Thinking Jaywise

The Beginning of the End

2009-05-27T18:01:00.005+09:30

Status: Lunatic Calm

As people – the parasitic disease we are – we numb ourselves to the things that matter because the things that matter are the most terrifying and leave us vulnerable. We’re told to forget about the emotions and motives and needs of others and focus on ourselves, falsely glorifying selfishness as self preservation and then wondering why it’s such a shitter of a dog-eat-dog world. We’re taught that other people are just experiences or lessons to be learnt or a means to an end, a stepping stone to some place better, when the truth is that other people are just as human and as fragile as you are. When it comes to everyone else, we’re told to move on, we’re told to forget, we’re told not to try and then we complain because people aren’t any good. Human selfishness fuels our behaviour and lets us believe we have control over our existences, that it’s somehow justifiable to believe everyone and everything else is inferior in regards to our own self gain, all the while providing a pleasant distraction from the obvious.
Everything's eventual.
We like to ignore our mortality and insignificance. We pursue fleeting happiness and prestigious career paths to fill the void between now and when we inevitably cease to be. We try to achieve some sense of significance and meaning - in family, in religion, in jobs and hobbies - to make our lives somehow worthwhile. We don’t like the idea of there being no innate justice, that sometimes shit just happens no matter what you do, that there is no real control and that we are slave to social norms until we die.
Maybe humankind is flawed for a reason. Recently, I have come to believe that the reason why the goals we strive for our whole lives are usually out of reach is because if we were to truly discover our purpose or meaning for existing in all of its complexity and wholeness, it would drive a person mad. Perhaps it is a fail safe to prevent us from discovering that the thing we have pursued with all of our hearts isn’t anywhere hear as pure or as perfect or as noble or completing as we aspire it to be. Some were just made to fail. Maybe once the effort and the hope and the persistence and the heart have been poured into one goal, there is nothing left. Maybe our motivation for existing, for striving, for loving, for risking, for hoping and for being is all an illusion.
Every person wants to believe that they matter, that they have a purpose – except for those starving people from third world countries featured on World Vision ads, that ex-girlfriend you don’t talk to anymore or that mentally-disabled guy who waves to everyone at the supermarket on Wednesdays; those people aren’t real. We like to believe that there is some divine reason, the meaning of life. We all like to think we’re each put on this earth to achieve something, something that will matter.
But what if some people just don’t matter? What if some people are just not made to matter? What if this is just some sick saga, where some people really are propelled into the spotlight, destined for glory and good fortune, despite what they do or how they treat others? What if this is some twisted fate where some people are just subplots for others to feed off of, stepping stones to be tossed aside for another’s wellbeing? What if that is the meaning, the thing some of us are destined to achieve?
Sometimes what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And sometimes, there is no lesson; sometimes you’re just torn to pieces. Some people never learn from being told or from innate kindness, some need the fear of God and love and loss and human fragility to finally understand.
It takes the next door neighbour's suicide for you to actually realise that your best friend means something special to you. Your sister's colleague was raped while walking home from work and suddenly your devotion and love towards your partner of 5 years renews. Sometimes innocent lives need to be torn apart and insignificant people need to die so that others looking on can learn some sort of cruel life lesson or realisation of "Thank God that didn’t happen to anyone I actually care about," or "Next time, I should be more careful". Sometimes they never learn. Sometimes there is no reason for casualties at all.
Maybe it takes someone else to take the blow. Maybe some people are just placed into existence to fail, to be nothing more than a lesson or experience for the sake of others. Maybe those people are just casualties to a greater scheme of things. Maybe some people are destined to mean something solely in death and absolutely nothing in life. Maybe their place in all this is to diffuse the blow when the sledgehammer falls. In other words, if a God exists, chances are It’s a brutal and sadistic Utilitarian.
But what happens once you reach the end? What happens once you've realised everything you've wanted and strived for? Furthermore, what if after all that effort and pain and heart, you are to discover it’s a prize out of reach? What if, after pledging heart and soul, you realise the one thing you wanted is the one thing you can never have? What happens when you realise that you are just one of the empty subplots, merely here to toe the line and flesh out a life lesson or two for someone else? What happens when you discover you are just a casualty to a bigger picture? What happens when you learn that you don’t actually matter?
There is a deep sense of emptiness to realise that not a single heart will cease to beat for a moment when mine does. There is an unbearable sadness upon the realisation that the love and belonging I have always wanted, the one thing I have dedicated my life towards, was never to be. It saddens me that people take having someone to love them and support them as a standard feature or a human right. It hurts because so many people fail to fully appreciate things like love and human kindness, because love is all I’ve ever wanted. I have given up absolutely everything for love and still never got a thing in return, and yet people who didn’t want it as much or work as hard towards it will have someone to love them and so much more. Their ambitions involve wealth and fame and prestigious career paths that they forget having someone around is one of the greatest things of all, whereas I would give up all that without hesitation to have just one heartbeat in time where someone genuinely cared for me. It makes me sad because that’s all I’ve ever wanted and it’s something I will never have. It saddens me to realise that people who fail to appreciate the significance of belonging, of being loved, of having a family, or having somewhere safe, will have the love and acceptance I have always craved and take it as a standard feature rather than the greatest gift ever known.
I have come to realise that maybe it is the shadow I leave behind, rather than my very self, that is of significance. I was never made to have the one thing I wanted, to be happy. As hollow as it is, the nature of my purpose is clear. There’s a finality, a definiteness, an unwavering certainty, a clarity that is so absolute, it almost makes me smile.
There’s a strange lunatic calm to realising your own insignificance, a fearlessness that arises once you spend your life fighting for one thing, working towards one dream, only to realise what you live and breathe for is just a happiness that was never made for you to have. Nothing else seems to matter, becoming mere distractions and inconveniences to fill the gap between now and the point at which you stop breathing. There’s a fearlessness in having absolutely nothing left. There’s no fear of failure or death or having your heart broken into pieces on a daily basis. There is no concern for dignity anymore. There is no concern for pride.
I may not have been made to be loved, I may not have been made to be protected, I may not have been made to matter, but maybe I am so that others will be loved and protected and be held in some regard. Maybe I am just a subplot to remind lovers to always treasure and appreciate the trivial nothings of love before it is to late, a lesson in human durability and vulnerability to challenge the selfish social norms of hollow smiles and empty promises, an experience to highlight the decomposition of a broken heart and a fable to inspire the question in neglectful parents: "Do you know where your children are?".
I may not be happy, I may not have been granted the one thing I have tried to strive towards, but at least I have found the one thing I have lived and died for, even if it is now obvious it was never meant for me. It may have been a losing battle, and it may have been a simplistic, childhood dream, but at least I found it – even if it was a hollow promise – and that sense of realization and completion in itself is something that very few ever achieve in their lifetime. I have found my reason for being and now I have come to realise why humans were never made to find the purpose for being or their true heart’s desire.
Perhaps I was born to be under a sledgehammer to diffuse the blow. I know what I am here to do now; there is only time.
There are always casualties.

Broken

2009-05-06T23:58:00.003+09:30

Status: Broken.

Something's terribly wrong.
Something's broken.
Please save me.

Society Breeds Sociopaths

2009-05-03T01:28:00.003+09:30

Status: Still Heartbroken.

The harsh reality is that modern society is breeding sociopaths.
We’re taught not to care. Human misfortune takes a backseat to the calibre of car we drive or what job we have. Settling down with someone who loves you is that substitute plan to fall back on when the ability to fuck one night stands begins to slip in later years of life. Putting another person’s needs above or equal to your own is unheard of, even if the consequences of your selfish, hurtful actions end up tearing the very heart and soul out of someone else. Purity and honesty are now mocked as traits of immaturity. We’re taught that selflessness is a path only the stupid take.
Here’s a truth no one seems to want to face: People don’t necessarily ‘mature’ as they grow older and experience more. It’s just that people can’t get away with the same old tricks they use to. The selfish, instant gratification in their teens and twenties, carving their way through the flesh of bleeding hearts and shattered lives, don’t really pack the same consequence-free punch when they get to the age of 35. As time goes on and we lose our edge to walk away unscathed (Unless, of course, you're rich and/or pretty), people fall back on 'bettering' themselves with resolutions and hollow promises - not because it's a noble or kind thing to do, but because it's a nice way to cover your arse and faith in the false ideal of justice - maybe if you're nicer to people they won't screw you over too much in return.
That’s why people ‘settle down’ with someone. That’s why people search for a solid career. It isn’t maturity; it’s desperation and necessity. People hate the idea that their hollow and regrettable existence is just that – hollow and regrettable. There is no meaning in this hollow void, so they carve their own beliefs.
Question to the readers: Since when did the heart no longer matter?
It seems the choice is between self-respect and happiness.
Does it hurt that I have given up my happiness to invest all of my self-worth and honour and self-respect into one person without a single good thing in return?
Every moment of every day.
Do I regret investing all I am into a hollow promise?
No.
As painful as it is, at least I know it’s real. At least I know I’m real. At least I’m not satisfied to live some artificial existence where my promises and devotions and hopes are thrown away and recycled for more convenient ones.
I think the thing that tears me up the most and cripples me with the lonely is that I no longer have anyone around to lavish all my attention and devotion on. I like buying gifts for people I care about for no reason at all. I like doing things to make people I love happy, even with nothing in return. When I commit to something or someone, I commit everything I have and am – and I’m not one to go back on things that are important to me.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t understand how people can recover and get over things so easily, particularly the things or people they claim were once big or important parts of them. This inability for me to recycle my emotions or take back my promises makes me wonder if there is something rotten and diseased with the rest of society, or if there’s just something damaged with me. I’m told I am pitifully old-fashioned for not being able to adapt and forget about things that are important parts of my life. But then again, how real can an emotion be if you can forget it all too readily? How can something truly make you happy and encompass everything you are if you can walk away from it and feel nothing? Isn’t that just artificial living?
I feel alone in the world. Sometimes I wish I could abuse people’s self-worth and trust for my own selfish instant gratification – even if it tears their soul to pieces. Sometimes I wish I could so carelessly throw away things that are important to me and move on, take experiences merely as lessons. Sometimes I wish I never put people’s emotions and feelings above my own. Sometimes I wish I didn’t care. Sometimes I wish my primary concerns were having fun and being happy and putting my needs first and being satisfied with recycled emotions and leftovers.
But then I actually think. And I would absolutely hate to be that shallow or that stupid. I would hate to be that artificial. I would hate to disrespect every single living being I come into contact with by living such a superficial existence. It’s demeaning to all parties involved.
Growing up entails the realisation of harsh truths.
One of those truths is that love, heart and humanity all mean nothing.
This isn’t adaptation. This isn’t evolution. It’s devolution: a degeneration of humanity.

Thinking Jaywise #451

2009-04-30T00:12:00.000+09:30

Status: Lonely.

Just felt the need to express my misery and contempt for all things.

Change

2009-04-27T19:55:00.010+09:30

Status: Indifference.
Current Music: 'Cemetary Gates' by The Smiths

Change is imminent.
As much as we would like to believe that hope is stable, that justice exists, that love is eternal and that perseverance, will power and dedication will be rewarded, reality has the tendency to bitch-slap the kind-hearted, innately nice somebody in the face before strapping them down and peeling their eyes open to watch back to back reruns of The Simple Life, just to remind us all that life is never fair.
Babies die, kids get cancer, people lie, rape victims live out the rest of their lives as empty shells while the perpetrators seem to get away with no emotional scars at all, wars rob innocent people of their sanity, hearts get thrown away on a daily basis and people like Angelina Jolie continue to adopt children to add to her baby collection.
Over the last year an a half, a lot of things have changed for me, both within my control and beyond my reach.
I renounced my faith in God, a faith that spanned for two decades. The person I loved and still love with all my heart completely disregarded my opinions and used me for his own sexual gratification, leaving me after years because he didn’t deem me worthy of an apology. The degree that was so concrete and easy was suddenly swept from beneath my feet when the toll of personal events because too much and the School of Psychology decided it be best I only work on a part time contracted basis until the worst of the traumatic experiences were addressed and overcome. A stupid mistake blew up in my face, leaving me with no car or assets. My mother has been in and out of hospital and is currently in intensive care, without any sign of when she will be coming back. And right at this moment, I have no motivation to make any long term goals for the future – mainly because I don’t see myself wanting to survive that long.
This year, it seems it’s been a process of picking up the pieces of a shattered life. I don’t have a family to fall back on. I don’t have a partner for support. I don’t have a career path to be proud of at this point. My life seems to revolve around psychologists and doctor’s notes and pretty round pills that look like m&m minis and arguing with government agencies and lawyers for constantly fucking up my paperwork on a weekly basis and trying to prove myself worthy of just a little kindness and respect, flailing in a great big pit as more and more shit gets shovelled in on a daily basis. It seems being the nice, quiet, no-bullshit friend in the background doesn’t get you a thing, while being a nagging, whining, demanding bitch of sexual manipulation gets you everything. After all, if someone’s nice most of the time, it’s not all that remarkable if they’re being safe and nice right now.
I’m caught between my morals and character and what society respects and rewards. Sure, it’s nice being the friend or casual acquaintance people go to for advice about problems with their partner or just to play some video games with a cheese pizza and a six pack on the side. I don’t want people babying me or trying to win me over purely with material things or completely hollow compliments. I don’t get particularly upset when I’m not invited to things because I’m too casual or blown off by a friend for a random hook up. When my own father forgot my 21st birthday, I didn’t even shed a tear. I'm like a puppy in the way that if you give me a smile, I'll give you my everything because that's all I ever wanted. But shouldn’t all that mean you’re worth more respect than someone who is manipulating, selfish and hurtful? Sure, I don’t make a big deal out of being hurt or annoyed or upset, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. It hurts when people I care about blow me off for something trivial. It hurts when a friend had a dinner that I wasn’t invited to because it was formal and I wouldn’t fit in and they “thought [I] wouldn’t mind”. It hurts when the person I love uses me and then refuses to even acknowledge it even happened, despite all the painful aftermath.
I’m so sick of being forgotten just because I should be use to it by now. If being nice and forgiving and unwaveringly devoted and content and down-to-earth gets you absolutely nowhere, then what’s the point?
Shit happens. No matter how much time and effort and love and hope and faith and dedication you pour into things, sometimes shit just happens. A lot of the fucking time, your best isn’t anywhere near enough, no matter what Oprah Winfrey tells you. The idea that your past and present doesn’t affect your future is bullshit. Truth is we’re all born into a pressure cooker, where we have to deal with whatever bullshit life flings at us. There’s no clean slate; the world was revolving long before you were born and it’ll continue to spin on its axis long after you’re forgotten and rotting in your grave. Sometimes you get those fucking arseholes who have everything sweet, but still want more and will trade their diamonds for ice cubes. And then you have people born with nothing, and whether it be fate or society or some other cosmic force of royal fuckery, something decides that isn’t enough and strips them of their skin too.
Sure, people will argue that this mentality is pessimistic and the reason why this world is such a god-awful dog-eat-dog place. But I disagree. I’m not being negative, I’m being realistic. Sometimes people are just put into positions where the deck is already rigged and all they can do is watch it fall apart. Some people just aren’t made to be happy. To gain something, you have to be willing to sell yourself, it seems. How much are you worth? Are you worth selling your dignity and self-respect for instant gratification? Or are you going to hold on to an innocent pipedream, regardless of how many hard knocks you get? I personally don’t see myself ever being happy. I see myself being smart enough and wealthy enough to live comfortably, to have some lack-lustre career where I stomp on other people to get my pay check. But I don’t see a fulfilling, happy, content future there. What's the point in being wealthy if it's at the expense of other people's desperation? What's the point of creating a life for yourself if you're going to be living it alone?
And if that’s how it is, then I’m not sure I want a future like that. I don’t want this place where I am completely disposable and unlovable. In fact, the only thing keeping me here is that I haven't given my big "fuck you" to the planet yet.
It’s either the world is wrong or it’s me. And here, majority rules, even if it’s completely and utterly fucked up.
So one day, some day, I’m going to bail. Not today, not tomorrow, but some day soon.
But what do you care?
You’re all going to hell anyway.

Thinking Jaywise #450

2009-04-08T19:32:00.002+09:30

Status: Post-nap blurryness.

I just had an epic nap and now my monitor's too bright.
*squint*

Thinking Jaywise #449

2009-04-06T19:06:00.000+09:30

Status: Restless.
Current Mastication: Chocolate Chupa Chup.

I just bought a couple of bulk packets of individually wrapped Mentos and 70 Chupa Chups.
I think I'm compensating for my complete failure in relationships with junk food.

Thinking Jaywise #448

2009-04-03T19:27:00.003+10:30

Status: Pissed off.

Most annoying song of all time?
Currently Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights stands somewhere in the top ten.

Thinking Jaywise Jayfacts: #001

2009-04-02T22:41:00.003+10:30

Status: Feeling full. Mainly of lard.
Current Viewing: The Big Bang Theory

Well kids, here's another bunch of Jayfacts to appease your petty brains:

I have the nervous habit of chewing Mentos, but only the individually wrapped kind so I can tear open the teeny wrappers with my teeth.
I have never owned a pair of track pants or sandals. Ever.

Wise Words of Dubs #033

2009-04-01T01:28:00.002+10:30

"Yeah, but did you get high last night, Sunny? I did. See, I'm young at heart. I'll be young forever."

- Dubs on 'Getting Old'

Thinking Jaywise Birthday Special: 21 Jayfacts

2009-03-31T21:15:00.007+10:30

Status: Blank.

Music: “The Thin Ice” by Pink Floyd

Hello avid Thinking Jaywise readers. (Ha, there’s a little in joke right there.)

Long time, no post. Mostly because my life happens to be one shit storm after another and I’m pretty sure you people are just as sick of reading it as I am of living it.

So, to cut a long story short, over the last few weeks, court cases have been sat through, lawyers have been spoken to, lectures have been sat through, medication has been administered, binge drinking has reared its head, psychologists have been visited, fees have been paid, forms have been filed, lost and re-submitted and, to top it off, I’m being sued by a soulless money-hungry insurance company for a sum of cash equivalent to the salary I make over a period of 2 years. (Though, on the plus side, writing angry correspondence to an insurance company that not only has no legal right to sue me, but can’t even get my name right despite several letters back and forth stating my correct details, is kind of therapeutic. Never try to intimidate a stubborn, pissed off Asian with an acid pen and a firm grasp on the legal system.)

So today is my 21st birthday. And what better way to celebrate than to publish some random Jayfacts for the web-trollers to read? (God, I'm depressed.)

There are many random facts about me that could have probably been published here - though I assure you, they probably aren't much better than the trivial nothings listed below.

So here it is, 21 Jayfacts you didn't ask for at a time you're too lazy to read. Enjoy you ingrates.

Metallica’s self titled black album was the first album I ever bought with my own cash.
I have two tattoos and found the tattooing experience fun, therapeutic and ticklish as opposed to painful, yet I stand by my phobia of needles.
I have a keyboard/synthesiser named Will on a stand parallel to my bed so I can just sit up and swivel around to play if I get the craving to do so at 4 in the morning. True fact: It’s short for William.
A few years ago, Keenan and I wrote a letter to Alice Cooper humbly requesting permission to give birth to and raise Cooper’s children via. IVF. We received no response. (I personally blame Keenan for freaking Alice Cooper out with his ‘PS. Send me some of your short and curlies.’ remark. I take no credit or responsibility for that remark; that was all Keenan’s idea.)
When I’m feeling isolated, alone, depressed or numb, I generally play Pink Floyd’s The Wall in its entirety on a loop.
I’m an avid fan of The X-Files. Mulder and Scully forever. None of this Supernatural bullshit. *firm nudge in Fox’s general direction*
I do change my underwear regularly– twice daily – it’s just all the same colour and style. Screw trying to impress. Black goes with everything. Particularly other black things.
As soon as I could talk, I apparently bombarded my parents with my belief that we had an invisible dog named Don. Constantly. So much so, in fact, that for my third birthday, my persistence drove my parents to madness and my father ended up buying me a Labrador named Donnie from the RSPCA animal shelter. (Kids, I’m sure there’s a moral about persistence in that story somewhere…)
The first movie that ever made me cry – and one of the rare few that have made me cry ever – was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. I was maybe six or seven at the time. The Beast was and probably is still my favourite Disney prince, but only pre-human transformation. By the way, breathe a word of this fact and I will punch you in the ball sack.
Everything I’ve learnt about bra fittings and walking in high heels, I’ve learnt from gay men and drag queens.
My delicious cake is neither carrot or a lie.
After nearly 20 years of being raised in a strict religious home, I formally renounced my faith. For the record, I do believe an entity exists; I just see no feasible reason to worship a deity that is selfish, hypocritical, unjust and unworthy of praise. As Epicurus argued: "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?” (Looks like it’s a fiery afterlife for me.)
At the conclusion of year 12, I became so sick of looking feminine that I shaved my head and in the months that followed, resembled an angry punk pixie by default. (Yes, I shaved my head during an identity crisis before Britney Spears made it cool. Fun times.)
I’ve worn the same black leather cuff/watch on my left wrist every day now for the last 8 years. Sure, the stitching on the leather wristband is falling apart and held together with elastic bands and the metal is losing some of its sheen, but I’m not taking it in for repairs or replacement until the clock face is so cracked and scratched that I can’t tell the time.
I think I can genuinely say that I hate my mother. At least 99% of the time. It’s a mutual hate.
The closest thing to a sense of commitment I’ve ever experienced from another human being just so happens to be from a wonderful, yet homosexual, man. The realisation is sweet, and yet at the same time, pretty fucking sobering. Spinsterhood seems more imminent than ever.
According to Windows Media Player, the most frequently played song on my computer is Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.
Since Keenan and I separated, I haven’t listened to The Cure or Iron Maiden, probably because we saw both bands perform live as a couple and shared similar tastes in music. Nevertheless, I stand by the two bands as my favourite bands of all time.
Not only have I named my computer (The Olaf), I have a habit of naming my hard drives (Tess and Dorian), USB drives (Herbert and Sonja Jay Jr.), storage units (Little Apple Atrum) and the majority of my plug ins. My scanner’s name is Brenda.
I received my first pair of black combat boots when I was seven. Ever since that day, boots have been my thing.
Know why I prefer the company of puppies in comparison to people? Because animals are respectful, trustworthy and loyal.

Dirty Ted Flint's Tedisms #011

2009-03-27T19:34:00.001+10:30

"Let's replace reality with our own."

- Dirty Ted Flint on 'Reality'

Thinking Jaywise #447

2009-03-20T01:05:00.003+10:30

Status: Reflecting.

One of the ways to learn the true nature of a person is to observe how they treat their ex-partner.

The Subliminal Properties of Hairspray

2009-03-13T21:58:00.003+10:30

Status: Striking an epiphany.
Music: "A Question of Heaven" by Iced Earth.

So, after draining my bank account dramatically of funds, yesterday I went into town and splurged on my new keyboard, William, - named after my friend Will who happened to be smsing me at the time I was completing payment - with all its gadgetry, a pile of comics and a set of limited edition Sandman bookends, as shown above.
Seeing the bookends upon helping me load up my purchases in the car, one of the music store employees started chatting to me about the Sandman series - which happens to be one of my favourites, just in case the $300 bookends didn't give that away - and asked about Death and Dream.
So I began askin myself, why was it that I liked these characters so much? Why do I think Sandman is so awesome? Did they remind me of anything specific?

And then it clicked:

Ah, the subliminal influences of Batcave royalty.

Thinking Jaywise #446

2009-03-12T16:17:00.003+10:30

Status: Lazy.
Music: "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple.

Do do do, do do do-do, do do do, do do-do,
Do do do, do do do-do, do do do, do do-do.

Humming the bass line to Smoke on the Water.
That is all.

Thinking Jaywise #445

2009-03-11T23:11:00.002+10:30

Status: Restless.
Music: "Freedom of Choice" by A Perfect Circle.
Beverage: Gin and tonic - the drink of disgruntled spinsters.

I'm in that mood where I have the urge to just nuzzle up to someone and curl up in their lap.

Thinking Jaywise #444

2009-03-09T20:10:00.002+10:30

Status: Bored.
Music: "It's a Sin" by The Cruxshadows

Apparently, Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb is the most frequently played song on my computer, according to Windows Media Player.
I don't know the significance to that fact, but I just thought I'd point it out should I die any time soon and leave behind the burning question.

Grumpy Goers Flogs a Dead Horse

2009-03-08T19:53:00.007+10:30

Status: Annoyed. (That tends to happen a lot huh? Then again, I wouldn't get so annoyed if people weren't so God damn stupid.)
Music: "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin

What’s more annoying than reading a newspaper article expressing subjective opinions as fact or fence-sitting on an issue?
Reading a newspaper article that has absolutely no point at all.
This week’s issue of Sunday Mail asked “Is no one safe?” regarding Peter Goers’ opinion piece about the things he doesn’t care for. With a question like that printed on the front page enticing the reader to read further, I thought maybe there would be some point or bite to the column – a controversy about global warming or even a comment or two about Australian politicians that share the physical resemblance of the character Mr./Mrs. Garrison from South Park.
Usually when I read Peter Goer’s column, the man makes one or two decent points. And when I read an opinion piece, I expect to find... well, an opinion. What I read today wasn’t so much an opinion piece as a hissy fit. If I wanted to read someone’s hissy fit list of “Things I Don’t Like”, I could have just googled a MySpace blog about PMS from the viewpoint of some angsty 15-year-old.
Throwing together one-sentence nothings expressing ideas that the majority of the population already agrees with, with no real sense of flow or continuity, is not an ‘opinion piece’. And it certainly didn’t warrant being publicised on the front and back page of the newspaper. Regurgitating what has all been said before without any depth or reason? Seriously, shame on you, Peter Goers.
If all you’re going to do for an opinion piece is repeat what everyone else seems to be saying or thinking, why not reveal the shocking truth that Michael Jackson may have undergone plastic surgery on his nose while you’re at it?
Here’s one example: I find it cowardly that so many people are dragging Nicole Kidman’s name through the mud. “Box-office poison”? I’m not even a big Kidman fan, but I still find it shallow that the same people jumping on the “Nic off Nicole” band-wagon weren’t dishing dirt on the actress when the films Moulin Rouge! and The Hours were receiving praise. Enough already. There are far worse actresses in the world and it’s a shame that the media gets a buzz out of kick around one of the few who’ll take it graciously in her stride rather than bite back. (Bets are on that Nicole would more than likely get slandered for standing up for herself if she ever did.)
Something even mildly controversial or questionable – the opinion that you think Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven is overrated or the opinion that you consider Heath Ledger’s Oscar win based more on sympathy rather than the man’s actual performance - would have been interesting.
The point of an opinion piece isn’t so much to be politically correct or likable; an opinion piece is supposed to make the reader think. But hey, it’s much easier to bleat with the herd than to actually voice an opinion on your own, right?
What annoyed me even more about the article was that it not only made slander of easy pickings – we all know Angelina Jolie collects children like postage stamps, Pauline Hanson is an opinionated bigot who has yet to say anything of any use whatsoever and I have yet to meet a single person who would complimentary describe Lleyton Hewitt’s personality – but it also didn’t give any reasons for the statements made, offering the ever-so-helpful prefix of “I don’t care for” for practically every paragraph.
I’m not a particularly big fan of Oprah Winfrey. I dislike Oprah for slandering real psychological practice by having a hand in selling Dr. Phil’s conservative views as psychology to the gullible. And I don’t think one person should be given that much wealth and power for inviting other rich, powerful people on her talk show. Plus, any woman who truly believes she needs a gold-rimmed toilet seat and matching golden shower fixtures is obviously bonkers and in need of some help.
Ok, there’s my opinion. Now let’s actually hear yours.
Obviously the standards of journalism and opinion piece publication have slipped, yet no one quite seems to get the messages that if you can’t write anything useful, don’t write anything at all.
If all it takes to be a columnist is the occasional immature rant, then consider this spat proof of my literary genius.

Happy Fucking Birthday

2009-03-05T23:40:00.002+10:30

Status: Annoyed.
Music: “Hey You” by Pink Floyd

Yes, here’s another immature and whiny rant.
But you know what? It’s my blog, so if you don’t like it, it’s not like you’re being forced to read this shit.
So come the end of the month, it’ll be my birthday.
And what annoys me the most about this time of year? People instructing me as to what I should be doing to commemorate the day – which not only makes me less likely to fulfil any suggestions given to me, but also from doing anything at all. The more people tell me to do things, the less motivation I have to do them.
No, I don’t want to be thrown some dinner party, I don’t want to spend the day complying with an invite from the parents who didn’t bother raising me but like the idea that they accidently gave birth to someone with a flashy degree through fornication, I don’t want to go to the beach and I don’t want to do the same-old same-old that is binge drinking.

So what would I like for my birthday?
Well, to be blunt, I would like everything I’ve ever wanted – I would like to belong to a nice family that everyone else seems to take for granted, where the biggest dispute is over whose turn it is to do the laundry or take out the garbage. I would like to live in a nice, quiet suburbia just outside of town with a decent public transport service and a friendly enough neighbourhood where no one slashes your tyres or breaks the taps off the plumbing outside your house for shits and giggles. I would like to be allowed to speak my mind without this social compliance or political correctness. And I would like someone who loves me and would never hurt me to fall asleep next to every night so I would never get lonely. I would like my faith in God and humanity restored, my GPA restored to it’s former glory prior to 2008 and my me back. – but those things aren’t things I can see myself having anywhere in the near future, if at all.
So realistically, what would I like for my birthday?
Classic metal vinyl records – albums of choice being Iron Maiden’s Powerslave and Number of the Beast and Metallica’s Master of Puppets, a book shelf from IKEA to store all my books neatly and a large jar of individually wrapped Mentos mints to feed my nervous Mentos-chewing habit.

Now will people please stop pestering me already.

Ms. Jay's Soundwave Adventure aka. The Alice in Chains/William DuVall Story

2009-03-02T03:09:00.022+10:30

Status: Pumped. And hoarse due to too much smoke/dust inhalation.

Music: “Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains

Soundwave ticket - $135
Bottled water - $3.50
Lacuna Coil guitar pick - Free
The expression on William DuVall's face when turned down sex by a small Asian girl in his hotel room - Pretty fucking priceless.

It all started with Sunny's Soundwave adventure, which was epic in itself. There's nothing quite like fighting your way through the front of mosh pits and losing your voice due to inhaling the uprising dust and smoke to make you feel alive. (No bras of the people in front of me were unhooked for the sake of sabotaging their space. There is such a thing as mosh etiquette.)

Me, still riding the natural high of beating my way through the crowds to get a close up glimpse of Lacuna Coil, Alice in Chains and Trent Reznor, decided to make a night of it and head off to the Enigma to catch up with old friends and dance to some Iron Maiden.

As fate so happened, Alice in Chains were also at the Enigma. And my timid asking new frontman Will DuVall - sure, it's no Layne Staley, but I make do with the living - for a hug lead to being offered a drink. Which lead to being offered several drinks. Which lead to, well, a fuck load of drinking. (Too bad that when I get drunk, I just become more ballsy and over-confident rather than an easy lay. Ironically, it would have had a much easier job to coax me into sexual favours if I had been completely sober.)

Before the night was out, I was invited back to the hotel, where I learnt that the guys from Alice in Chains either love - or loathe - ACDC enough to superimpose their own faces onto the album cover of Highway to Hell along with details of their flight plans- the ebay whore in me is kicking myself for not stealing a copy from Will's hotel room to sell over the internet - , DuVall's favourite sneakers are black and velcro-like (yeah, I tend to ask the obscure) and that I apparently have "the perfect body to air guitar on".

Now I’m sure quite a number of women can boast of being the one night stand of some celebrity or another. And I'm sure I'm not the first female to ask William DuVall for a hug after a gig, only to be dragged into a night of drinking, dancing and discussing how much Axl Rose butchered the name of Guns N' Roses forever. (Well, technically I was the one that called Axl a douche for butchering the name of Guns N' Roses forever. Will just made the point that Rose lacks chemistry with his ever-changing posse due to thinking he and he alone is Guns N' Roses. As much as I adore pre-2000's Gunners and admit Rose is talented musically, I still call Axl a douche.)

But meeting the guys from Alice in Chains, being bought drinks by William DuVall himself and being invited back to Will’s hotel, only to turn around and have the metaphorical balls to look the newest member of Alice in Chains right in the eye and recite the exact phrase: “If you want to get laid, there are plenty of other girls down Hindley Street"?

Now that’s boastworthy.

You people seriously expected me to fuck an older guy I'd just met who was liquoring me up just because he's got some status? Sure, I'm eccentric, but I'm not stupid and I'm definitely no one's belt notch.

The sad thing now that I've just realised is that, due to turning down Alice in Chains frontman, I'm going to have to raise the bar and my standards by default, which means I'm more or less screwed out of sex for a very long time. (And the sad thing my dear friend Avi has realised is that if I did have sex with DuVall, I could have video taped it for him to exploit at his leisure.)

All this being said, I would like to point out that, beside the bitching of not being served fast enough by over-worked bar tenders, William DuVall is a sweetheart and a pretty fuck-off awesome guy for escorting me down the street and waiting with me by the taxi rank.

And he really has a thing for air guitaring on chick's bellies. Suppose that's how musicians get their kicks these days...

PS. As irreplaceable as Layne Staley is, I'm actually pretty impressed with the revival of Alice in Chains. Now that's how you bring a band back together.

A note to Axl Rose: Reviving Guns N' Roses + Chinese Democracy = You're doing it wrong.

Thinking Jaywise #443

2009-02-27T01:32:00.003+10:30

Status: Hot.
Music: “More Human Than Human" by White Zombie

Drawing by a very hot desk lamp in a small, confined space is warm.

Thinking Jaywise #442

2009-02-25T17:24:00.003+10:30

Status: Annoyed.
Music: “Crushed" by Collide
Current Past Time: Downloading drivers for my computer... and screaming

Ok, you know how the goth kids from South Park cringe at the thought of being associated with Hot Topic fads and Marilyn Manson?
Well, their reaction to slander is more or less my reaction when some waste of human space asks me about Twilight.
Honestly, it's bad enough having people reel back in shock when I say I hate Buffy with a passion and would rather sit through a year's viewing of Neighbours reruns than watch a single episode of teeny-bopping vampire slayer trash. Now, thanks to Twilight saturating the market, Supre is sporting shirts with the phrase, "I kissed a vampire and I liked it" and I find myself grinding my teeth when a life-size Barbie airhead claims Stephanie Meyer should be filed under classic gothic literature.
To make things even more patronising, I'm considered the uncouth freak in need of a culture update for being one of the rare few who actually realise Stephanie Meyer and her teenage vampire series is a load of 15 year old Degrassi bullshit. And for failing to understand what is so attractive and appealing about Edward Cullen. If anything, to me he comes off as a spoilt rich kid who tries to play the bad boy way too hard and who seriously needs to have that melodramatic scowl bitch-slapped off his face. (So, more or less like an immortal male version of Paris Hilton, really. Charming.)

So here it is for the record:
No, I have not watched Twilight.
No, I have not read Twilight.
No, I have no intention of exposing myself to the fanged sewerage that is Twilight. Ever.
And no, Edward is not hot.

Thank you and good night.

Dirty Ted Flint's Tedisms #010

2009-02-20T00:14:00.002+10:30

"For the record, I'm not one for reckless urination. And you may quote me on that at my funeral."

- Dirty Ted Flint on 'Urination'

Thinking Jaywise #441

2009-02-16T16:04:00.003+10:30

Status: Surprisingly... Okay.
Music: “EmpTe" by Skinny Puppy

Well, it may have taken some heavy drinking sessions and a murky night on the town to do so - resulting in everything else tasting like vodka the next morning - , but I have somehow managed not to burst into tears in almost 72 hours now. Which has to be some sort of record for me in the last four months or so.
Don't get me wrong, I still feel like my heart's being put ripped apart in a shredder on a half-hourly basis. But I'm dealing.
And now, for the first time in the aforementioned four month period, I'm actually going to eat a somewhat hearty meal.
That is, if you consider four hot cross buns smothered in enough butter to choke a large moose "hearty".

The Cheesy Nothings of Romanticism

2009-02-14T16:10:00.004+10:30

Status: Disposable, shattered and heartbroken. Again.

Music: “Love is Only a Feeling" by The Darkness

Well, today is Valentine’s Day.

And on this 14^th of February, I have to face the soul-crushing reality that the person I happen to fall in love with on a daily basis is somewhere out there, winning over potential future-dates without a single thought of the one he left behind.

It seems that some believe in finding someone shiny and new to have fun with rather than confronting and trying to salvage what I believed to be a meaningful and relatively long relationship. It feels a bit like my heart is being beaten against a brick wall over and over again because some sick fuck out there somewhere really likes the pattern of the blood splatter.

Too many people overlook the simple everyday things about an intimate relationship, usually because those things are ruled as sentimental nonsense or trivial bullshit. Someone who gives their partner a hug when their significant other is sick or feeling like shit is often underappreciated and considered less important than the near-stranger being taken out on a dinner date. For some reason, good guys always seem to finish last whilst selfish egocentric arseholes get their way. It’s the girls who don’t loose their temper when their partner forgets their birthday that get fucked over whilst those who bitch about a lack of random gifts from their significant other seem to get pampered like B-grade celebrities with too much silicone.

Now I for one do buy spontaneous gifts for the people I care about, but I’m also smart enough to realise that it’s the thought and consideration, not just something shiny and new, which makes it special. Seeing a smile on your loved one’s face should be enough to make you want to do it all over again, but that’s not what love is based upon. A relationship shouldn’t be based mainly on trying to appease each other through material gain, exchanging heart-shaped candy, demanding dinner dates and complaining about your boyfriend spending too much time away from home having a night out with the guys.

Real relationships are never easy, but then again, nothing that actually matters ever is. It’s the effort and the dedication and the selflessness in putting another person’s needs before your own that make a couple work, not the price tag of a Christmas present.

And so I have decided to put my heartbroken romanticism to some productive use this Valentine’s Day. I’m bringing emphasis back to the cheesy nothings of romanticism. And making a point of saying: Fuck you selfish arseholes with your bastardising materialism.

I’ve reflected a little on the things that truly win me over – and am once more playing myself the love fool by digging into cheesy romance (This doesn’t mean I won’t kick your arse.). And so, here I present a list of qualities that I for one really appreciate.

Someone who:

· gives a hug goodnight before they fall sleep instead of just rolling over and napping.

· says ‘thank you’ when they receive an impromptu gift from me.

· apologises for having done something wrong or hurtful and actually confront the situation, rather than placing blame on other circumstances and other people.

· asks me to stay just a little longer once and a while when I’m about to leave instead of saying none too bluntly, “There’s a bus stop down the street.”

· appreciates that I don’t mind how much time they send with their friends or on their own, while at the same time acknowledging I may need time for myself at times as well.

· treats me as an equal and take my situations into the same account as their own rather than regarding me as an accessory.

· will occasionally give a double take as they're walking away to say another last goodbye.

· does not take for granted that I don’t nag about getting a key to the house or a drawer in the wardrobe instead of bitching how other girls will do those things.

· cares enough to take a risk to understand me better and persists to have me around, even with the potential of failure, rather than deeming me too much effort because it’s too hard.

· acknowledges me an individual worthy of their time and commitment, not just one of a potential series of options.

So this Valentine’s Day kids, think about what you want. Think about what you really want. Think about the little things that make your life that much better. Ask yourself if your heart, your mind and your devotion are all in the right place. Ask yourself if you would still uphold and treasure that commitment through bad times when you feel disposable and empty as well as the good when you’re feeling invincible.

Because, cliché as it sounds, sometimes the best things in life really are free. And if you are the kind that still insists on your boyfriend buying you that stuffed teddy-bear with the heart-shaped nose, you’ve got to ask yourself: Who wants to be a soulless materialistic whore like Paris Hilton anyway?

Selfish materialists loose their appeal after a while. Love is eternal.