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.

My Adam Green Day

"Vain,

Underground,

Fist,

Face down.
Bruise as they heal my pain.
Food on the flight.
Bread,

Fist,

Bite.

Draw from the orange juice crane.
Picture a person you've forgotten.
kissing your brother

Or your friend.
Picture a wounded entertainer.
Cutting his hair again."

Ah, Adam. You so fine, baby.
So, this theme was inspired in many coincidental way. I felt like listening to him last night because I've felt very strange lately. He makes strange feel sexy. Like a sexy clown or woman in a fish suit. It is possible, but only in the right light. A green light, apparently. Adam is that is light. So, I listen to him and the thoughts of worthlessness and inability to stand for myself vanish. I feel comfortable when I think "if my life does not go how I wish, I'll live with monks or the Amish ... I'd even settle for busking on the street, reading Fairy Tales to depressed business men."
I consider that a rich fall-back plan.
The second ingredient to this theme is Cate commenting on my last post. It reminded me of a photo she sent me once of her, with a caption reading "Me, having an Adam Green Day", or something to that effect. I think she was referring to her dishevelled hair. I actually recognised the resemblance, but I think it was her eyes, in the way Mr. Green's always look sadly perfect. The night I recieved that picture, Adam was on RockWiz and wore tight jeans and a plastic jacket that he continually threw off. Here's a little clip of one song I've taken a shining too.



I love the Cat, the dancing, the top hat, the use of the name Eleanor, the fish bowl and, as the icing on the cake, his imperfect strike. Nine pins down. I love 9 ... or do I hate it? I lose track of my own emotions.
The last slice of inspiration was from Caitlin whom lets me show her any music I please. I don't think I've shown her Adam Green and I'm excited to. I think she'll like him. Sharing is Caring.

This is a picture of me. Dorian Grayesque was my attempt. Modern-er. I like my hair. I actually planned to print off a stack, leave them next to my bed and, on bad mornings, tear one up. Maybe two. Rip apart my sad, old face and suit and put on my Sonic the Hedgehog shirt and joggers and live as a 18 year old, socially awkward boy with a life many would kill for. I'm over the suit phase. I still prefer short hair and moustaches (even if it makes me look more awkward), but suits seem too much. I love wearing them ... but I don't want to be one. I don't want the suit to wear me. I do love my tie collection, however ... and my hats.
Speaking of clothing. My darling glasses, the Aviators which I saw every morning with. My saftey blanket, dangling from my neck or draped across my 'romantic' nose. Ha ha!
It's not really funny, it's just be a while since I thought that. Anyway, the intense heat lately has damaged them. The glass expanded in their frames and cracked, chipped. I look asthough I've been hit in the face when I wear them. I still kind of liking them. Adds character. Similar to when we did dancing at school and I'd place one of my G.I Joe toys in my front pocket just so the girls would ask "Why is there an army man in your pocket?"
Now I might get people asking "Who hit you?" or "What did you do?"
I'll take an arrogant breathe through my nose, smirk and reply "You should see the other guy."

I guess I should also, officially, say Happy New Year!
Enjoy what you're doing. Even if you hate it.
2011. Two years until December of 2012 when all of the lunatics will scream followed by bone-shattering shame. This one Danish man I saw on a Doco has spent his life savings and worked himself into a few million dollars of debt by loaning huge amounts and building a shelter in Madagascar for the 2012 Dooms Day. Caitlin asked "If he survives in the shelter, how will he get off Madagascar?"
Maybe on one of the UFOs that the secret organisation that killed JFK is hiding in Area 51.
I want to see his face as the sun comes up and the birds are chattering away ... the sun glowing naturally. I hate the idea of 2012. I KNOW there will be many suicides out of fear. People have already planned it and yet live happily now waiting for the date. They'll never know they were wrong. They're being punished for believing a story written by nuts. Y2k all over again but on a much more massive scale. People fear nature more than science. The sun is more aggressive than computers.

Adios.

Deck the Silent Jingle.

"It's coming on Christmas,

They're cutting down trees,

They're putting up Reindeer,

And singing songs of Joy & Peace,

Oh, I wish I had a river,

I could skate away on.

But it don't snow here,

It stays pretty green,

I'm gunna make a lot of money,

Then I'm gunna quit this crazy scene,

I wish I had a river,

I could skate away on."

Christmas was yesterday. Above, just there, is our Tree. One of two. Mum yelled at me for making it took 'sick'. It's plastic, though. Real, dead, trees mess with my alergies and are "too messy". Mum made me decorate the house on Christmas Eve. I'm not sure why, but I did. While on the ladder, my little brother walks out and said "on TV, they said ladders are more dangerous that Terrorists". I didn't really want to know that, but I suppose ladders are more frequently experienced than Terrorists.

I got a few things, all of which I like. No camera or Turtleneck sweater, but I did get some books and pavalova. Callan came up to see us, but mainly slept. Aden complained about the 'texture of ham'. I yelled at the Television for referring to Warren Zevon as a 'One-hit Wonder'. I strongly disagree. He had two 'best of' albums. Poor, dead, Warren. Skanky, fake-tanned, wannabe music-buffs have stained your illustrious name. You're a Genius.

"I've got a bitter pot of 'je ne sais quoi'

Guess what - I'm stirring it with a Monkey's Paw

...

Mata Hari had a house in France,

Where she worked on all her secret plans,

Men were falling for her sight unseen,

She was a Genius.

There's a face in every window of the Songwriter's Neighbourhood,

Everyone's your best friend when you're doing well - I mean, good,

The poet who lived next door when you were young and poor,

Grew up to be a backstabbing Entrepreneur.

Your protege don't care about art,

I'm the one who always told you you were smart,

You broke my heart into smithereens,

And that took Genius.

You and the Barber make a handsome pair,

Guess what - I never liked the way he cut your hair,

I didn't like the way he turned your head,

But there's nothing I can do or say, I haven't done or said

...

If I could clean my record,

I'd be a Genius."

Adios.

Rise, Lazerus, rise!

"As the cheerless towns pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog

And then a voice inside my head, breaks the analogue

And says... "

"Another Blog?!", no one asks.

"Yes, another", Ryan spoke while staring at my reflection painted in the rear-window of my house "You see, I'm in that mood I call 'the Juggernaut' ... the mood where I inexplicable begin to feel aweful*. OCD sets in and I begin acting irrationally until I'm asleep and forget."

"Oh Ryan! Enough of that! Stop playing with the Christmas Tree and the dishes! Stop pacing. Stop being selfish!" replied no one in the same tone as always.

"Yes. Okay", Ryan muttered "only if you listen to me."

Aweful*

Awesome is good. Aweful is bad.

Why is some awe good while being full of awe is bad? Is it like an overdose?

Reason for this Blog; ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

I was watching television, a show about a murder was one. A woman was killed by a man she had never met. The last thing she saw was his eyes. A colony of wasps were living in her skull. Bugs where the mind used to be. I placed my hands on the sides of my head and closed my eyes and imagined it. That set me off.

I'm now in Juggernaut mode and I can't stop feeling like I'm damp. I reread every comment I've recieved on this blog. Most if not all praise me, one said "I expect big things from you in the future" and that made it worse. I don't think I'll actually amount to much. I guess many people feel the same. I don't want a statue. I want a calling.

It reminded me of my parents. Dad was too accepting. I guess he had nothing else to hold. He read to me and taught me. He taught me film and I taught him photography. He taught me Lennon. Only, he never helped me. He was my friend and more than my Dad. He never asked about homework or troubles. He asked how I liked my eggs and if I was thirsty. He rarely yelled and when he did, I cried. He never hurt me and offered strange advice. I often told my friends "my father is insane" and they'd laugh.

Mum left when I was four and I can't remember when she came back. She sent me a coconut once. And stickers. I never used the stickers. I broke the coconut on the steps out the front. She asked if I needed money for school. If Dad was looking after us. She'd organise to meet us at midday and be 2 hours late. I'd stand in the front garden waiting and cry into the lounge when I thought she'd leave again, expecting a second coconut with a note saying "To my Sweet-Pea. In off again. Is your father caring for you? That mans an idiot. xxx"

She'd turn up.

I noticed, even now, I feed off acceptance. I feel bad when adults don't like me. I thrived to befriend most teachers I had. For the most part, it worked. I've always had a lot of friends over all demographics at school. I don't fight. I just worry and build. And write.

I remember when Caitlin called me selfish. I remember being lost for words so I just slumped on my bed and pretended to be interested it the light, cut by the curtain, centimetres from my face on my purple bedroom wall. She called me selfish twice after that, on different occasions, once when I thought I didn't deserve it. I've probably insulted her more than I realise. Its my nature. I don't find truths offensive, usually. Most people are used to it. I hope she is.

I worry no one reads this any more. Comments have lulled to ZERO. Views average on less than 2 per post. I guess I'm vein. Meglomatic? Egotistical? Selfish.

I need positive reinforcement. Gaaaaaaaah! I'm stupid.

Adios.

You know, that means "To God". Have I said that. I mean it as good bye.

Adios.

Festivities. Family. Wizards.

"He hung himself with a guitar string
A slab of turkey neck and it's hangin' from a pigeon wing
You can't write if you can't relate
Trade the cash for the beef, for the body, for the hate
And my time is a piece of wax

fallin' on a termite
He's chokin' on the splinters

Soy un perdedor
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?
(Get crazy with the cheese whiz)"

Ah, I don't actually know what these lyrics have to do with this post ... but I don't think this song is easy to intergrate. I demand intergration, however. I love this song.

I'm smiling.

The dog on television, Cujo, he isn't smiling. He is bloody and tormenting a woman in her car with her child, Tad. Rabies. Who needs it. Not me, that's for sure.

It is, as I write these words, 6:16 pm. I thought it was 3:00. I've been home alone all day. Cleaning and organising and wishing I was more original. I wish I had more iced tea. I wish I had nimbler fingures.

Christmas time is a nice time. Little Miley (I plan on uploading some photos in the next post) was shouting yesterday "Samdafs Tummin!", which roughly translates to "Cousin, did you know Santa is coming?"

I kept saying "Gandalf's coming?!" and she'd look at me madly and say "Noo! Samdafs!"

I wish Gandalf were coming. He'd offer me some adventure and I'd tag along and meet Orlando Bloom and we'd injure elephant monsters and Fire-eyeballs.

As you can probably tell, it's a slow news day. Caitlin got a pet pig. Thats not my news, thats hers, and she called him Boston. Great name. I would have offered a few others;

And-eegs

Rashworth

Snortimer

Piggy Sue

Bore-is
St. Pignatius
Little Hog-kinson

Eh? Eh? How about them? Hahahaha. I like Boston too.

I was so sad to find how expensive 'Harry Potter TV universal remote wands' are. I thought of flicking wrist and seeing the volume increase ... takes my breathe away. Although, its more work than flicking my thumb. But its cool work. I would sacrifice that small slice of energy for a chance at electronic wizardry designed for 8 year olds.

Oh! Tomorrow I'll upload a picture of my Christmas tree.

What do I buy people for Christmas... hmmm... I hate choosing gifts.

I have attended two 80th birthdays in the past two weeks. Impressive, yes?

Adios.

Full Dark, No Stars

"If you read this, I love you."

"Each life makes its own immitation of immortality.
Fiction is the truth inside the lie.
French is the language that turns dirt into romance.
Get busy living, or get busy dying.

He had a massive stroke. He died with his tie on.

Do you think that could be our generation's equivalent

of that old saying

about dying with your boots on?"

I'm on my 3rd Novella of Summer. Doesn't look like summer. Although, focusing on Horror Novels (as I like to do) it never feels like Summer. 2 & 1/2 Novellas down. So far, so good. One, I loved. The second wasn't so. It was quite average. The 3rd ... interesting. Lemme explain;

1922: This one's a story, told in hind-sight, about a farmer, father & apparently terrible husband. It opens with the line "To whom it may concern, my name is Wilfred Leland James, and this is my confession. In June of 1922 I murdered my wife, Arlette Christina Winters James, and hid her body by tupping it down an old well."

I admire his openess. Only, he's writing from the year 1930, and a great deal has changed. I loved this story a lot more than I thought I would. It's strange to sympathise for a killer, although I've always been interested ...

As a kid, I always was interested in Serial Killers. I blame my Comic Books. I had trouble embracing real life - mainly due to the lack of Heroes. Batman & Superman are just dabs of ink. Super Villains, however. Very real. Strange traits and all. Their showmanship. Their ability to conceal their identities. The ghastly smiles, curled lips hiding perfect white teeth - the same teeth that have invisible stains. The Heroes were just gaunt men with badges, acting on intuition. Elderly women recognising faces from a late night broadcast. Advances in technology.

... anyway, back to the story. It follows the inspiration of murder as it evolves into a plan. Shortly after, it evolves again into an act - an imperfect act. Then a series of lies are born, each stemming new branches of deceit. Each branch, baring some rotting fruit leading to such a tortued experience (ripe with many horrid repercussions) through out the remaineder of 1922. It creates the feeling that this is 'Wilfred Leland James' Great Depression'.

Big Driver: This is the one I wasn't to fond of. It follows a girl, Tessa Jane, whom is a Mystery Novelist and very familiar with thinking up crazy mysteries and marvellous ways of catching bad guys. She's sort of depicted as 'that kind of shallow, empty novelist'. A series of 30+ books all of the same characters and only slightly different events. She lives alone with cat and enjoys driving at night time. She is good friends with her elderly neighbour.

One night, returning home, she gets a flat tire and - after waiting for some time - is discovered, alone, and raped. From this point, she experiences fear and an delusions (including plotting revenge on the rapist, aided by her GPS named Tom). The idea seemed interesting. The first half was extremely realistic, but it lacked 'ompf' at the end. The revenge got interesting, then it struck out and became too fantasy-like. Too 'clean'. Too 'fairy-talesque'.

The current Novella, A Good Marriage, is about a woman discovering her husband of 27 years is a Serial Killer. It has a lot of potential and is, so far, quite good. A bit glossy and simple, but really interesting to read and a creepy concept. Especially when contrasted with Bob Anderson's (Husband/Killer) wonderful attitude to life. He's happy, wise and compassionate ... and yet rapes and kills women during his business trips. It's fun to read, but I can't handle big doses. The ending of this one will make it. Here's hoping for a strong finish!

That's all.

If you haven't ever tried a horror novel, or even a short story, I'd highly recommend a few. Its easy to find them cheesy and weak. With the right author, however ... its unlike anything else.

Adios.