Monday, February 28, 2005

Do Not Trust Me With Your Loved Ones

I found the following buried deep within my Computing coursework.

What. The. Fuck.

The company in question is well toasted with a slice of Jamdango. The current system for applying a blue dinosaur to a lemon is all manual. The prime liability finds this to be ponderous and require some exuberance. In the case of an elephant, they would prefer it if their shoes worked electronically. This will be red for all involved. Red is for communism; in Soviet Union, project develops you! Red is also the colour of FAST.

In order to change your medication in the summer, it would be a good idea to provide free consultancy on the matter of the hole in my bucket, dear Liza. As it stands, I’m incredibly fucking bored and I want to go home and this is dumb oh cunting whatever.

Italics are fun but easily abused. Do you know where your child is? School? Their paper round? A crack-house? If you don’t, then this means they could well be writing in italics. Know where your spawns are. Protect them from italics.

I'm not sure what's worse; the fact that I'm responsible for this utter fuck, or that I have absolutely no memory of perpetrating it.


Thursday, February 24, 2005

California school mandates RFID tags for students


A small-town school in California has become the latest to mandate that students wear RFID-based ID cards when on campus. According to Brittan Elementary School officials in Sutter, a rural farming community, the tags have been implemented to simplify attendance-taking and reduce vandalism.

Big Brother is watching you.

However, the principal, Earnie Graham, has another explanation for student objections. “You know what it comes down to? I believe junior high students want to be stylish. This is not stylish,” he said.

Fuck you Earnie. Just... fuck you.


Monday, February 21, 2005

Please Do Not Take This Seriously

A door was thrown open, its glass shattering as it hit the wall.

Pennyfeather strode through the door, his behatted silhouette forming a striking figure against the twilight sky. He paused, taking a moment to look around, and then strode towards the the man at the counter.

"Ah, Mister Pennyfeather!" scolded the man. "You-"

"Cram it, specs," opined Pennyfeather. He jumped over the counter, grabbed the man by the face, and started kicking him repeatedly in the testicles. The man began to scream and flail about, knocking Pennyfeather's hat off, to which he reacted by biting off the man's nose.

Pennyfeather grabbed the man's neck and threw him up onto the counter. He reached for his shin and unsheathed a hunting knife. Laughing with glee, Pennyfeather tore the man's shirt off and ripped his chest open with the knife, exposing his major organs. The man started to gurgle.

Pennyfeather dropped his slacks and began to masturbate furiously, blowing his milky seed into the man's gaping chest. He pulled his trousers up with a satisfied grunt and then bent over to retrieve his hat.

"That's what I think of your library fines."


We are being watched, gentlefolk...

Today, while drinking in a local café, I noticed that what I had always thought was a streetlamp outside was in fact a security camera. This made me irrationally angry. Also, Hunter S Thompson is dead.

In response, have some unsecured webcams to play with

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Burn it to the ground...

The fact that you touch yourself at night does not mean that you are going to die painfully.

Homosexuality is not a social disease, nor is it a threat to your children. There is no homosexual agenda.

For fuck's sake, get off your collective arses and take a moment to actually think about what's going on around you. Just because people tell you supposed "facts" about the world does not mean that you have to unquestioningly accept them. There's no need to just sit down and let yourself be pushed into whatever role others have assigned to you. God knows it took me long enough to work that one out, and I've got plenty of emotional scars to show it.

Utter fucking bollocks to your "family values". We're not interested in your clichéd view of life. You can hang onto it if you insist, but we'll have nothing to do with it, and to hell with you if you try and force it on us. Cocksockets to your pinstripe suits, short-back-and-sides and "common decency". The mere fact that we're considerably more interesting than you are does not make us "weird".

We are the counter-culture, and we have dared to be different. If you have a problem with that, there is a good chance that we couldn't care less.

Go on, think. I dare you.



Ah, there's nothing like a good rage-induced rant of a Sunday evening.

I apologise.

I am the alleged subeditor of this journal. Way back when, I was a key contributor.

It's astounding.

I am amazed.

How easily principles can be put out for sale.

I swore I'd never work 9-5. It's stunning how quickly the necessity to pay rent can change that.

I swore I'd never fall in love with the meaningless one-night-stands that keep me animal. It's amazing how fast lust and love can become confused.

I would like to point out that I am a middle-class grammar school dropout with a working-class income and alcoholic tendencies.

I understand now.

When you're cold, and thirsty, and filthy, principles are cheap and acommodation is dear.

So fuck you, Songs of Praise, and Pause for Thought, and Prayer for the Day.

Shove it down our throats all you like, but living on the poverty line leads to a philosophically fickle existence, just to survive. A martyr is nothing but a dead believer. A "convert" still has potential.

I apologise. I'm drunk as a stoat. I sincerely hope Withiel will a) get me a copy of Volpone so I can write him that bleeding article and b) correct my typos.

But my sentiment is true.


Monday, February 14, 2005

Feb 14

Friday, February 11, 2005

Remiel's Artwork

Thursday, February 10, 2005



A lovely church in Savoca, Sicily. Was a source of inspiration for Dreamscape.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Not-So-Breaking News: Virginia is Run by Retards

Fines for 'droopy drawers' backed

"US politicians fed up with catching an eyeful of underwear want to fine those who won't hitch up their trousers. The Virginia state house has voted to outlaw the trend of wearing trousers so low that underwear hangs over the top.

"Delegates said the habit, popular across the US and in other Western countries, was 'coarsening' society."

Allow me to pose the following question:


I find it agonisingly rage-inducing that these kids should be fined for expressing themselves because a bunch of fat old white men feel uncomfortable. Hey, maybe they don't like people disagreeing with them either! Might as well do away with that pesky "freedom of speech" thing as well!

And then of course there's the whole fact (as stated in the article) that there will be hick cops that use this law against black kids.


Friday, February 04, 2005

I am the King of the Internet and also of Blogs

Withiel and I have been talking about reworking this site recently. I'm getting bored of this design and Mr. Black wants to change some of the functionality of the site. This will probably mean that I will design and build a new site, with assistance and consultancy from Withiel. Possible features include*:

  • A nice new design;

  • The redirecting straight to this journal, with any other content being linked from here;

  • Therefore, a navigation thingy on this page;

  • A "links we like" section on this page;

  • If we can find nice hosting, more content outside this journal such as artwork and music or whatever;

  • A hit tracker, so that we can take daily ego bashings;

  • A Rhexis flickr account.

Hopefully, all this should culminate in a site that's more likely to generate hits, and bring back repeat hits, because we like that sort of thing.

If anyone has any suggestions for new features, something they'd like to see on the new site, cool links they want to share or anything else, add a comment to this post or drop me a line.



* Look at me, using a list. That's fucken posh, inneht.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

The hidden dangers with regards to stationary

I hope all of you have taken due precautions in light of the RGS's findings. They have discovered the true threats posed by metal stationary. Metal rulers are henceforth banned at the RGS due to safety problems. Finally they have realised the sharp edges upon these manipulative objects are in fact a real and terrible danger. While apparently harmless these, let's face it, utterly evil items of stationary can maim and even kill with relative ease. If I were in charge I would ban all of those equally malicious plastic counterparts and I hope the dangers posed by them will also be recognised by that saviour of humanity, Mr. Pantridge. Once again we owe you.

You have been warned.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

More Dreamscape

..."you sick bastard"...

..."you'll never do those awful things to anyone ever again"...


Decker tumbled out of a red haze and back into conciousness. His head swam and most of him hurt. He wiped the blood off his face and looked around. He was in an alleyway. Three bodies lay in a pile nearby. Another was slumped in a doorway.

"Do not worry. They are merely asleep, although I don't imagine their dreams are particularly pleasant."

The shadows extended a pale hand that glimmered in the moonlight. Decker grasped it and stood up with some difficulty. The darkness around the hand took the form of a tall, pale figure dressed in a black cloak. Stars fled across his long jet-black hair, stars that none would ever see in any night sky. But his eyes were what held Decker's attention. They were the colour of Dreaming, and out of them looked a myriad of strange worlds.

"You can call me Mister Sleep," said the figure. His voice was that of the night sky, and brought to Decker's mind images of sleep and dreaming shadows. "You don't belong here, Decker."

Decker nodded.

"You are not the only one. I too am a stranger here, and there is one other. You know of him."

Decker frowned. He was aware of no familiar faces in this strange place.

"Eleven," said Mister Sleep. "He is part of that danger, and it is part of him. Beware. There is something deeply wrong with this place, and it is tied in with his and your presence here. The key to its salvation, and indeed your own, may lie in your finding a way of leaving."

Decker did not understand most of what the wraith-like figure had said, but he now felt as though he had some sort of purpose. That he had something stable to hold onto in this strange place. Suddenly, the shadowy man looked up at the sky.

"I must go. Be careful. Do not stare too long into the lights in the mist. In them lies madness."

And then he faded away into the back of the mind, just another fleeting shadow in the darkness.


Just as a footnote; I'm aware of, as Withiel puts it, the "knowing melodramatic" tone of these stories, and I thought I might as well explain it - for my own sake as well as for others'. Part of the reason is because I want it there. It brings something to a story that I feel wouldn't be as good without it. Mostly, however, it's because of dreams. Dream-logic is understandably difficult to translate into normal prose, and it's especially difficult to make that prose not sound pretentious or knowingly dramatic, simply because of the way dreams work. Things occur in them that are totally outrageous and defy all sane logic, yet make an eerie kind of sense while it's happening. It's sometimes hard to put to pen what makes perfect sense in my head, and I guess a side-effect of that is the overall tone of it. Of course, there's also the added joy of torturing Withiel as he attempts to translate into comic form the sound of "dreaming shadows".*

That said, I hope you enjoy it, and the next piece of fiction I write will be much more down to earth.


*It must be said though, he did a damned good job on that owl.