always fun and I loved creating terrain to play on.

So, back to Elder Scrolls. The newest title to the series is Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Set in the world's Scandinavian equivalent. Each previous game (spanning from 1994) has heralded a step in a prophecy. After all boxes have been ticked, the God-Dragon Alduin will swallow the planet. The last box being a Nordic Civil War, exactly like the one in this game.
Begin Apocalypse.
I'm excited.

Sorry if I bored you,
Adios.