Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Piss + Vinegar.

For every person that posts a supportive comment on here, I'd wager there are about 20 people who think I'm so full of shit I'm not worth the trouble, 20 people who agree but don't want to join in for whatever reason, and 20 people who don't have the slightest clue what I'm talking about.

A few posts back I talked about how I really wanted to find the beauty in the hearts of people, now clearly I have given up.

I gave up because I don't think it's there.

I think people are all fucked from the get go, and the thing that fools us is how well we all disguise it.

I get accused of being holier-than-thou every now and then, but fuck it. It's my blog, therefore, my opinion, not yours.

Besides, last time I looked, I was still human, so I'm as guilty of all of this as I say you are.

As i have said before- Given a long enough time line, and enough information, none of us would like any others of us.

So what's the point of anything?

I really don't know.

And I've stopped caring.


This is...you know who the fuck this is.


Monday, March 07, 2005

No Exit.

Continuing along on my theme of "lording up the fact that I am the only person in the world who has morals and standards, and no one else can match up to my superior principles", I figure now would be a great time to make mention of Jean Paul Sartre.

Sartre, in his morality play 'No Exit', wrote one of my favourite all-time quotes:

"
L'enfer, c'est les autres" (Hell is other people.)

The play was, in my eyes, an amazing dissection of the way we use others to reassure, and basically lie to ourselves, to mask the faults we hold.

We all know how this works, every time we are in a social situation, and we play the social game.

Only it isn't a game at all.

We put up false fronts, portraying ourselves in all manner of ways, in order to impress upon others. And we reap our notions of self-esteem, by how highly regarded we are held by these people we have lied to.

So we act as we are not, then feel proud according to how well we have lied.

Sartre made the point in this work, that a persons personality is unable to form under such conditions, and of course he is right. How could it?

How can we grow as people, when we ourselves are a lie?

How can we develop, when the real us is hidden away behind the facade, never to be seen, even by us?

We as people, are lies built on lies.

And we take these corporations of false facts out into the world, and show them off like peacock feathers, hoping to impress, and to climb higher into the social stratosphere.

We lie, and we manipulate, and we pretend we're having fun, when in truth we have never felt so lonely in a room full of people.

Or worse still, we don't feel lonely at all, then we are truly lost.

Look at Myspace.com, or Friendster.

These are the new bastions of the self as an advertisement (as cars, property, and jobs were to our parents).

Thousands and thousands of people, lying to the world, putting to gether a false reality, what they drive, who they know, what they look like...

And so many of them with nothing to say.

I'm not even talking about original ideas. I'm just talking about any ideas.

Look at Blogger.com, and check out what some of you are saying.

"Look at this incredible life that we, the chosen ones have, and you do not. You can look, but you will never know the amazing reality of the spa party, or the pash party, or the...fuck, whatever."

And bands for popularity, and artists for money, and...whatever.

Some people actually convince themselves that this false reality is a real life, and that all the people who would go away if it wasn't for the manipulation and the ego stroking and the insincerity, are actually their friends.

Sartre called this state of affairs, a "social comedy". No wonder, right?

So here we all are, dancing around each other in an amazing social construct that leaves any of the myriad complexities of mother nature for dead.

Only, and here's the "lording it up" bit...

I'm not dancing.

I don't care for it at all. I don't care for what your opinion is, unless you present me with some logic to back it up, not some guilt trip or bitchiness.

There is not one person in my whole life that I cling to for anything, and it drives some people insane.

I derive my real sense of self from knowing myself, from not shying away from hard lessons, or by placing blame for my fuckups on others.

But some people I have known, they hate it.

They hate it that I won't be manipulated like others they know.

When they threaten to walk, i say "go".

And because that threatens their misplaced sense of self "How can this person reject me? I'm popular!"), they lash out, and write me emails containing the kind of catty bullshit I quoted in my first paragraph.

I don't care.

If that's how a person chooses to conduct themselves, it's not my deal.

If they lack the courtesy to talk through whatever they perceive the problem to be, it's not up to me to convince them.

If their first impulse is to blame me, instead of think rationally and see that not everything is about them, why should I waste my time defending myself?

I won't.

And that makes me antisocial.

I know all about being social.

I'm not only a philosophy graduate, with a special interest in Plato's 'Republic', but I spent ten years in nightclubs talking shit with people who all dissapeared the second I stopped dealing drugs.

I could play this game like you would not believe.

If you want a false reality constructed, hell yeah, I can do it.

But I don't want to know.

Fuck all the Team Fizli shit you may have read a few months back. I thought I was dealing with a group of passionate humans who wanted to create something bigger, not a bunch of self-congratulatory bloggers who's only modus operandi seems to be convincing the world (and therefore themselves) that they are anything other than people who want to show you how dirty they can be, as if we're all in Junior High again.

Who gives a fuck how many people you can kiss at once?

Sorry, you're right- a lot of people care. That's the saddest part.

Social comedy at its finest.

But don't get me wrong.

I don't think I'm better than any of you, because we're all the same shit in a different bag.

I have so many problems and doubts and insecurities this blog couldn't hold them all, just like you.

And I love to distract myself from the uglier sides of my lifes reality, just like you.

I talk a lot of shit on here, just like you.

But unlike you, I'll admit it, and it frustrates the living fuck out of me that so few will.

I'm not prerfect, and i never thought I was- that's the point.

So next time you want to level an acusation at me for supposedly thinking I'm superior, and lording it up over you, when I'm just crying out for some like-minded people to make themselves known, save it for someone who gives half a shit.

Take a look at yourself, and the company you keep, and the things you say, and the way you put yourself out there, then tell me I should respect you.

Tu n'es rien d'autre que ta vie.


this is knifey, from 'the internet', and supposedly floating above you all like a God, judging you, and being better than you at everything.








(-) Negatif (-)

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you will know I end up talking quite a lot about acceptance...it seems we as people just can't get by without it.

The more you get to know a person or persons, the more you have to take the good with the bad, and just ACCEPT, in order to get along.

It's clear that without acceptance, people just would not ever talk to each other ever, let alone make sweet love down by the fire.

It is, if I may wax philosophical (or metaphorical, or is it allegorical, I can never tell), the glue that binds us.

And just like literal glue, this is a problem for me.

What this all boils down to, is that every single one of you, and every single one of me, are all total bastards, given enough information and a long enough time line.

That's subjectivity (the other thing I invariably crap on about) for ya!

There is a saying that goes something like 'you never truly know someone til they owe you money', and i can fully feel it. To a lesser extent, even disagreeing with some people is enough to set them off, but more on this in a bit.

I have lost a few readers since I logged in here for the first time, a few months back.

Some I have offended, some I have bored, others don't come by any more because they hate me, and a few come by even though they do.

I'm fine with all of it.

And for the purpose of this post, it suits my purposes perfectly.

You have people that start off with a massive crush on me, who think I'm an amazing writer, and a bit of a badass.

Then they spend some time with me, and they realise I have an horriffic tendency to cut people out of my life instantly and totally if they do not measure up to my standard of morals.

And then they are gone for ever, out of knifeyland, never again having to put up with my bad jokes or odd temperament, because they fucked up, and I'm not taking their calls any more...or letting them in when they camp outside my house.

And after a day or two, they realise they actually like it, and that the only reason they were cut at being shown the door, was because their ego didn't like it.

I think most of us have this, I only have it more, because more people have crushes on me than you, and I am formidable at finding faults with people that make me hate them irrevocably.

Segway.

And two things that make me hate someone irrevocably are:

1. Violent talk/behaviour (directed at me/someone I care about), and
2. Being caught in a lie.

1. If someone speaks violently about any organism that I hold regard for (myself included), my back goes up, and I am pretty much ready for war.
Anyone who has shared a messageboard with me knows this (and I know a few of you are reading this right now).

I just won't have it, and it's one of the fastest ways to make me hate you.

2. I don't mind people lying to me.

Face it, it spices things up, makes life more interesting.

I'm pretty sure my old hippie next dooe neighbour didn't really know Led Zeppelin personally, but you know what? I'd much rather think that he did, and if he'd rather I thought that, it'll be my pleasure to accomodate him.

But if he contradicted himself, or if information came to hand that he didn't actually know them, while both of us were in the room?

That's the test.

It's all in how a person reacts...

People first deny it.

Then they say "you must have misheard me".

Then they try to convince you that you must have forgotten what they had actually said to you, or that it was misunderstood.

I have never met a person that has said "Ah! You caught me!"

If I did, I'd still be friends with that person.

But all the people that have lied to me are gone, not for lying, but for their reaction to being caught out.

Where's their honour?

These are things i can't ACCEPT, won't accept.

These are things that seperate me from a lot of other people, and guarantee that I'll end my life with no friends to speak of.

These are the things that seperate you and me, or at least, 2 examples of things that do, given enough information, and a long enough time li...oh yeah, I said that already.

I caught a good friend in a lie tonight, and i called them on it.

They went through all the motions, denial, blaming me, etc, and they got so rude and defensive I ended up showing him the door.

I don't tolerate people who repeatedly interject when I'm talking- it shows no respect at all.

Problem is, now he's gone, and I FEEL BAD.

I really love my friend, he's one of the good guys, and I know it was only his silly insecurity (over nothing) that made him lie so badly in the first place.

So what then?

Should I have let him be rude to me, due to his defensiveness/embarassment?

My pride says "no".

My pride says if people want to talk to you, they should show you the same respect you show them, and not interrupt, or waste my time with denials.

How cold-hearted am I?!

People deny and interrupt when their in a panic, and don't know what to do. They justify every other fact they can, apart from the lie, so they don't feel like utter cunts for being caught out.

A bit of understanding could have gone a long way. But no, knifey has to be all about respect and honour, when the rest of the world hasn't operated on those principles for the last thousand odd-years.

Quandry.

Another example (Holy shit this is a long post! Does this guy ever fucking end? How about a brief synopsis? Some of us are reading this at work, yo!) was my housemate, who is moving out any day now.

He wanted his girlfriend, the rude bitch who has been staying with us for 2 weeks now, and who not only hasn't bothered trying to get to know any of us or help out with anything, but who actually LAUGHS at you if you say something as innoccuous as "hello", to move in.

Of course it was a unanimous vote for "no".

He was livid, and said "If my kind aren't welcome here, you can all get fucked!"

His kind?

Wait, we let him move in, didn't we?

And we let her stay, even though she's a bitch from Hell, didn't we?

He's made a point of getting in everyone's faces, being rude/obnoxious/threatening.

I made a point of putting his head down the toilet and flushing it, in the vain hope of waking him up.

He tried to press charges, the police laughed, and arrested him for posession of Class-A drugs for distribution.

Outstanding warrants are awesome.

Anyway, the point is, he was total gold to live with before this.

We all liked him, he was sunshine on a cloudy day.

But because he didn't get his way, suddenly the clouds come out, and whaddyaknow? We're all bastards, and he's getting kicked out of here.

So, at long last, here's my point.

Why do we even bother anymore?

Why pretend that humans are anything other than only moderately gregarious?

Why go to that shitheads birthday party when you don't even like them?

Why say hi at Pony at 4am on a Saturday night? Just ignore me!

Why do anything with anyone?

Is it all about our needs?

And if so, isn't that even more fucked?

I'm including myself here.

Is humanity just one big amorphous mass of self serving free agents?

Is life really just a big game of survivor?

And what is the point to anything?

Should we treat life as a game, and go right ahead manipulating and lying to each other?

It seems most of us do already.

I'm actually proud of who I am, proud that I don't give enough of a fuck about what people think of me to hold back my version of the truth.

I'm glad I have standards, and I'm delighted so many people never measure up to them.

I'm happy that I think about this world and this life, and try to measure out how what I do makes a difference or impacts negatively or needlessly.

I want to find more people like me.

They have to be out there.

I know they're out there.

Are you out there?



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.


Friday, March 04, 2005

More blatant lies.

Isn't it crazy, how many lives we can live, inside a life?

I was marinating on Ms Cynic's recent post, where she spoke of her days messing with the Yakuza in Japan, and, well, it reminded me of MY days messing with the Yakuza in Japan.

And of buying a camel at the Cairo camel markets and heading off into The Sahara, because the nightlife in Egypt "left a lot to be desired..."

I ran into my old hairdresser from New Zealand, 3 camel trains, and no-one else, until I accidentally rediscovered Jordan, and turned back.

I was thirsty, and wanted sex.

I've been so many places and done so many things, that I often forget, sometimes for years, some of the things I have seen.

Sometimes I have to take out my diary (all 6 boxes of it) to prove that I was actually there, and didn't just see it in a movie.

My wingman Greg is under strict instructions to burn the diary in its entirety should I die (I'm sure it will happen sometime).

Some secrets should stay secret...like the years 1989 through to 2003.

And so, while remembering past travels, I remembered someone I haven't thought of since 1998...his name was "Hedge", and he was a taxi driver.

He was one of the two only taxi drivers I have ever loved, the other being Raymond Yee, and like Raymond Yee, he was a formidable martial artist, even though Hedge walked with a permanent limp in both legs.

But WuShu was not the only feather in his cap.

He belonged to an art movement, a collective, who would spontaneously unleash art in public spaces, much to the excitement and bewilderment of those who had been enjoying a naughty lunch with their secretary only 5 minutes before.

He lived next door to me in a place far, far away, in a house that he had shared with other anarchists since the 60's. It was full of art of course, and instruments, and odd items like mutated animals in jars, collected from the University his housemate was the Professor of Biology at.

Formaldehyde zoo of grotesquery.

They had knocked out the back fence between our two houses sometime in the 80's, thus making us all housemates in the greater sense.

It wouldn't be unusual to come home to my house, and to be offered a cup of tea from one of them, in my kitchen, with their tea.

Very social.

Hedge didn't actually say anything other than "bonjour" to me in the first 6 weeks, he was very quiet.

But his quiet demeanour was gently massaged by the fact he always had the most peaceful of smiles on his very handsome and old face.

One night, after I had discovered my body's allergy to benzodiazapenes, I was recovering in the back yard, in a hammock under a massive pine tree, in the middle of the night.

Our goat was chewing one of my sneakers, and I had 3 chickens in the hammock with me, as they were bantams, and very affectionate and loving birds.

Like dogs with wings, and crazy rubbery headflaps.

I sensed a shadow next to me, and it was Hedge.

"Bonjour", he said.

I had never been alone with hedge before, and I was interested to see what would become of it...was he going to stand there and say something?

For sure he was.

"Come wiz me knifeee, I have somezing I would lurve to share wiz yooo".

Well, that's just awesome.

I followed him through the demolished fence, and into his house.

Through the kitchen.

Into the lounge.

Down the hall.

And down to the basement.

There were far too many odd items to ever list down there, but the thing that excited me the most was the very thing he reached for.

It was an antique tape machine, with little quarter inch reels stacked neatly beside it, in their boxes.

It ran on a battery, which Hedge connected, then loaded up a tape.

"Sometimes..." said Hedge, "I like to visit my Fathers farm in the South".

His face lit up as he said this, I sensed exceedingly good memories.

"And, I like to record the sounds there".

I have been to farms before, enough to know French chickens and Australian chickens speak exactly the same language.

Le cluck.

But that's not what he meant.

I heard a noise, so faint, so faint...like a woman singing in the distance, so far away, and so very sad, that she was only allowed to sing one note.

Enter harmonics.

I heard a perfect seventh of her note, creep in and appear suddenly, then a ninth, all three together, as if she suddenly had three voices.

There was no vibrato, the note was pure.

There was no other sound.

The only thing that changed, was the intensity of the note, the strength, the volume.

I was transfixed by this most mysterious and other-worldly sound.

Hedge's face was held in such a way as to suggest his enjoyment of it all rivalled mine, even though he had heard it before, that he was there.

If you asked me what it was, I would say it was a Siren, luring sailors to the bloody rocks, waiting to consume their hearts with serpent teeth, with tongues like mercury.

"It is the front gate..." said Hedge "...vibrating on its mounting."

Say what?

And it was true.

I could hear it now.

It was just a gate, singing as it swung, needing a touch of oil, the steel producing harmonic overtones, that just happened to be perfect in every way.

I felt cheated!

I felt like a fool!

But that sound...was so beautiful, it rose above its ordinaryness, cast off the everyday, and decided for itself just what voice it would give to the world.

Hedge took the tape recorder off the deep freeze it was sitting on, and the tapes too, and put them on a shelf.

i realised he had set it all up, just for me, and I felt so priveledged.

He reached into the freezer and pulled out a big container, big enough for a large fish, or maybe for corn.

It was about 4 feet long, and covered in frosty ice.

"What's this?" I asked.

"These..." Hedge corrected me, pulling out the long, white, heavy contents, "...are my legs".

He handed them to me, and I realised why he limped, and why I had never seen him in shorts, even on the hottest days.

He looked proud, as he looked at them, and he brushed off some of the ice with his hand.

I, of course, was speechless.

What? Should I say "Hey Hedge, nice legs man!"

I honestly thought we were going to eat them or something.

Until Hedge took them back, and said cheerily "Time for wine!" (as if he wasn't legless already.)

He slapped me on the back good-naturedly, like I was part of the club now.

The 'I have held a mans severed legs while he looked on like a proud parent' club.

I retired to my hammock, and thought about the whole thing, and came to the conclusion that Hedge had decided he liked me, and wanted me to know him more than merely in passing.

He wanted me to know him.

All of him.

Even his frozen legs, down there in the basement, all alone in the freezer.

And I think that is probably the sweetest gesture I have ever known.

That, and the three chickens gently clucking and nuzzling me for cuddles and my warm ribs.


Bonne nuit, mes petit enfants...


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Got Drama?

Just because I've been laid out in bed, barely able to move doesn't mean I've been doing nothing.

Oh no, I've been busier than ever!

I've decided I want to move out of my sharehouse from Hell, and go live by myself in a nice apartment in St Kilda.

For those of you outside of melbourne, St Kilda is where all the pretentious wankers who aren't bohemian enough for Fitzroy, or not rich enough for Prahran, live.

I'll fit right in!

I have found the apartment in question online, and even did a virtual tour.

It's a studio apartment, sandstone coloured walls, deep leather architraves and doorframes. All open plan, except for the bathroom, which is all white tile, and...well..exactly what I'm looking for.

The kitchen is equipped with really nice European appliances, and for the first time since I've been in Australia, I'm contemplating taking all the antique Japanese furniture i have in storage, out of storage.

I have screens to surround my bed, walnut, with deep deep red silk screens, and faint traces of gold detail, a very low table with red cushions for seats on the carpeted floor, and 3 beautiful walnut miniature tables.

Kickass!

OK, I have developed a new device that reads fingerprints with a laser, and checks them against the I.D. file stored on an inbuilt chip.

I have developed this to fit to a locking mechanism that fits over and around the trigger of a standard baretta 9mm handgun, to effectively lock the weapon against accidental discharge, and unauthorised removal.

Basically, to lock guns in holsters til they're needed, so stupid-ass cops don't keep losing them to tough guys on the street, and putting the public in danger.

At the moment I have the delay time on the lock down to half a second, but I'm confident i can get it to read and release in one-tenth that, effectively immediately.

This has got to be better than the single popper dome on a leather strap that does the job at the present time.

I'm thinking if I can get the prototype holster working fast, I can market it to law enforcement and security personnel sometime next week, receive advance orders and Government contracts the week after, and go into full production the week after that.

This should make me a multi-millionaire sometime mid-April.

Then I can get some International patents happening, and start selling to the United States, China, and anywhere else they have stupid amounts of guns, and become so rich I will be the King of the world, and I will own you all.

And then I will build a space station, have sex with Jenna Jameson, Shy Love, and Ewa Sonnet, and turn myself into a half man, half spider, only instead of legs I will have 9 penises.

That's pretty much the whole plan in its entirety, right there.

Give me feedback, I want to keep this as realistic as possible.


Um...this is knifey, from 'the internet'.