I'd like to stream HER conciousness

Slanty italics look fancy pantsy, woke up this morning doon doon doon doon got my grub on head hurt yesterday starting to hurt today but no drinky poos. i'd like to buy a steak but i might make a mistake and lie awake whilst my bowls quake and owls shake their heads 180 degrees as i turn a pristine porcline palace into a bruised brown yellow shadow of its former self. early out the flat i depart, no expected text so another callus on my heart. still at least i'm getting shit done like a dung beetle, storing it here for impressionable young minds to form a cult of hairy hat wearing manaics. probably not

election day with errections standing for candied dates. 3 friends want 3 different votes. i don't wanna vote and feel shamed for feeling so. great granddaddies didn't die in wars for such impartial apathy. i can only care about things i can see and i spend most days working or alone in my flat while my guitar gently fails to weep. explains my want to travel, get some world weary experience and actually give a shit about the shit by rollin in it

paranoid like an android that thinks its a human. one more robot learns to dreaaammm, something more than a machineeee. will everyone think i'm a pretentious shyster. inner thought are being italicsed after all. everyone seems to be a "writer" i just write out of boredom and sometimes to make folk laugh. sometimes big stuff mostly not. if it goes sour green grapes i'll make up and elaborately simple and dirty lie. so shockingly good at doing so hundreds of masks for hundreds of occasions, copied from others designs. wear them same one and snap, empathy friendly yay. anyhooters, back to lame essays with wikipedia grade research

stock old men have arthritis

The old man walked down the street at night. He felt cold. Part of being old seemed to be feeling cold. There was, after all only one letter separating them. And being old and feeling cold meant being and feeling tired. This would explain to a silent observer why his progress down Sea Street was painfully slow to behold, though the only set of eyes that did so were the bright dark one of an urban fox, staring from the shadows. Pain was another part of age as well. The young felt pain in great flares that could tear them apart. But there were also great intervals between this pain, to the point where they couldn’t remember what it was like until it happened again. His pain was a slow dull burning kind, constant to the point where he himself had forgotten what its absence felt like. Still, that’s what happened when you didn’t have successful children to register you with BUPA.

After progressing in this painfully slow fashion for some 20 minutes, he finally reached his destination, a 24 hour corner shop. It was lit up like a fluorescent island in the dull street lit darkness. He pushed the heavy door open, wheezing with effort. The bell above it chimed and the man behind the counter looked up from his paper.

The old man walked up to the Pakistani. In fairness he had no way of knowing whether he was from Pakistan or not. It didn’t really matter. Old men seemed to be given a little more leeway than most when it came to political correctness.
“20 L&M please” he said
“5.40” the possible Pakistani replied
He fumbled in his pocket for the money. His hands seemed to be working better today, and it was with a shameful pride that he took out the right amount and handed it over without dropping any.

“Thank you sir. Goodnight”
“Night”

He hefted the heavy door open and slowly walked home, his progress charted by the tiny glow of a lit cigarette held in his mouth.

people you really shouldn't compare yourself to

you know, not wanting to sound emo (for there is no higher crime online) but a lotta the time i don't much care about myself. maybe its down to my lack of goals and thereby motivation to achieve. But that don't make me some kinda appathetic kowala, hells no. Instead i shift my mediocre caring abilitities to other folk. folk with goals and plans and drive. Or even folk in the same situation of feeling slighty appathetic. united firmly by impartiallity. might sound high and mighty of me, banging on about how i (think I) put others before myself but then i did use to resemble a certain someone who possibly felt the same way....

Next post....my views on Islam and Islamaphobia. Didn't see that coming did ya!

kowala bob

I'm climbing this ladder
my heads in the clouds
I wish that it mattered
I'm having my doubts

my head hurts and i'm tired. seem to be unable to fully shake this cold, which while not serious, has been making me feel very kowala like, ie so very sleeepy. plenty of intresting things are happening to bob as of late. some pretty damn good and some pretty damn worrying. unfortunatly i can't mention any of them until they resolve themselves, or more realistically until i resolve them. a little bit of resolve's what i need nooooooow, but my gosh by golly by gum and god its soooooo damn hard to come by, especially as i'm in my aformentioned marsupial like state. maybe i should lay off the horse tranquilizers

thought of the day-can zombies be turned into vampires?

yay obscure pop culture references

Bob the devil and god

I looked down at my corpse. It was a bad way to die, on the bog. I hoped no one would make a big thing of it. Then again, it was how Elvis went. And at least I wasn’t halfway through anything. Still, it did lack a certain panache to it.

I turned to the tall cowled figure that I knew would be there. “Allo”
“Hello Bob”
“Don’t fancy a game of chess do you?”
“No”
“Ah, right. Didn’t think so. Maybe some guitar hero?”
He shook his head. There was an air of finality to the movement, but then I guess that was to be expected.
“Fair enough” I said. BY THE WAY. WHY AREN’T YOU TALKING LIKE THIS. COPY WRITE INFRINGMENT?
He looked at me. Then he swung his scythe.
“I liked you better in the books!” I yelled as I drifted away into nothingness

I appeared in a dazzling white plane of infinite majesty. It hurt my eyes a lot. Once I adjusted to the glare I saw there was a queue of people. Seeing nothing else to do I queued with them. In front of me was a guy in a gorilla suit. Or maybe it was a woman. Or maybe it was a really shabby gorilla with a zip stuck to it. I tapped him/her/it on the shoulder.

“scuse me” I asked “what are we queuing for?”
“Huh?” he (it was a guy) turned and looked as confused as only a man in a gorilla costume could. I repeated my question.
“Dunno. Heaven I guess. I just got ere myself”
“Ok…and why the gorilla suit?”
“It’s what I was in when I died. I think that’s how you appear here. And I’m hopin that’s why you got your walaper out”
I looked down and saw I was still undone and dropped. I hastily pulled up.
“Sorry”
“S’ok. Lotta folk I seen ahead aint got anything on at all.
“Really? Any of em foxy?” I craned my neck to see.
“Nut”
“Ah well, I guess perving in a queue for heaven isn’t that smart anyways”

We waited for an eternity. It wasn’t so bad given that time no longer existed. Plus I’d been to Disney land, so I knew a thing or two about queuing. Through tact, bartering, subtle nudging and delicate social manoeuvring I managed to skip at least 50000 people. It was amazing what the naked ones would do for a sock. After what I assumed to be 27 years, based on no evidence whatsoever I found myself at the doors to a massive emerald palace. It reminded me a lot of that time I tried to get into a really swanky club.

I approached the door man and smiled. “allo”
He took out a list and consulted it “Name?”
“Bob Teresa. Mother Teresa was my great aunt”
“No shit? can you show me some I.D then?”
“Maybe I could show you this” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my other sock. I hoped it had the same value here as it did in the Queue. He took it from me, looked furtively around and pocketed it. “All right step inside”
I did so. Inside…was another queue. Smaller this time, only a few miles long.

After a few days I came to a set of massive pearly gates. There was a figure bathed in golden light in front of them. I put on a pair of sunglasses which I had exchanged yet another sock for-it’s a good thing I always carry a few spares. It looked like meatballs with eyes and noodley appendages. I approached

“Behold the gates of heaven!” It boomed “Are you not blinded by the majesty of them?”
I wasn’t, but then I had my shades on. Sides, it sounded like a rhetorical question.
“Now comes the time of judgement! Your multitude of benign sins will be weighed against the pitiful amount of good you have done during your life. Then we shall decide if you are worthy, or if you will damned to eternal torment! But first, tell me. Do you think you have sinned greatly?”
I thought about it “Umm not really. Does masturbation count as a sin?”
“Yes!”
Crap “Well do you count it as a one off, or separately each time?”
“Each time!”
Shit. Well that was that. I was screwed. Damned by my own hand, pun intended. Unless…
“You don’t want any socks do you?”
“Silence! Now await your judgement”
I awaited. The scales of justice slammed so heavily to one side, they cracked the ground. Christ, twice a day really added up after 10 years.

“You have been judged! Hell awaits you” the figure pointed at me and lightning shot out its noodley appendage

There was a rushing sensation. Like being on oblivion at Alton towers. It was kind of fun really, if you forgot the destination. The golden light was turning a dark dark red. And I fell and fell and fell. Then I hit the bottom. But landed on something fairly soft. I looked down. It was J.K Rowling. She was unconscious.

“Who enters the kingdom of hell” a sinister voice asked from the crimson darkness.
“Who wants to know?” I asked suspiciously.
“Me” a fat bearded old man stepped towards me. I stared in slight puzzlement.
“Surprised worm? After all, what better way for I to renounce god than to take all meaning away from his only sons birthday”
“Plus there’s the anagram” I said helpfully
“Quiet worm, now begins your torment. You must have sex with J.K Rowling…for eternity!”
I thought about it and scrutinized J.K Rowling’s unconscious body for a while. She wasn’t all that unattractive. Plus older women knew things…
A thought occurred to me.
What if I challenged you to a rock off?”
The old fat man sighed “What are your terms and what instrument?”
“Guitar hero”

soon to be edited

your hearts so busy and crowded
you best take care who you let in
your face is all masked and shrouded
I can't tell the costume from skin

no this didn't happen to me

He shivered and shuddered as the snowy ice went into the gap between his hat and his shirt. It slivered down his neck mixing with sweat. It felt horrible, all hot and cold and sticky and wet. And he was too tightly bundled up to take off any of his many layers. Too many layers. Thick and heavy and slow. That was why he had been hit by the snowball. Too slow and hot.

He wanted to cry. His nose was running and his eyes were wet from the cold anyway. Instead he bent down and scooped up his own wad of snow. Cupping it close he formed it into a hard smooth ball. His gloves were sodden from previous attempts, hands wet and wrinkling, growing number. He breathed hot air onto them and tried to suck out some of the wetness.

He looked around for a target. Everyone was running and screaming and skidding and falling. Most had formed into gangs, temporary alliances in the heat of battle. But he had only been at school a few days. He didn’t know anyone and so he didn’t know who he should throw the snowball at. Not a girl obviously. Most of them had stayed inside anyway. Not anyone much bigger than him either, or much smaller. He stood dumbly with the ball growing wetter and colder in his hand, wandering what to do.

Smack! This time a snowball hit him on the ear that was poking through his hat. It burned cold pain into him. He burned too, angry and furious red. He saw who threw it, a big kid with a stupid grin. I hated you I hate you I hate you. He threw his missile with all the strength the cold cold day hadn’t sapped from him. It sailed towards the big stupid kid and his big stupid face.

But the big stupid kid was fast. He ducked, still grinning and laughing. The ball sailed past and smacked someone else right in the face. They fell to the ground and let up a wail. It was a little girl, small and pretty and crying. She was so loud that the playground monitor quickly ran over and scooped her up. She shot him a disgusted look and took the loud crying pretty small girl inside.

He got hit by a lot more snowballs after that.

hats and women, my two greatest weaknesses

women will do terrible things for hats. they will lie, cheat, steal and bribe. I have witnessed this first hand. big deal you say. well yes normally it wouldn't matter. but unfortunatly, i am whats known as a hat enthusiast. pirate hats, fezes, bizzare lepoard prints, i have them all. but do i wear them? NO! i cannot even enjoy the simple pleasure of wearing an amusing and slightly racist hat in public without fear of reprisal from some dasturdly self centred femme fatal. My brother (a likeminded hatophile) confirmed this idea when, during a call, he commented that some woman actually assulted him for refusal to give up his hat. of course being a gentleman he walked away with only a cursory rude word.

lock up your hats men

morality bytes, or why my essays suck

I've always been very intrested in morality. whats right and whats wrong, who decides yadeeyada. now time for my very genral and vague (like all my essays) views on such things.

I was on youtube watchin the most awesome jack johnson preform his laid back accoustic love (truly he is my idle) when scrolling down i saw someone had left a negative comment! Ignorance online? surely not! it went something like this

"All you people that like jack are just sheep Baaa Baaa. he's sooo mainstream and unorginal"

Seems to me that things become mainstream because they are good. its like their reward. and originality for originalitys sake alone seems a bit pointless to me. fair enough of your making a statement, but don't critise something purely because its "conformist". and i would suggest that theres a few conformist ideas that are pretty good to subscribe to. for instance, geneocide beiung bad and not setting fire to dogs. sometimes the masses do get it right.

Then again that raises a tricky issue. say the vast majority of folk decided it was a good idea to set fire to dogs. wouldn't it be percieved as a good thing. after all morality soemtimes seems to be nothing more than a sort of democracy. you vote on what you think is a bad thing and if a significantly high percentage (say 70%) says it is, then it officially becomes so. course there are grey areas like abortion (where the splits kinda in the middle)

But like all democracys theres a problem. what if mostly everyone is STUPIDO!? (I don't think they are but just bare with me) after all 1000 years ago 70% of everyone thought rights for women were a bad idea. so it "officially" became one. and about 200 years ago everyone though slavery was a good idea (except the slaves presumably) so it "officially" was. Point is todays evil might well be tommorows good. so place your bets and invest your cash carefully.

course this takes the argument into a full contradictory circle. like me essays. YAY.

dr5y

!

Worst laid schemes

bah I've been such a fool. less hair means more cold means getting a cold means my comparatively work free drink heavy weekend is in double jepordy. Who the hell cares if I'm well groomed when theres mucas threating to engulf me in a phagocytotic betrayal (oooh big words)

thought of the day-I want to know what a boocookie is but i'm afraid to google it