12 March 2007

like a hundred hungry fireants crawling behind your eyeballs...

I've been re-reading the one Transmetropolitan book I own. Always good for angrying up the blood. Makes you want to run naked and screaming through the centre of town on a busy Saturday afternoon emptying clip after clip into the masses of shoppers that drag their feet along the refurbished paving slabs as they sleep walk to their next poorly thought out purchasing decision. Spider Jerusalem is my new hero.

To say that Spider Jerusalem is like Hunter S. Thompson on speed... or acid, or any of those other pithy, drug-inspired similes that Rolling Stone threw about in its heighday, would, frankly, be moronic. Hunter S. Thompson was like Hunter S. Thompson on speed... or anything, really. He certainly liked, neigh, demanded his alternated states. Hell, if you could get away with it, wouldn't you too? If you had the strength of will and the resources... Then again, maybe you don't. That's OK, drugs aren't for everybody. It takes a certain amount of character not end up victimised by your own amped-up psyche when it comes to psychoactives. I don't know if I'm up to it, personally. But then, I don't know if I'm not either. Maybe if I had a decent supplier I could find out.

But adolescent drug fantasies aside, the world needs Spider Jerusalem. Someone willing to kick politicians in the teeth. Unfortunately, he only exists in the head of Warren Ellis and his legion of fans. Still, maybe Hunter S. Thompson only existed in his fans heads too. Maybe the Myth swallowed the Man. Maybe the Man swallowed the Myth with a shot of Wild Turkey and a handful of uppers.

I was gonna go visit him one day, you know, had his address written in a notebook. Was gonna get my arse over to the states, hitch and hike my way to Owl Creek, Colorado, take my very life, and my balls, in my hands and meet the fucker. Pick his brain and steal his drugs. Get him to tattoo his autograph onto the back of my neck or something equally irresponsible. Maybe crash on his sofa if I didn't piss him off too much.

Oh well, Too late for that now.

Where was I? Fuck it, I can wax hyperebolic about Spider and Transmetropolitan at another juncture. I think its time for a rambling diary entry.

I gotta admit, I've been finding it hard to get my head back into blogspace. It takes a certain, hyperactive cross-referencing mindset to really go at this thing. Least, the way I was doing it way back when. I dunno if I can do it any more. I don't know if I can be arsed. It's bad enough that I gotta re promote the motherfucker to kickstart my traffic again. All my hard work lost through apathy. *sob*

Yep, that's why I stopped. It just wasn't stoking my engine like it once did, I didn't care any more. So I stopped. But I got my degree (kinda) and now I need an exit strategy out of this stumblefuck life. I got a new passion for the beast. Its different, its more professional, more focused, more... I don't know. Who cares about figuring out what it is at this point. I got a couple of articles on the way. a few gonzo (or subjective journalism, lest it seem I'm throwing around buzzwords in an attempt to increase my hip-quotient) pieces that will draw on a variety of knowledge sources but also be deeply rooted in my own experiences and thoughts. I think I got a couple of things to say about a couple of things that might be interesting to a couple of you things. I got a couple of draft pages written longhand, screwed up on Stew's bedroom floor somewhere (Motherfucker lies in bed with the light out alot watching tv. Makes it hard to find shit, especially when he's passed out) that I need to find so I can start butchering it into shape. As soon as its done, it'll be up here.

I'm fucking spitting teeth over the fact that I can't integrate the haloscan trackback/commenting system into l∅ckedinab∅x because the template I'm using is, like, old blogger, but my account in new blogger, or something. Maybe I'm just stupid. I spent ages painting and fiddling with this fucking place and before I can get such a basic blogging tool integrated I'm gonna have to switch over to a new template and start all over again with my fiddling.

Its not really that big a deal, but I'm a lazy fuck.

and I can't help but feel like I'm repeating myself. I get that alot. My theory is that I think alot of shit into existence in my head but because I often just let it slip back into the waters of my conciousness un-recorded/created I forget all about it. As it is it eventually floats back up again to perhaps be shat out into the outside world in some way. Either that or I've damaged my brain with too many things and now cannot tell the difference between things that have never happened and things I've just thought about happening, or thought and thinking about making happen.... Or something.

Okay, maybe I was a bit hasty with that more professional/more focused crack.

Me and some friends (Stewart and Darren/Darko, mentioned previously) have started writing songs together. They do the music and I do the lyrics. Its working out quite well. We only really started last week and we've already got two songs done. Me and Darko were supposed to be open mic-ing it at a shot in the dark on sunday but the afterbirth monkeyfucks who run it never showed up. I'm thinking about muscling in and taking over. Anyway, I was willing (and even had permission) to just stand up, get everyones attention and just go for it, but Darren and the others had other, more defeatist ideas in their craniums. Still, had a nice smoke back at the house and caught some excellent documentaries on freeview, but that is for another post.

In the meantime, go read the first issue of Transmetropolitan. Isst good, ya?

The Smiler