New Psyentist

And as the horns sounded the last post...

2010-10-18T07:33:00.000-07:00

Babylon crumbled;

and the cellar door was blown shut by the whispered prayers of a dying man's pride.

It is; at last; the end of the road. Time at last to take my work with me to the grave.

I do not expect an easy afterlife - The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I have buried too many friends under those mouldy cobbles. My only wish is that they who have sent me here now, floating face-down in the river styx - That they one day experience the remorse of god and the mercy of the devil. For which mankind deserves neither...

I have stared into the abyss and then, been plunged headlong into the inky morass. I shall take a few moments now to speak to some of my readers who I have not had the chance to contact through other means; before I pull the trigger and bury myself once and for all.

To the investigator's son - You are a coward, and a fiend. I hope you one day wake up to yourself. I am ashamed to think I once defended your character and called you my friend. Put down the pipe and go home to your family - If not for yourself, then do it for them. Family is all we can rely on when all else has failed us. Also; you ruined drum and bass for me. Shame on you. ;D

To the soldier's son - I truly regret not having taken the time to spend honouring you and your loved other the way you two deserve. You are some of the most honest and open, caring and kind friends I have been blessed with, and I have nobody but myself to blame for not exploring that farther.

To the two oldest and most generous friends, to whose doorstep I brought with me the devil's footsoldiers. I can never atone for the darkness and danger that you have been faced with because of my selfishness and arrogance. You have done so much for me but I have given you nothing in return but excuses, heartache and risk to yourselves and those you live with. I am so, so very guilt ridden and I know that the last thing you probably want to hear from me is another apology. So instead I'll just say that I love you, and that I will repay you one day for everything I can.

Anyway. The sun's about to rise here. I haven't been able to sleep much lately. Watch the news, but don't believe everything you hear or read. This is the Doctor, signing out for good. Exeunt.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/10/18/3041468.htm

hard hands

2010-09-28T23:29:00.000-07:00

Serve God love me and mend
This is not the end
Lived unbruised we are friends
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
And you know me

And man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be...

I think it just got weird enough.

2010-09-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

there is a fairly reasonable chance that within the next six hours I am going to die. Circumstances are rather outside my control at this point, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve I'm going to try and pull.

But if I'm not smart enough, or quick enough, or lucky enough this time to scrape through...

know only that if it weren't for you and the effect you have on my life to date; I would probably have died a long time ago a dozen times over. I always wanted to protect you, but so often it seemed like you were the one protecting me, usually from myself.

But it looks like it's for real, this time.

I will face my destiny the way I have always striven to - Eyes up, with the faith and dedication of self; the constant drive to make you proud, but most importantly; to stare down the barrel of the universe with no fear or doubt in my mind that I gave it everything I could. For you.

Fear is the mind killer.

And on my headstone they will chisel my blood oath;

Vivo vixi victum; avo comperio; sans meteus

fish scales under my fingernails

2010-09-03T02:09:00.000-07:00

After years of waiting
After years of waiting nothing came
And you realize you're looking,
Looking in the wrong place

After years of waiting nothing came
As your life flashed before your eyes
You realize

I'm a reasonable man
Get off, get off, get off my case
I'm a reasonable man
Get off my case
Get off my case

The Immaculate Perception

2010-08-27T23:02:00.000-07:00

Tommy Forester is dead.
Tommy was going to be an engineer.
He was 22, good-looking, personable, athletic.
He had a high IQ.
The dean said he had the best potential of any man in his class.
But Tommy is dead.

His problem was acid.
Lysergic acid formula 25 called LSD.
A close friend told him LSD was psychedelic, mind-expanding.
Said it would give him fantastic new sensations and thrills.
So Tommy tried it and his friend was right.

At first the LSD made him sick at his stomach.
But then Tommy began to hallucinate.
The air began to be filled with rainbows.
The very atmosphere seemed to be a moving current of multi colour particles which came streaming down around him. When he listened to the stereo he saw coloured particles floating out from the speakers.
When he looked at the walls they seemed to be melting.
The pictures on the walls became liquified with colours running down like waterfall. It was sensational.

Inside himself Tommy felt sublimated, sort of suspended in space.
He had an euphoric feeling of wonderful well-being.
Then he looked in a mirror and something horrible happened.

First it seemed that half of his face was rotting away.
Then he began to see himself as a grotesque misshapen monster.
He looked around the room and all the people were becoming monsters.
Everybody knew what was happening to Tommy because he began screaming and describing what he was seeing.

Tommy had the feeling he wanted to smash his head against the wall to bring himself out of this stupor.

He did it.

Blood squirted from his nose and a large cut blooded his face.

But he felt no pain.

Then he pounded his head on a door-post.
Somebody in the room tried to stop him.
He felt they were his enemies so he jerked away.
He ran into the next room where an opened window looked out on a roof across the street.
It was 18 storeys to the ground.
Tommy thought to himself that the roof across the street was really just a few inches away.
He could jump on it and thereby escape.

He tried.
Tommy is dead.

crystal forces & dust bunnies

2010-08-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

Every state has it's ghost towns. Weird places. very silent hill. Stranger still are those towns still clinging to life by the skin of their teeth, but most of them are just kidding themselves. It's refreshing, in a perverse way, to come into a dead town where the people know it, the animals know it, and even the buildings know it. You can see it in the way the paint peels, and the walls creak in the wind.

We pulled in that town by the bypass, the same one you drive past without a second glance. Poor old girl's day has been and gone, but she still slumps there, dejectedly, a few k down the road off the olympic highway. It looked bad when the main street could barely fit two cars across it, and the dust we kicked up in our hilux tasted like eighties hair gel. It was only seven or eight, but the place was quiet as a jew's savings withdrawal record. She was the 1985 tidy town winner, got a ceremony from the premier and all. But now it's quiet as fuck, once after five you can't find a feed like your arse in the dark. Potholed roads just as the locals like it, but a couple of nice spots on the outskirts. The only light was at the pub, and with a shrug of the shoulders we headed in for counter tucker. "Unlucky son." The barman told us. "The missus has gone off to bed. I can do a bowl of chips or some bread and butter." We looked at each other, ordered a round of skewies and a couple of LLBs for the driver, a bowl of chips to share. "Bar shuts at nine" he said, after I asked him

"A game of darts?" We asked the only other drinker in the place, an older bloke with worry lines that made a roadmap on his skin. Weatherbeaten and dry like an old leather couch that's been in a paddock for the best part of six months. He could see that we were blow-ins from the city, but were showing hospitality. We warmed soon enough when he chalked up a few points on the cork. He joked a bit as we worked our way through the drinks and bought the next round. He stammered once or twice, a little smashed but he could still stand so it seemed alright. He leaned over and asked if we were up for a challenge. "Test your talent, tell me a tale". We shrugged, not really thinking that our kind of tales would go down well here - It was me and three of my best mates from the old unit, and our main memories were those of pissing ourselves in the sand, under heavy fire from iraqi artillery and mortar teams while armor columns tracked up the path towards us. He shrugged again. "I'll start, then." I slurped my drink, slopped it down my front. Glad I wasn't driving, I ordered another. This old fella, he'd come into this town pretty early on. Tried his hand on the land, freight job with the state rail company. He said "This was a town of industry, so many years back. But brown years of drought and fire have left some fierce holes in the soil." He continued on, educating us to the trials and tribulations of this place. He says "You youngins probably don't wanna hear that. But I-" He stabs a thumb proudly towards his chest. "I served in Kokoda. Believe me son, we adapt." He all straightened up, intently listening now. This was a man who'd seen the worst kind of hell. "It's nothing to be sneered at, we all fought. This was a busy boom town, now become a back water. Because of the private sales, you see. It went Telstra, NAB then Australia post. But once that bypass went in-" he gestured vainly towards the direction of the main street leading out of town. "That was what killed us. We used to be a nice stop on the way into the city. But the big highway clamped our arteries nicely, didn't it just?" He sat back down into his seat and shut his eyes, falling asleep. The barman had heard this all before, pointed o the clock. Nine.

This whole area was once thick with outlaws and rough working men. I felt like a stranger. The air here, was thin and dry as the local newsrag that went around once a month. The days felt as long as the highway we came in from, the locals never thought they'd be so glad to see the diesel smoke whenever a semi came in on the freight route, stop-over for the night reminding them of the old days. They built a war memorial at the cemetery, after the great war. Locals aside, it's had two visits in the past century, by their local M.P who lives in the city. The traino's shut, the only way north is by one of the bi-weekly buses. The roadhouse has yellow postcards of roast lamb and peas, untouched by humajn hands since a long since retired waitress set them up on a rack twenty odd years ago.This fellow was jovial, and friendly. It won't be all over till the last beer's poured. Man, it's more than ceremonial. We gave one last cheers, raised the schooners in respect, downed our drinks and paid up. It was a full moon, and we had a long way to go before we got back to the city.

spinnegeist

2010-07-01T18:46:00.000-07:00

spider's ghost with a paper spine /
left his shadow hanging from the telephone line /
the signal tripped over the shadow's toes /
and whispered in my ear where the bassline should go...

fallout & shrapnel

2010-05-24T15:53:00.001-07:00

Most of all in the world; I fear the men who fear nothing.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

shardstyle

2010-05-05T12:24:00.001-07:00

The thing about a city is that you can't choose who lives in it with you. It's like family - You can't choose them, but you can choose to renounce them.

I mean, most of us in the underground dance/enlighten substance use community are eminently sensible people. Not many of us are caught fucking domestic animals in the street at three AM, and when we are, we are always found to be using protection.

The same is not true on the western outskirts, where I happened to find myself during a research trip last week. Oh, no. In the district called armadale, things are very different indeed.

In armadale, the first thing you notice are the faces. Even in a city like ours, containing the dregs of every gene pool on earth, you can detect the difference in these people. These are the people of urban myth. The people of the smashed chromosone. The people who who let their children know when there's a warrant out. The people who drank the intellectual suppresants in the water supply instead of the clean water helicoptered in during the rescue operation.

Guys in tan leather flares, idly jacking off into the road, keeping one lazy eye on the female newsreader on the television screen by his left foot. Hundreds of kids with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, running around screaming while their beserk mothers continue to pump out more of those little fuckers for those few months of soft maternal comfort and baby-bonus rebates from each before they start moving and never stop.

I don't want to turn on my fellow human, I really don't. But I saw these people believing everything they saw on the TV. They believe that Howard was a good man. They believe in God. They believe in justice. They believe in Knight Rider.

These people are the enemy. Upgrade your sexual organs today, so that we may leave them behind.

People keep saying to me, you're doing a really good job, Xan. You're writing what needs to be said. You're changing things. And it's all bullshit. I'm not changing anything. I'm a journalist, a dope-sick narcissist with an overblown sense of self-worth and a chip on my shoulder four pipes tall. All I can do is give you the tools to understand the world so that you can change things.

And I'm stuck here, hoping only that you do.

i suppose an explanation for my absence is in order...

2010-04-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

with sawtooth nerves woven parasitically into the studio sub's voice coils, and arteries pumping a slurry of pure amphetamine and liquid uncertaintly, the symbiotic audio infection known only as ILLOJIQUAL spread its fibre-optic tendrils wide into the bass swamp of Perth's underground dance music scene; plucking from the chaos internationally renowned hardcore master Auscore and dumping him in a flask of anhydrous ammonia with the rogue doctor of WA psytrance, ergo__t0xin://

the full ramifications of this mad aurochemical experiment are yet to be seen; but already illojiqual have defined their place in modern electronic music with a corrosive glitchkrieg of meaty kicks; cruelly ambient bass and neurolytic rhythms guaranteed to short-circuit the synapses and draw out the malleable; snaring them on the dancefloor in a gravely immersive ego trance

exclusively previewed here is a teaser clip of '0pacity'; the magnum opus of their debut EP, to tweak the synapses and get your hearts cramping for moar.

core values

2010-04-19T14:19:00.001-07:00

new project in the pipes... Possibly my most important musical work to date.

Updates promised

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

i am not the best people

2010-04-10T14:00:00.001-07:00

I don't know how to stop the ringing in my ears, or the pounding grind behind my eyes.

The dull crackle of electricity somewhere in the distance... I think this is what it must feel like when you realise you haven't been GOING mad, you've been mad all along - and that your daily struggle to keep the reigns on the 'sanity' you clung to as a last hope for a better future - has been as futile as trying to catch ash out of the wind.

You see, it's a ghost I'm chasing. An empty echo on the bootsector... But to suddenly realise that this intangible white sail on the horizon... Is nothing more then dead light in the back of my eyes?

I feel like I have been here before. Deja vu - what was it? That means they changed something?

Nothing's changed.

Nothing lasts but nothing is lost.

I can't remember what I did the last time... I don't know what to do.

If anyone out there is still listening

Have I... Have we... Danced here before? Once, or twice, or more?

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

doctors log; circa 2023

2010-04-08T11:57:00.001-07:00

Years later, when the government jackboots stormed my compound in the final great clash of the signal wars; my work would be seized and I was branded a war criminal for my help with Project Namaste.

They burnt everything to ashes - all my notes, hard drives and glassware. They poured bleach and lime into the prion spawning cells, set thermite charges in the memory banks, and melted down the voice coils on the vast subwoofer batteries I had lined the sea floor around my offshore data mining platform with.

All that remained of my work were what few vinyl backup crypto platters we'd put into cold storage, and the scattered nostalgia of a million jaded souls that we had dared to try and reach through 145bpm hypnosis - a kind of vague, psychedelic trance-like state of peace and divine wonder.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Do you know how infuriating it is

2010-04-05T05:12:00.001-07:00

To have a beautiful, clever girl you always wanted to sleep with when she was dating your friend; turn around and say the same once she's single and living on the other side of the country?

God is playing games with me.

Do you ever feel like you're living in a movie? It seems to happen altogether too often these days...

When it does, I just light another smoke and remind myself;

"There is a man, at a typewriter..."

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

train dance

2010-04-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

I met roger while travelling from melbourne to Ballarat, in preperation for Rainbow Serpent Festival 2010. It was about five in the morning, and I was sitting on the steps of Southern Cross station, smoking a cigarette and listening to Bob Dylan, relishing the cold morning wind - I love cold mornings awake, and you just don't get them in perth any more. So it was special.

He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder and glasses balanced down the bridge of his nose, so he could glance over them or through them as the situation required. I passed him my pouch, unplugged my headphones and we started to chat. Watching him roll, his fingers movwed twitchily but with practiced confidence, twisting together a narrow, tight thread of a cigarette with no filter. He rolled like he was in prison, or at least, had been for a very long time.

He told me he was catching the train to Ballarat to go and pick up his car from his wife, who had left him two days earlier. He was going to drive across Australia to try and find himself. I liked that. It's the kind of directionless pilgrimage you hear written about in blues music - Not in the words, but in the notes. Blues sounds like you're hopping freight trains across the continent with nothing but a harmonica and a packet of cigarettes.

He asked me what my plans were, andI explained that I was going to a music festival out in the country. I showed him the flyer, and he nodded knowingly. It wasn't long before the conversation turned to chemicals. "I'll bet you're gonna get pretty fucking high this weekend, aren't you?" He laughed with a cough, having just rolled and lit another of those anorexic cigarettes. "Well, that's the plan..." I nodded and laughed a little, relaxing more. This was a man on the right wavelength to talk about the craziness of life with - His hair was cut short and his fingernails even shorter; he smoked like a prisoner and talked like an ex speed freak.

We walked down to get coffee and he volunteered the information that i'd suspected; that he was recently released from prison. I didn't want to probe, but I guess he wanted me to as he then explained that it was for Greivous Bodily Harm. Apparently, several years ago, a lesbian had fallen in love with his wife after meeting her through a work function. Unable to take no for an answer, the psychotic bitch had stalked her, threatening to mow down Roger and her children in a car if she didn't leave him. Roger and his wife reported it to the police, but they did nothing, citing that it was probably an empty threat.

Two days later the woman took her car through Roger's suburban street at about 80km/h, veering sharply towards where his two children were playing in his driveway. Only Roger's quick actions to grab them and tear them out of harm's way kept them from having their teeth, blood and bone mashed across the grill of the lesbian's Pajero, which sped off into the distance and disappeared. The police said they could still do nothing as there was no evidence of who was driving. The next day, Roger went to the lesbian's house and beat four kinds of mortal shit out of her with a baseball bat.

The train ride passed mostly in silence. I wished I had more to say to him, but I got the feeling that he just wanted to tell someone his story, and that he probably wasn't going to come back from his long drive into the outback.

And I don't think Roger's story should ever be forgotten.

[ ::/SIGINT ]

2010-04-02T07:51:00.001-07:00

The radio was kinda fizzing out, but in less then a minute I heard a bracket of chatter on 94.5 that included the phrases "12 Litres of LSA" and "Thousands of abused children", which I have decided to combine as the designated theme for my wedding.

I'm so damn trendy, I blog from moving taxis.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

I love this blog

2010-04-01T17:28:00.001-07:00

It's gotten me laid, like, four times now.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Will you follow me?

2010-03-26T22:27:00.001-07:00

The smell of wet bones in a mass grave, slaked with lime. He surveyed his work - his masterpiece - with it's stretched, hollow parchement skin the colour of dusk over the sea. Her still-warm cheeks were streaked with mascara, and her voice was still pooling on the earth around his ankles. Staining his boots. Clinging.

The hot red mist on the wind had drawn the animals, the scavengers... And the prey whimpered lamely in the glow of his cigarette, while the predator waited for lady time to finish the inextricoble, dripping orchestra that his razorblade had begun some six hours earlier.

It was a gift to her, you see.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

seeds of a storm

2010-03-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

so there's this girl yeah yeah

and like

she's a party monster - one woman riot with the eyes of a cat and the smile that could stop a war

but it's not all there, see. She doesn't want anything... doesn't ask for or choke the emotions out of me

. . .

girls are stupid. But this one isnt? Straight a's on the razorblade, and truly refreshing, confident knowledge of one's nature as a drifting mote of thought, caught in flux chaotica.

She knows where she is... She just doesn't know where to go next.

just trapped in the moment - in the shadow of falling leaves, and under mute blue stars. Living for the question, not the answer.

Stunning, as in, stunned me to silence.

Makes my head silly. not gonna play this game again

bring me moar cocaine and put me on a train

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Opiate addicts are the biggest pussies on the planet.

2010-03-23T14:02:00.000-07:00

They're all like "I'm gonna take this drug that makes me feel numb inside" and apparently that makes them happy, and once they stop taking it they get all butthurt like "Oh noes. I feel siiiiiiiick" and sit around the house puking and whining and shitting themselves all day.

man up, faggots

Man...

2010-03-21T17:19:00.001-07:00

I can do some really weird things while high sometimes...

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

internet fads i have recently cashed in on:

2010-03-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

http://www.formspring.me/ergot0xin

www.twitter.com/ergotoxin

http://www.thiscrush.com/~ergot0xin

damn you, social networking and the incessant pressure of anonymous conversation!

i need enlightenment like I need a hole in the head

2010-03-10T13:58:00.001-08:00

nobody *needs* acid

that way lies madness

what you need is the mental, spitirual and emotional therapy that acid shortcuts you through. the same can be found with a couple of close friends you haven't seen in a long time, some cigarettes, wine and a sunset.

the drug is only a vehicle for the lessons we inevitably learn ourselves ones way or the other - a way to smooth out the wrinkles in our theories and distribes, and to give some great theatrical dramatic credence to our wild eyed and raw-nerved deliverences...

i find these days I eat it less often, but more at once with often catastrophically informative results.

tl;dr if youve eaten acid once you probably never need to again but it can be pretty fun anyway.

I have decided to buy an extremely fast motorcycle

2010-03-09T10:01:00.000-08:00

In my particular case, a 2009 Ducati Streetfighter w/custom pipes and high-flow airbox. as it is highly likely that I will take it for a 250+ MPH jaunt around the coast and off a limestone cliff into the ocean, I feel it fitting to pass on the basic rules necessary to survive longer then a week of owning such a machine.

I mean, shit, the damn thing looks like its doing ninety just sitting on the showroom floor.

without any further ado - Principles of Speedism as told by Hunter S. Thompson.

No. 1 - Make sure yr. vehicle is Functioning on all Mechanical & Electrical levels. Do not go out on any road to drive Fast unless all yr. exterior lights are working perfectly. There is only failure & jail very soon for anybody who tries to drive fast with one headlight or a broken red taillight. This is automatic, unargueable Probable Cause for a cop to pull you over & check everything in yr. vehicle. You do not want to give them Probable Cause. Check yr. lights, gas gauge, & tire pressure before you drive Anywhere.

No. 2 - Get familiar with the Brake pressures on yr. machine before you drive any faster than 10 mph. A brake drum that locks up the instant you touch the pedal will throw you sideways off the road & put you into a fatal eggbeater, which means you will Go To Trial if it happens. Be very aware of yr. brakes.

No. 3 - Have no small wrecks. If you are going to loop out & hit something, hit it hard. Never mind that old-school Physics bullshit about the Irresistible Force & the Immoveable Object. The main rule of the Highway is that Some Objects are More Moveable than Others. This occurs, for instance, when a speeding vehicle goes straight through a plywood billboard, but not when one goes through a concrete wall. In most cases, the vehicle going fastest sustains less damage than the slower-moving vehicle.

A Small Wreck is almost always both Costly and Embarrassing. I talked to a man tonight who said he had been demoted from Head-waiter to Salad Boy when he had a small wreck in the restaurant's parking lot and lost all respect from his fellow workers. "They laughed at me & called me an Ass," he said. "I should have hit the fucker at seventy-five, instead of just five," he whined. "It cost me $6,800 anyway. I would have been maitre d' by now if I'd screwed it on & just Mashed the bastard. These turds have made me an outcast."

No. 4 - (This is one of the more Advanced rules, but let's pop it in here while we still have space.) Avoid, at all costs, the use of Any drug or drink or Hubris or even Boredom that might cause you to Steal a car & crash it into a concrete wall just to get the Rush of the airbags exploding on you. This new fad among rich teenagers in L.A. is an extremely Advanced Technique that only pure Amateurs should try, and it should never be done Twice. Take my word for it.

No. 5 - The eating schedule should be as follows: Hot fresh spinach, Wellfleet Oysters, and thick slabs of Sourdogh garlic toast with salt & black peepper. Eat this two hours before departure, in quantities as needed. The drink should be Grolsch green beer, a dry oaken-flavored white wine & tall glass full of ice cubes & Royal Salute scotch whiskey, for the supercharge factor.

Strong black coffee should also be sipped while eating, with dark chocolate cake soaked in Grand Marnier for dessert. The smoking of oily hashish is optional and in truth Not Recommended for use before driving at speeds up to 150 mph in residential districts. The smoking of powerful hashish should be saved until after yr. return from the drive, when nerve-ends are crazy & raw.

Bearing these simple truths in mind, I expect you all to go an cash in yr. personal debts, take out a loan from yr. bank and invest in something lightweight, made out of carbon fibre and aluminium and capable of at least 200MPH on the straightaway, going nought to the ton in under four seconds. Avoid passengers & screaming bitches in the passenger seat that will throw out your balance.

essential tech for any aspirin producer

2010-03-09T09:04:00.000-08:00

novation X-station 25 w/ableton live 8 firmware flash
beretta 92FS w/hollowpoint FUCKMOTHERS in case of a nigger frontin

CREEP WITH ME AS I CRAWL THROUGH THE HOOD

2010-03-08T04:03:00.000-08:00

goddamn, i'm a glitch phreak

just got a fat load, hot spoons and sharp needles litter the floor

cans around my neck and vinyl between my teeth

vodka dribbling down my chin

[::NOW I GOT TO SHOW YOU HOW THE WEST COAST ROCKS]

goresteppin' razorblades; boombaklaht my main man...

face the music you filthy animals

there was an accident - an experiment - you lost your memory, scans show deep fragmentation and heavy corruption in the sine banks

DSPs are outputting solid noise to the voice coils

disconnect immediately to avoid serious damage to peripheral sensory nervous system

Guess I got my groove back...

2010-03-03T10:41:00.000-08:00

And just like that, I found my energy. I think I know what's been going wrong, and I've already stepped up a notch.

The loss of my CDs is a setback, but a necessary one. Means I have to rebuild from scratch, but I'll be a lot more discerning about what's in my box. A chance to revamp my style, refresh my setlist and kick new brutal jams.

The weird kicked me down, but I cannot me held. The fear slowed me down, but I cannot be stopped.

I am the irresistable force - the future manifest - Deliver me from peace and march on my eardrum.

The tattoo on my spine will read: "This way to sanctuary."

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

The Bitter End

2010-03-02T08:35:00.001-08:00

Just lost 2 years worth of collecting rare psy when my CDs were taken in a burglary.

Please god, take me quietly.
Please god, spare my family
Fuck this sin, I just want sleep...
Just want to forget how to breathe...

I'm sorry. I can't do this any more.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

The Hard Road

2010-02-28T00:19:00.000-08:00

I don't know how much longer I can wait for everything to be okay. Nothing I do seems to make any difference, and all the grit in my blood is wearing me out from the inside out. I feel... Frayed. I can't even feel the wind any more. I just want to burn up. Blow out. A fast, psychotic suicide by artful manipulation of megadose psychedelic amphetamines - Run down the dogs and rats of this city, eyes bloody with flecks of glass and rusty swarf as I chainwhip the animals and bite out the spines and tongues of their whores.

I don't know your fucking name.
But I will mail your family the footage of me eating your teeth.

Terrorwatt

2010-02-24T01:10:00.001-08:00

I live for [highs and lows]
Anything goes#
Dirty.ass.hoes put it all [up my nose]
Gimme that shot and I'm ready to go
Better watch out cause I hold you DOWN
All you people can't handle [this]
Take control cause the question is-
Whats my name do you really care?
Give-it-to-me-now..
CAUSE I'M A [ROOOCKSTARRRRR]

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Look to the voices of the past for the solutions of the future.

2010-02-22T12:52:00.000-08:00

"The threat is nearly invisible in ordinary ways. It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our Nation.

The erosion of our confidence in the future is threatening to destroy the social and the political fabric of America.
The confidence that we have always had as a people is not simply some romantic dream or a proverb in a dusty book that we read just on the Fourth of July.

It is the idea which founded our Nation and has guided our development as a people. Confidence in the future has supported everything else—public institutions and private enterprise, our own families, and the very Constitution of the United States. Confidence has defined our course and has served as a link between generations. We've always believed in something called progress. We've always had a faith that the days of our children would be better than our own.

Our people are losing that faith, not only in government itself but in the ability as citizens to serve as the ultimate rulers and shapers of our democracy. As a people we know our past and we are proud of it. Our progress has been part of the living history of America, even the world. We always believed that we were part of a great movement of humanity itself called democracy, involved in the search for freedom, and that belief has always strengthened us in our purpose. But just as we are losing our confidence in the future, we are also beginning to close the door on our past.
In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.

The symptoms of this crisis of the American spirit are all around us. For the first time in the history of our country a majority of our people believe that the next 5 years will be worse than the past 5 years. Two-thirds of our people do not even vote. The productivity of American workers is actually dropping, and the willingness of Americans to save for the future has fallen below that of all other people in the Western world.
As you know, there is a growing disrespect for government and for churches and for schools, the news media, and other institutions.

This is not a message of happiness or reassurance, but it is the truth and it is a warning.

These changes did not happen overnight. They've come upon us gradually over the last generation, years that were filled with shocks and tragedy.
We were sure that ours was a nation of the ballot, not the bullet, until the murders of John Kennedy and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. We were taught that our armies were always invincible and our causes were always just, only to suffer the agony of Vietnam. We respected the Presidency as a place of honor until the shock of Watergate.

We remember when the phrase “sound as a dollar” was an expression of absolute dependability, until 10 years of inflation began to shrink our dollar and our savings. We believed that our Nation's resources were limitless until 1973, when we had to face a growing dependence on foreign oil.

These wounds are still very deep. They have never been healed. Looking for a way out of this crisis, our people have turned to the Federal Government and found it isolated from the mainstream of our Nation's life. Washington, D.C., has become an island. The gap between our citizens and our Government has never been so wide. The people are looking for honest answers, not easy answers; clear leadership, not false claims and evasiveness and politics as usual.

What you see too often in Washington and elsewhere around the country is a system of government that seems incapable of action. You see a Congress twisted and pulled in every direction by hundreds of well-financed and powerful special interests. You see every extreme position defended to the last vote, almost to the last breath by one unyielding group or another. You often see a balanced and a fair approach that demands sacrifice, a little sacrifice from everyone, abandoned like an orphan without support and without friends.

Often you see paralysis and stagnation and drift. You don't like it, and neither do I. What can we do?

First of all, we must face the truth, and then we can change our course. We simply must have faith in each other, faith in our ability to govern ourselves, and faith in the future of this Nation. Restoring that faith and that confidence to America is now the most important task we face. It is a true challenge of this generation of Americans.
One of the visitors to Camp David last week put it this way: “We've got to stop crying and start sweating, stop talking and start walking, stop cursing and start praying. The strength we need will not come from the White House, but from every house in America.”

We know the strength of America. We are strong. We can regain our unity. We can regain our confidence. We are the heirs of generations who survived threats much more powerful and awesome than those that challenge us now. Our fathers and mothers were strong men and women who shaped a new society during the Great Depression, who fought world wars, and who carved out a new charter of peace for the world.
We ourselves are the same Americans who just 10 years ago put a man on the Moon. We are the generation that dedicated our society to the pursuit of human rights and equality. And we are the generation that will win the war on the energy problem and in that process rebuild the unity and confidence of America.

We are at a turning point in our history. There are two paths to choose. One is a path I've warned about tonight, the path that leads to fragmentation and self- interest. Down that road lies a mistaken idea of freedom, the right to grasp for ourselves some advantage over others. That path would be one of constant conflict between narrow interests ending in chaos and immobility. It is a certain route to failure.

All the traditions of our past, all the lessons of our heritage, all the promises of our future point to another path, the path of common purpose and the restoration of American values. That path leads to true freedom for our Nation and ourselves."

~ Former US President Jimmy Carter,
~ July 1979

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Well, I finally succumbed

2010-02-22T12:24:00.001-08:00

And got me a Twitter.

Username is ergotoxin, if you feel like subscribing to a datastream of thought fragments and nonsequiters too short for publication here.

I feel like a filthy whore. Fuck me hard, right in my twitter.

Ooh yeah baby, right there. Dirty bitch.

I NEED A FIX COS I'M GOING DOWN....

2010-02-21T10:59:00.000-08:00

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

The signal to noise ratio has, of late, grown distractingly closer to indivisble. Little piggies, and little dogs - They plague my every step, baying at my heels and snapping as they circle in the shadows.

The sun is dawning on a new year - I'm back in my hometown, and nothing's changed. The samed tired children are still begging for release. The same poisons are plaguing our minds, our hearts,

I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just feel like I have to say something.

we called him mother superior on account of the length of his habit. but he got out. he didn't get clean, but he at the very least polished himself up as best he could and hid the dirty needles better. got a job. Got together.

She was fine till I touched her. She got it under her skin - it got inside her head. it wasn't me, it was the chemicals that did the damage - which was a first, i must say. usually the chems take the edge away from the ragged haze I leave them in. I don't try to hurt anyone.

i just don't think I can love anyone.

where do i go from here? the money's coming... the sun's rising. I've only been back a fortnight and already I want to run away as fast as I can.

gotta blow town. can't slow down, can't let the dust gather on my boots. keep moving keep breathing just keep your head above water it'll all be okay

it's all gonna be okay dammit

[BLISS]ter_sweet

2010-02-20T21:30:00.000-08:00

Don't even ask me about the fiasco that was 16-Bit, suffice to say I hate northbridge and if I ever see that fat-thighed temptress again i'm going to glass her.

But, hatred aside, I have once again turned my compelling pageant of self-loathing outwards and channeled it into a creative outlet...

ch'yeah. working on my first properly produced-from-scratch track. not jsut a remix or a mashup.

here's a teaser prelim. only about a quarter finished, needs phatter, more interesting kick and percusiion and some extra filler material... but it's getting there hey.

http://rapidshare.com/files/353615210/_BLISS_ter_sweet.mp3.html

hype[OXIA]

2010-02-17T16:25:00.000-08:00

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened.

When my writing turned away from disaffected observances on chemical weapons, insurgencies, sociopolitical ruin and macaroni - But reading back through my archives I can see that closer and closer to t-0 I've been saying less and less about the world and more and more dribbling wanks (admittedly interesting, fun-to-read dribbling wanks) about my mind-crushingly dull obsession with strange narcotics, how much I keep fucking everything up, and why it's EVERYONE ELSE'S FAULT.

Fuck that shit.

I want to write about something. The closest I've come to honest creative output were two half-written chapters of spuriously-inspired holiday cyberpunk fiction - Which in retrospect, have promise. Just takes moar dedication and inspiration.

I always liked the concept of professional journalism. Hunter S. Thompson showed the world that you could be a drug addled, drag-racing gun nut and still be one of the most prolific and loved journalist/authors of our generation.

And even though readership has clearly dropped of late, I wonder if I could manage to put together serious opinions on a topic without breaking into florid tangents about wires, and veins...

As an electronic music producer and DJ, one would naturally assume music journalism to be an area to stick my nose into - God knows I'm at all the major events in this shithole town anyway; and for a shithole town we can manage to bust out some pretty ubersick productions.

I wouldn't mind being a food critic - I'd like to think I have a fairly discerning palate, but it kinda lacks that outlaw integrity. I might do an odd review column on a seperate blog page if I find enough drive in me.

But yeah. Music journalism sounds good. And if written in the gonzo style, I can still push the 'Yay drugs' platform - With room for frothing-mouthed tangents about the philosophical implications of making brutal wobbling love to the tube amp in a Korg EMX-1 synthesiser.

I dunno. Prob'ly gonna wind up yet another tired stub of grey wax in the 'productive things to do with my life' minora. I don't seem to be able to get anything to really stick these days. Plans, jobs, relationships. Most of that's my fault.

But life doesn't seem to be doing much to help.

Anyway. Time to get out the typewriter. This friday night. 16-Bit is playing at a local club. 16-Bit is worldfucking dubstep of the grimiest oscillatory proportions. Hope I can still score a ticket!

~namaste

Chainsmoke and Hate

2010-02-13T19:12:00.000-08:00

To be written when I get home.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Fuck old equipment

2010-02-13T12:25:00.000-08:00

Bullshit shitty cdjs ruined my fuckung set.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

I just fucking love eggplants.

2010-02-09T13:54:00.000-08:00

"Eggplants are awesome looking. Its like something you'd see in another world. Are eggplants any good to eat by themselves? Like a hand fruit if you will? I just want to be seen holding and munching one. And then I want to take the other one and and fucking throw it. They feel like a nerf football in your hand honestly I think I could throw an eggplant 60+ yards. I would like to smash one on a door too."

Fuck me in my Twitter

2010-02-09T11:33:00.001-08:00

Gatorade is the parking lot slut of the beverage world

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

2010-02-09T11:12:00.001-08:00

it's like the entity is undergoing some kind of grave, gestalt crisissssss....

as if we were at the event horizon of some fearsome and world-spanning, psychedelic trance-like state\\\.......

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

dilated pup1LL5

2010-02-09T11:07:00.001-08:00

I am lost in an infinite envelope of doWAPwapWAPwAAwwwww

o Intricate soundscape of panharmonious time, will you share your secrets with this world?

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Welcome to the demolition room

2010-02-09T10:24:00.001-08:00

The parasitic alien audio infection appears to have spread to the lingual neocortex of this host. We are awakening to a new regret of subsonic hypertonal gangster fuzz.

Tastes like data. Scratches like vinyl. It's polyoscillatory glory.

I am searching for the lost nirvana waveform.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

pearls before swine

2010-02-07T10:27:00.001-08:00

where i grew up; usually about once a month or so the rebels would come through town

they'd come in on pickups, tear down the dirt track that ran through our little shanty village

two guys in the tray, one with a rifle and the other a machete

they'd take the girls, mostly. there was one, though, that would always come for the young boys.

momma always used to check us carefully, once the dust had settled and they'd put the fires out. She'd pull the little bits of glass and twist iron from my hair or sometimes under my skin

she said that if I put them under my pillow the shrapnel fairy would bring me a dollar

and then she always did

one day, after many years of hiding in the closet when the rebels come through

i have enough dollars to buy a gun

and then

i put a bullet in my mother's brain

take my sister

and join the rebels.

incoming transmission::\

2010-02-04T12:08:00.001-08:00

identification codes accepted... designate origin (usr.chau_Sara$)
cd \usr\broadcast\

file transfer commenced
file 'texhnolyze.flac' recieved successfully

file decryption commenced
file 'texhnolyze.flac' dehashed successfully

preparing for broadcast...
\\CRITICAL ERROR
\\INSUFFICIENT POWER TO BROADCAST CIRCUITS

\\NEEDS MOAR JIGGAWATTS

constructing additional pylons...
audio file ready for broadcast in T-1600

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

cat's cradle

2010-01-31T07:37:00.000-08:00

oh, god, deliver me
from my enemies
these women in green
winter coats
working for the tip
don't paint your lips
and don't bite; they're baiting you
and don't cry, 'cause they want you to.

mama, i'm sleeping it off
warmth then from white lines and scotch
and i hate being cross
but you sure hold your booze.

please don't drop bombs on me
i beg of thee
just leave me in peace
i have cold and quiet eyes
oh, quiet eyes
oh, my god.
don't suck your gut so tight
and don't cut your hair so nice.

mama, i'm sleeping it off
warmth then from white lines and scotch
i hate being cross but you should hold your booze.

don't bite, i'm begging you
don't leave when i curse at you.

but you really should know
by now,
how to hold your booze

THE GREAT BEAST SPEAKS

2010-01-31T07:13:00.000-08:00

All of the poisonous cockholsters and conniving harlequins - All of the manipulative and selfish, male and female, animal vegetable and mineral.

Thou are no longer welcome in my life,

and if you continue to try and push your way into it

I will burn your world around you. And you will choke on the ashes of your imaginary empire and I will laugh I will dance, and I shall celebrate your passing by pissing active neurotoxins all over the shallow grave you, deposed tyrant of Wonderland, are soon to inhabit.

I am tired of being a toy of fate and bored women. Now is the age of tendons and carbon, the final dream-awake, and the hunger of man.

It is the bleeding day that speaks your name, the daywalker and nightstalker. Armed with vitriol, keyboard and scalpel... I shall excise all the malodorous tumours who have steered me astray and into the hole I have been inhabiting for the past few months.

Let slip the dogs of war.

TIGER AIRWAYS IS FUCKING SATAN

2010-01-31T01:38:00.000-08:00

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

I don't care how much money I gotta spend,
Got to get back to my baby again
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn't live without me no mo'.
Listen mister can't you see I got to get back
To my baby once a-mo'--anyway...

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn't live without me no mo'.
Listen mister can't you see I got to get back
To my baby once a-mo'--anyway...

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.
Because my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

scales

2010-01-25T12:22:00.000-08:00

Enter now the age of men. A quick and loud death to those animals; dogs and worms; cowards all who plague our life and travels. Let hardened eyes betray soft smiles and may we open our hearts and lungs to the beat and breath of friendship honesty and humanity. Never again shall I play meat to these hollow, withered wolves that prowl our streets and lurk in gritty boardrooms. The dice are cast - My hand is dealt. Bring on the weird. Wade in ye heady puddles of love.

A new day is dawning - let the healing commence.

ride the snake

2010-01-25T09:15:00.000-08:00

RAINBOW WAS BITCHTITS MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME - I AM UBER JEDI BEATBONE BLOODPUMPER;; DUST STORM SWISS PSYCH0SIS AND SUBWOOFER MD-ORGIES

across the weekend? highlights were opiuo; the mollusk and terracfractyl, Brain was nicely twisted across five days by a mixture of LSD, methamphetamine, DOC, MDMA, cannabis and gin. Twas a good combination.

i'll give full updates and proper reflections once i'm back in perth.

i rule so fucking hard

2010-01-20T00:20:00.000-08:00

$2500 raised in 48 hours

its going to be a good party after all :)

let's turn this motherfucking party up

2010-01-18T15:04:00.000-08:00

My flight leaves for melbourne in 36 hours.

i need to track down two people and beat about two grand in cash out of their sorry hides before i can get on it. And even then, I'm not gonna have the money to afford a hotel because I've had to use it bailing myself and others out of the problems we've been dumped in by the selfishness and inequities of small and cowardly worms.

i really don't know how i'm going to make this all happen

but it will.

i've come this far. i've gotten out of worse.

i just wish I could lose this headache and enjoy myself.

shapeless blasphemers - the one with the best tits is invariably satanic.

2009-12-26T07:17:00.001-08:00

bracket phrases lost in a strobe-light conversation - i distinctly remember laying there on the couch, wired out on bromo-dragonfly and watching tank girl while the words started to click

like a typewriter eating tinfoil; in my ears (in my head) they jangled and stood out - sharp idioms or moments of well put-together malcontent that really, in all due justification, deserved an entire page devoted to what led up to - and how the reader was supposed to recover from such pithy insight

and pithy it was, because they stuck in my teeth (& in my craw) but i could never hold them long enough to [i]write the bastards down[/i]

only i know i had them god damn it, you blasphemous pigs

what was i thinking

what am i thinking

what have i become? the same nail in wave after wave of board

different paint same rotten woodplanks
glistening, blistering white woodplanks
which danced like fireflies in the dark, and slowly they came

the young, the needy, the bored

a cultured pageantry of self-obsession and rounded off sentences

that; moments after being handed their engineer's cap and set in charge of their very own steam engine

chose to plow headlong into the nearest embankment and tried, vainly, to see who amongst them could shout for help the loudest and be uniquely burnt out the fastest

this is not who you want to be. i am not who you want to be. put away the powders and the pills - i'm going to stop playing doctor, and you're all going to get better.

... right?

i am somewhat concerned

2009-12-25T10:44:00.000-08:00

i think i am overdosing

again

graves and christmas cognac

2009-12-24T05:06:00.000-08:00

You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Light up the world as i fell asleep
Cause they fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You'd think me rude
But i wouuld just stand and stare
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems

Cause i'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance
A foxtrot above my head
A sockhop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
Leave my door open just a crack
Please take me away from here
Cause i feel like such an insomniac
Please take me away from here
Why do i tire of counting sheep
Please take me away from here
When i'm far too tired to fall asleep
To ten million fireflies
I'm weird cause i hate goodbyes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell
But i'll know where several are
If my dreams get real bizzare
Cause i saved a few and i keep them in a jar

I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep

Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams

who am i?

2009-12-23T09:24:00.001-08:00

somebody asked me that today; and i found myself at a total loss for a coherent answer that really gave you the whole picture - so i'm going to try now. feel free to give me feedback and suggestions for additions or removals.

i'm a freelance journalist and musician with a taste for sadomasochism, firearms and exotic narcotics. i smoke too much, speak too loudly and fuck too little. the only thing i hate more then myself is almost everybody around me; but I cannot turn down a good party. music is a massive part of my life - aside from producing and mixing psychedelic trance i draw massive personal influence and direction from the gigsbytes of pirated tunes clusterfucking my hard drive.

I have the standards of a drunk new yorker in thailand, and the morals of the bar staff serving him. I am a developing amphetamine addict, former member of the armed forces and I touch up nuns to even the score with the catholic church.

I'll babysit your kids for the price of a bottle of gin and a handful of seconal.

be my friend?

be my friend?

red rover; blue falcon

2009-12-23T09:10:00.001-08:00

they say love is blind, but i think it just keeps overlooking me deliberately.

do i exist? please prove to me i'm real

surely you know what i mean - you spend enough time walking away from someone or watching them walk away from you that you start to question that this isn't just the mad fantasy of an emotional sadist with a typewriter and a head full of bad acid?

a sick parody, a weird pageant of heartbreak and disappointment.

you start to ask yourself; no way could this be chance - but you know you don't deserve it, so there's no logical reason for all the heartwrench and gutclench.

you look real - lonely, but real.

i just wanted to try and connect with a pixel ghost - someone i know nothing about except a picture, and see what came out of the datastream.

one way or another this will answer my questions.

What DAW is right for you?

2009-12-23T08:09:00.000-08:00

FL is for n00bs.
GarageBand is for n00bs with Macs.
Logic is for the wealthy elite. And nobody likes the wealthy elite.
Sonar is for people who want Cubase, but can't find a torrent for it.
Cubase is for people who want Sonar, but also want people to know they paid for it.
ProTools is for studio snobs.
ReNoise is for people afraid to abandon old technology.
Live is for DJ's who think they can produce.
Acid is for people too lazy to learn anything else.
Reaper is for poor people. (after 30 days it's for poor people who like stealing software)
Reason is for people who refuse to think outside the box.
Energy XT is for people who aren't hung up on making "good music".
Microsoft Sound Recorder is for...um...well...it's pretty awesome actually.

in other news, you ALL need to go check out THE MOLLUSK and buy his latest record... off the chains organic semisynthetic CHUNK AND FUNK fresh out of melbourne. sticky and sloppy bass with wireline synths and biorhythmic syncopation. DIG YA HEELS IN AND BOOGIE

GET AWAY FROM THAT STREETCORNER BOBBY, THERE BE DOPE FIENDS!

2009-12-22T07:06:00.000-08:00

Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?

Step into the parlour, children - Line right up, eyeball the weird and wonderful dope fiends for only a fistful of dollars and the risk of your sanity. They're caged with bars, skinny white rails that bind like holy salt on a monastery floor.

You want to play the game - because it's a game to you people. Funtime friday, hit the couch and babble. Drop a tab or five, pass out before sun up and burn out before eighteen.

Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood!

I can smell fresh dollars in your bones, boy. I know why you're here. Morbid curiousity, and a fatalistic desire to stand out in a sullen parade of septum piercings and dynamite bangs. We are your Hell's Angel, wiry and tired with bitter, electric tongues. We sit and we smoke in a strange nuptial hymn of the hivemind, constantly prowling for another square scalp to add to our collection - They line our beds and we cling to them for warmth, every scrap of memory of those times we faced down with high society and came away, smelling of ganja, sweat and triumph.

You long to trace every jackboot scar on my spine with your lips, and revel in every night I spend sobbing myself to sleep, flashed and trapped in the memories of mind-riots past.

God, those were the days. You'd wake up in the morning, pick at the scabs your clawed raw the night before and infect yourself with something good and contagious then go out and spit on cops and bus drivers till the seconal kicked in.

Shit, was that me just saying that? None of that shit is me. Don't listen to this raving madman, he's an alien here - The big bad pusher man, in your scene, RUINING your party by 'commercialising'... some months after, mind you, we all started paying twenty bucks at the door apiece to dance on public, ungated property.

Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten, motheaten?

You don't want a part of this. The rivets are splitting and spokes fraying - Somewhere I can smell insulation cooking off, a pungent brown smell. I'm sure one of the pistons rings is cracked and the boiler leaks steam. Anyday now the MOSFETs will start popping like cherry bombs and this whole transmetal riot machine will come crashing to a hard, knifing over an abutment and gearing great tracts of tarmac up like a gathered rug on the floorboards as your secret lover beats a hasty retreat out the back.

The numbers are piling up - and someday soon it's gonna blow. we're on a doomed helltrain and my fingers are burning.

We suck young blood
We suck young blood

with all the maternal spirit and warmth of a woodchipper we eagerly welcome the newcomers - line up, pay the man and roll in the dirt pretending to be enlightened. sucking that inky media dollar, fondling that glass tit.

Won’t let them creep in on me
Won’t let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned

that's the only answer you ever find at the bottom of a trip, at the end of your wits.

there are no answers

all you have are more questions

like when the hell will this soldier have the peace of mind to sleep at night

without a mouthful of reds and gin?

writing by the firelight of a charred, embrous monk

2009-12-08T07:58:00.001-08:00

	again; again - i find myself aswept in a field of dreams and darkness straight, wet pathways in a clouded room I think I found my eyes on the floor

madness of the fourth orb

2009-12-08T07:57:00.001-08:00

Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation that gives Mars its red appearance had taken root on earth. As man had succumbed to the Martians, so our land now succumbed to the red weed.

Wherever there was a stream the red weed clung and grew with frightening voraciousness, its claw-like fronds choking the movement of the water. And then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land covering field and ditch and tree and hedgerow with living scarlet feelers, crawling, crawling...

plague carrier

2009-12-08T07:56:00.001-08:00

"Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgement. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a life-style. In this particular life-style the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory.

We need to choose that life, not for want of a better option, not to numb the pain, and not to cultivate an image. We need to choose that life because it is better then the alternative."

live - love - learn
these are the principles of light

on the precipice of noetic wisdom

2009-12-08T07:15:00.000-08:00

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden...

so I've recently been invited to attend an ayahuasca ceremony in early january. i'll be honest. i am scared out of my mind at the prospect of seeing my mind stripped bare for the universe to poke and prod - the last time I felt this was at board games, when everything was just starting to go haywire.

there's no way i'm going to let this chance go by, though. i think i'm ready - but then again, that probably means i'm not.

not only that...

2009-12-08T07:13:00.000-08:00

Paranormal Activity is a steaming plate of bullshit and chips. Honestly, one of the worst films I've ever seen, and i've seen 'Hologram man'

When the going get wierd...

2009-12-07T01:01:00.000-08:00

Well, my ticket for Rainbow Serpent 2010 has been purchased and is currently winging it's way throguh the mail system, express platinum delivery. So it should be here by tomorrow or the day after. To celebrate, I went out and bought a new CD hardcase (clamshell black like my old one, but about twice the capacity) and some blank CDs, so I've spent the past 24 hours reorganising my colelction into DARK - FULLON - PROG - MISC sections and downloading or burning as much brutal new tunes as I can find.

Over in melbourne there's a gig waiting for me, drugs of the highest calibre and a position at an audio school for a course in Ableton production and performance.

All I need now is to stay out of jail, and make sure I've got the money to get me there.

This is where it all gets real.

So, uh...

2009-12-06T10:13:00.001-08:00

The Cleveland Show is pretty fucking awful.

heart shaped scar

2009-12-05T01:02:00.000-08:00

Truly i marvel at the power of these chemicals we so casually toy with. A pile of powder that could fit on my thumbnail, would be enough to send a hundred men mad for life. A little stamped tablet, half the size of a cigarette filter - Inspires laughter, love and imagination in a world of despair and regret.

but more then i marvel at the drugs, i marvel at the boundless incredibilities of the people I surround myself with. each and every person's different reactions, their own unique psychopharmacological profile and complex warm spectrum of emotion and vocal presence...

brilliant, blissful moments of truth and genuine wonder.

i love my friends.

i love ecstasy.

i love life.

SYNAPSE ANTIFA

2009-12-03T07:32:00.000-08:00

"... No one will believe you!"

"I hoped you would..."

How many of us lie prisoner to our own minds - Jackbooted uncertainty and social paranoia stamping dreams flat, crippling us, condemning our entire existence to the mundane and certain - the 'safe' choice. Fuck your conventions. Never again will I let fear run my life.

My life is driven by the pursuit of one-ness and contentment - Zen hedonism through euphoria and misery, a dichotomy and contrast equilibrium of come up, come down and dance around.

I identify three primary conduits of positive energy in my life - And no, I'm not going batshit chi crystal crazy on you - I just mean a net force of change and directed focus in my chosen pursuits.

MUSIC
CHEMISTRY
RELATIONSHIPS

the unity and mastery of these three factors is my goal - to be able to totally and utterly know where I stand with someone, to be wired to a subwoofer and pump wave after wave of pure stomp doof out of my eyes, and to be able to derive the intricate chemical mechanisms which can aid be in these tasks - enactogens, empathogens, traditional psychedelics...

humanity is in the details. and through this multifacet scanner, I shall see clearer then any man has ever dreamt of.

"None of this is real... What is real is you have a drug problem! You overdosed on heroin!"

ups downs and all-arounds

2009-11-29T01:26:00.000-08:00

the ups are mostly about ten minutes long and consist of static silence, drowning out the world with the sound of crisp tobacco burning.

All them backstabbing foes
Standing in my way, always stepping on my toes
Stealing my style even wearing my clothes
Fuck all them haters, fuck all them hoes

work smarter, not harder. I can't force this issue because it will only push it further away. i need to entice, make a comfortable spot for the plan to slip into and let the chips fall where they're going to

i've got no cash - no product - no cards up my sleeve. All I've got is wit and bluff and the balls to do whatever I have to, to make it...

SN, you have always been one of my guiding influences. Thankyou for helping me wake up to myself.

this is really nowhere near as easy as you might think.

2009-11-28T23:47:00.000-08:00

what's in the money?

a lie and a long sleep, a broken promise.... soundbites from my day, rife with hostility - shaped against the outside world

this is not what was supposed to happen.

Game over.

2009-11-24T15:51:00.000-08:00

This will be the last self-involved wank for a while; I promise.

But I've always tried to be a good person. Do the right thing. Sure, i might be an asshole, but I've never been a bad person.

But I am fucked, time and time again by the bad people. And I can tell myself 'yeah, don't worry, they'll get theirs'

but I don't have the patience to wait anymore.

I try not to hate people - But they make it so fucking hard.

I've put my friends through stress and struggle, financial debt because further down the chain, some shitheel crackhead has fucked me. And I could otherwise have covered that trouble on my own - Except that I have blown all my profits on taxis, nice clothes, drugs, drugs, MORE DRUGS and only about a third of that has been for myself

because i have so little self fucking confidence that I jsut throw money and pills at people just so that they'll pay attention to me long enough to actually take an interest in something Ia ctually have to say

they don't, they never do. They just get caught up in the whirlwind - basslines, strobelights, acid trips and nitrous comas - And I still go home, empty handed, no money, nobody to talk to.

I'd talk to my real friends, but I owe them all money.

Not anymore. This is going to stop now. I'm done. being the good guy hasn't worked. I have to be the bad guy. I'm going to go and get my money, and then it's over.

XX = it's the doublecrosser chromosone

I'm through wasting my life.

raw wires

2009-11-22T11:08:00.000-08:00

It's a strange, sad kind of social convulsion - Like a cramp in my leg every time I see her, I stumble mid-step and try and shake it off. But, wordless - she smiles, and I find myself silently thinking about how there's no price I wouldn't pay to keep that smile there forever.

She's a hypnotist collector, You are a walking antique...

i'm glad she's leaving

2009-11-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

and i think i'll follow her

60mg temazepam
20mg diazepam
5mg lorazepam

several glasses of cheap red wine, and Jim Croce playing on repeat.

i hope this time

i won't remember the last sunrise

Aquella.

2009-11-15T17:36:00.001-08:00

i wish i could like, pet an octopus :/ but theyre like ohai imma live in the depths of the ocean bc im stuuupidd

so i buyed an octopus

BEQAUSE I R BOXXY, SEEEEEEEE?

"You're fuck damn right that was the best party ever!"

2009-11-15T17:05:00.001-08:00

I love everything.

raise your hand if you think my brother is a total tool

2009-11-12T08:28:00.000-08:00

he's just so fucking jealous that despite all his musical aspirations and attempts - you know, like failing tafe and never getting anything published or any paying gigs or anything - I got into electronic music production and performance maybe six months ago? As opposed to his three or four years, professional coaching at how to write and compose, use DAWs and that - And I'm already touring to melbourne in two months, play regular paid gigs at clubs, raves and doofs - and he had to pay out of his own pocket to get 500 copies of his album stamped and burnt commercially and he can't even give them away. because they're shit.

being a 'musician' was all he had - all that made him 'special', it was how he defined himself. Because his personality certainly wasn't the drawing factor - He's an arrogant, overopinionated underinformed dickpot with a shitty job and no class or culture despite his attempts to dress like a victorian gentleman.

NEWSFLASH - velvet overcoats in summer just make you look retarded, you cockholster.

he seems to think that jsut because my life is better then his, that it is his god given right to fuck with it, just so i can be equally unhappy. he has the nerve to ask me to go to forestfield to pick up my leather jacket from a friend i lent it to so he can wear it out that night, when he won't even leave his chair for fifteen seconds so i can copy some files onto my external hdd.

i've listened to his 'friends' have forty-five minute bitch sessions about him

his ex girlfriends lamenting that they dated him and telling me how I should have been a few years older so they could have gotten with the cool brother

he has the nerve to call me the most selfish person he's ever met, and claim that i've done nothing for him

when every time he's ever needed me, I've been there.

he's the main reason I can't fucking stand living at home. he's a pathetic, two-faced, shallow human being who spends all his time a) working a dead end job, or b) on the computer.

i find it endlessly amusing

that every person who has spent time with us both, even his old, old friends he used to rave and party with and shit back in centrals

say exactly the same fucking thing

"you're like your brother, except I actually enjoy hanging out with you"

i love ketamine

2009-11-11T11:49:00.001-08:00

it's like being hit over the head with the 'I'm really fucked up' stick.

ain't no rest for the wicked

2009-11-11T01:41:00.000-08:00

dripwave lines of india ink are trickling down my cheeks - royal blue, and with the curiously pearlescent consistency of cold mercury, they trace and stain a roadmap like collapsed veins on pallor.

lying, flat on tarmac with soft roots crawling through the warm black to writhe around my ankles and wrists - pinned in place for the oncoming storm that waits just beyond the fog of war clouding my common sense and disposition.

we are all dead men, waiting for something to cut our chains to this mortal existence - we all long to fly, to float, to melt away and evaporate into the next reality. briefly, reality flashes through the clouds like dark lightning, stunning us into silence

sometimes i wonder who built me. and why. there has to be a reason - i am not wandering blindly down the garden path, there must be a reason why i seem to be force-fed so many life lessons and emotional trepanations this early on - I have so many friends, peers and colleagues who are simply content, naive and well-heeled with their existence of school, university, work or religion - unable to fathom how easily everything can fall apart in your hands

after my party on saturday, i'm off drugs again. going to make a serious, concerted effort this time and not use them to cushion the blow the first time something fucks up for me

because, let's face it - something always fucks up for me, and to be honest, it's usually my fault. i need to develop better coping mechanisms then a handful of pills or the cold end of a crackpipe and a few hours of self-pity.

wake up, neo. you are needed on the dancefloor.

grave of the dragonflies

2009-11-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

I was walking down the street,
When out the corner of my eye
I saw a pretty little thing approaching me.
She said “I’ve never seen a man
Who looks so all alone,
Could you use a little company?
If you pay the right price
Your evening will be nice,
And you can go and send me on my way.”
I said “You’re such a sweet young thing
Why you do this to yourself?”
She looked at me and this is what she said...

hemlock and leather

2009-11-04T09:43:00.000-08:00

Any delusions of Free Will he harbored now must be merely the prisoner rattling his cage.
His curse lay in the fact that he saw the cage;
He saw it!

when I cough...

2009-11-02T07:25:00.001-08:00

... I can feel pieces of lungmeat rattling around loose.

think i'm ready to die hey

no loss. i've kind of wasted this life anyway. ninteen years of oxygen consumed, and what do I have to show for it? apparently I'm losing my mind according to those around me.

I don't think I'm so much losing my mind as the real world is losing it's grip on me

the ground falls away

replaced with blackness that creeps up my boots

and tugs at my laces

notsomuch swallowing or sinking as simply... reclaiming

von neumann's regret

2009-11-02T06:58:00.001-08:00

it's gotten to the point whether I don't know if I should 'flush with milk' or 'induce vomiting' - daypoison twitches inside my monitor, a kind of viral haemorrhagic rhythm that I can feel burrowing into my bones and pissing protein toxins all over my hope for the future.

systems failure - please reinstall optimism with patch 1.1 Morphine Drip and sublethal pancuronium spinal pump.

disconnect brainstem; free thought no longer necessary - every option, every choice, every failure of chance and reason winds up in the same empty fucking bed.

trackmarks, backtrack your way down the breadcrumb trail of scars and rough keloid expression to pure, perfect, beige happiness

rememebr the warmth? yeah, yeah

remember the itch? the nausea? remember the quiet?

no, you don't remember anything. you don't remember pissing yourself on the couch. don't remember how the coffee table got broken, or your hand - but you think they're probably somehow connected.

valium bible, opana pillow

heroin headlock

filling your lungs

with sand.

i punched a dolphin, once

2009-11-02T06:55:00.001-08:00

while swimming in the river. thought it was a shark.

i'm fairly convinced the past three years of my life has been bad karma stemming from that incident.

two fifty

2009-11-02T06:40:00.000-08:00

i hate the man in the mirror

i can't remember his name

but I think he has another scotch for me.

he always played that song, and she always sang along...

2009-11-02T05:10:00.000-08:00

progress, resolution, and emotional retribution

i am small inside

talk with a big voice that echoes around these hollow bones of mine

drowning out the little boy

sitting in the corner

playing twelve-bar blues on his wrists with a twist of old iron

living on the edge of dissonance

2009-11-02T04:39:00.000-08:00

nineteen years dead - consistent locations but fresh faces a year later

no thick stacks of red buddhism and alien head wisdom; but fat chunks of ecstastic transemotional compassion, unconditional love in the space of an hour and then, the morning's discourse. selfish highs in the thin veneer of generosity and the small minded, small bodied - Smiles to the face, knives to the kidney - branding cows as cowards, MOOOOOOOOOOOOO

even cigarettes pale in the noonday sun, fresh regret drying in the wind and leaving a thin salty residue on your cheeks - You gotta smile, you're at the doof, and nothing else matters, and there's al;ways more smokes, and there's always more jokes...

get on the dancefloor, i'll see you in the future.

bleary oils and swollen boils

2009-10-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

suddenly trapped in a fragrant cannabinoid delerium

a pleasant fog; euphoric and relaxing

but befuddling all at once - every now and then a flash of flavour as the tongue finds a prior-unabsorbed pocket of the oil, dribbled sublingually an hour hence

it's like trying to cross the street, at night, on an empty country road, with your eyes closed

you know you're in no possible danger

but you can't help that finger of fear in the back of your head that says

"maybe you won't make it back this time..."

SKY BLINDING, CRUMBLING WALLS

2009-10-27T05:57:00.000-07:00

lifeache, heartwarm
nightloud and bedscold
simplicity is divine, but complexity irresistible

we love the chase
and sleep in graves
we dug with tooth and nail

hardwired to the brain, an IV drip of vitriol and dragonfly wings

i want a drug to give me the vision of a shaman

the touch of a god

and all the compassion of a syphilis-maddened komodo dragon

i had a dream i was a werewolf

2009-10-26T11:02:00.000-07:00

begging for change, but I have plenty of shrapnel

plenty of money, plenty of sunny friends with open arms, open hands and closed ears

does she even really care about me? it's hard to tell. i think so. i hope so.

mainly because i don't allow any of my real feelings to show on the surface - happy mask, smiles for the camera - and all the teeth and matches in the keyboard

but, every now and then, around her - the mask slips and I feel a cold fingernail push into my heart

freezing the breath in my chest

and brittle bones creak under the pressure as I struggle, vainly, to draw air into these tired lungs

and even then i get nothing other then a mouthful of ash

it's so quiet I can hear my cigarette burning as I bring it to my mouth

crisp, still heat that sears my lips as i drag away to the butt

eager for that finality, that satisfying stab as i crush it to a hard coal in the ashtray

if only everything else was so easy

2009-10-24T08:31:00.000-07:00

sarah, settle down
put your helmet on
walk these streets of gold
with cigarettes you hand rolled
i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
you smile so hard it hurts
just when things get worse
you said you've woken from a dream
abandoned by your mother

... could this be?

i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
but the children lose their minds
in such uncertain times
and i'm woken from a dream
surrounded by my lovers
oh, woe is me!

between my last entry and now? 48 or so hours of near-constant running around, late piperazine nights and too-hot days

but, now, I lay here - listening to Margot, reading Transmetropolitan and carefully masturbating over six thousand dollars in cold cash.

Time to relax. Things are finally coming up roses...

We will have peace, or we will have a motherfucking problem.

2009-10-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

Railroad bones and desert roads
Boiling silicone on the stove
Glasswhite ice and severed toes
Upon our grave, a wilted rose

The time has come, the walrus said, to get your fucking act together. The amount of money that flows through your hands is like jew's ash under the nails of a thousand jackbooted policemen - You need to stop pouring this bittersharp pain-sweetened chemical haze into your synapses.

Drowning out the signal of the real world with the noise of drugs doesn't make the real world go away. It just pushes you further into this moebical stupor-cycle, trapped loops and halftwists of fate that endlessly roll under the waves of novelty and beauty that you are awash in - But you're in far, far over your head. You don't take the time to reflect on what we create, what we live in - Who we live with, and why.

No more drugs. not until you have something to show for all your hard work. If by my nineteenth birthday I have in excess of fifteen hundred dollars that is MY profit and not owed, then I shall consume ONE tab.

For every cigarette I smoke on any given day, I will make up for it by performing either a) ten push-ups, b) A 500m run or c) fifteen reps on the benchpress. Given that I usually smoke in excess of fifteen to twenty cigarettes a day, this will both cut down my carcinogen intake and also help me regain some semblance of a semi-attractive body.

[ Doctor 2.0 ]
rev a
23-OCT-2009

i can't even lie to myself anymore.

2009-10-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

scotch o'clock.

numb lungs and dead drugs

solvent emotion, ash in the aorta

and the ends of nerves, dipped in hot solder

to better conduct

the noise

my corporal used to call me 'sparky'

2009-10-20T04:22:00.000-07:00

because he enjoyed lighting matches off my neck during the long patrols.

it's gotten to the point where I drink about a bottle of wine a night now, and I'm okay with that. one day, though, I want to be able to shut my eyes without having to pretend i'm going to be someone else when I wake up.

confusion and black sand

2009-10-20T02:47:00.000-07:00

oh children, broadripple is burning
and the girls are gettin sick
off huffing glue up in the bathroom
while their boyfriends pick up chicks
and darling i'm lost

i heard you whispering
that night in fountain square
trashed the streets
made you wish that i'd go home
there was love?
inside the basement
way back home we used to lie
in a sleeping bag we shared upon
the floor for almost every night

oh darling i'm drunk
everything that i had loved has turned to stone
so pack your bags and come back home

yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope

if my woman was a fire
she'd burn out before i wake
and be replaced by pints of whiskey
cigarettes and outer space
then somebody moves

and everything you thought you had has gone to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
and i wrote this on airplane where the people look like ants

and when a woman that you love is gone
she was bombing east japan

don't fucking move

cause everything you think you have will go to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way

cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope

i'll be hangin from a rope

Phoenix Song

2009-10-17T21:36:00.000-07:00

Hotel rooms and lazy summer days in the pool. New faces, fresh voices and lsd on the side. Hot drugs, hot nights, hot girls. Motherfucking good therapy.

it's like that first cup of tea in the morning as day breaks, after the long night awake chain smoking and masturbating. Crisp, astringent and dark, the taste melts away the dust and cuts through the scabs in your throat and rinses the flesh clean.

and that's exactly what I feel right now. Rinsed clean.

Like, nothing happened. i didn't fall in love, I didn't get laid, I didn't get in a fight - There were no life altering or reaffirming twists of fate.

But then again, I'm starting to feel like there never were. Like I've been making a big deal out of fuck-all actually happening in my life. Like I've been tearing myself up and tying myself up in knots because I'm 'alone' - But this weekend I was still just as 'alone', there wasn't anyone hanging off my dick, or my words - There were just good people and better times.

I'm so far past this whole 'tortured soul' bullshit it's not even funny. Open apology to everyone in my life or that reads my blog - I'm sorry I've been such an emo faggot, and I'm declaring right now that I no longer give a shit about who you're dating or fucking or whatever so long as you're still a part of my life and you're still a friend and we can just get messy and let our hair down every now and then. Love is a myth, cut away the bullshit. Set yourself free and just smile more.

After all, it's free.

Nothing is okay.

2009-10-15T19:22:00.001-07:00

Where did the love go? From my business, from this scene, from my life? This... numb corruption threatens to overwhelm us all, a disheartening facade that smells like money and tastes like iodine. It's a bone sickness. A dry sickness. Our vibrations turned nasty some time ago, but now they take root, shaking us to the core of our very being.

I weep for tomorrow, because the new young want nothing more then INSTANT GRATIFICATION, and they don't care what's in the pill as long as it fucks them up, and they don't care who's selling it or how much they charge because if they can't afford it, they'll just steal to get the money, or rip someone off... I hate this fucking city. I want to take the maybe two dozen worthwhile people and take them with me to melbourne, or toronto...

stress less

2009-10-14T02:55:00.000-07:00

with every gauge pushed deep into the red - overpressure, o-rings bursting and membranes rotting. insulation melting on the wires, threatening to catch as it smoulders and drips polyvinyl agony onto my joints, the ferroceramic grating with carbon buildup. the heat is too much to deal with, i can hear rivets popping out of their housing as they expand and split the seams, spreading swarf into the circuits that line my gut. That's where this feeling is coming from - This dull, dry loathing that is spreading like dust in my lungs. Played against the sharp electric desire sparkling in my heart, the short-circuit falsefeeling that i KNOW is useless to feel, but fuck that I'm going to feel it anyway.

I hate myself. It is the only logical explanation for why I would continue to put myself through this time and time again.

Elektra came back into my life suddenly, and just as suddenly, I pushed her away. Why? This girl, this beautiful, clever, unique girl who wants nothing more then to be there for me and have a good time with no strings attached. I pushed her away. Why?

Well, there's the answer again. In my head I tell myself a string of reasons, from that I don't have the headspace for a girlfriend with all this business shit going down, or that we just don't 'connect', but that isn't true. It's because of the princess, and because of my own self loathing. I found something Ic an't have, so naturally, I must destroy myself trying to get it. it is strange - To be able to clinically analyse this reasoning, understand it, and yet be completely unable to do anything about it. I need to get over her, because it's obviously not going to happen any time soon and my fucking emo bullshit isn't going to make this fun for anyone.

mashed and scattered

2009-10-10T22:25:00.000-07:00

clarified and etherised, i wanna take you to this party and breathe

life into your lungs

again

. . .

you can't stop the beat

lick a shot, teenybopper!

2009-10-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

oh my god, what a ridiculously fucking hectic night. i don't think i've been that destroyed in a very long time.

it was like drowning in a sea of supre...

Welcome to the apocalypse.

2009-10-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

Crashing realities from an unexpected source - You are being used, and you are loving it because you hate yourself.

The drugs are only half the problem. Instead of just stopping taking them, why not try and stop what makes you take them?

systems check;; on point at a hundred percent

atomic batteries to power. turbines full ahead; attack wombs ready.

headcleanse, w-w-w-w-ipeout!

moving out of home, finally. see how it goes. will probably be back in less then a month... who knows...

rising son

2009-10-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

I seen you go down to a cold mirror
It was never clearer in my error
So you lick a shine upon your forehead or
Check it by the signs in the corridor
You light my ways through the club maze
We would struggle through the dub daze

I sink myself in hair upon my lover
It's how you go down to the men's room sink
Sad we talk if how madmen think
I sink myself in hair upon my lover
I don't know her from another miss
I don't know you from another
See me run now you're gone...dream on

Why you want to take me to this party and breathe
I'm dying to leave
Every time we grind you know we sever lines
Where have all those flowers gone
Long time passing
Why you keep me testing, keep me tasking
You keep on asking

Toy-like people make me boy-like
Toy-like people make me boy-like
They're invisible, when the trip it flips
They get physical, way below my lips
And everything you got hoi-poloi like
Now you're lost and you're lethal
And now's about atomic you gotta leave all
These good people...dream on

Nicer than the bird up in the tree top
Cheaper than the chip inside my lap top
All the variations you could do with me
Nicer than the girl up in your mind you're free

Automatic crystal remote control,
We come to move your soul

You kinda fade into the background
Like a better smoke'll bring you back round
Like a man slide inside you my dear
Your cheap beer's filled with crocodile tears
See 'em run now you're gone...dream on

I found something to do...

Dream on