A wasp is neither a bee nor an ant.

AWINABNAA has MOVED.

2010-01-12T23:36:00.002+11:00

I am now on the Wordpress, because Adam is now on the Wordpress, because Unspeakable Evil is now on the Wordpress (sort of). This blog will no longer be updated (it's all over on the you-know-what now).

Here.

Rat-boy and Skritch: Chapter Three

2010-01-10T20:34:00.001+11:00

Rat-boy and Skritch

Chapter Three: Through the Looking-Glass

Rat-boy and Skritch chomped hungrily on the chunks of unidentifiable meat in their hands and paws, respectively. Rats pushed their way through each other, trying to get their share. Another night had come and another hunt successful. Between mouthfuls Rat-boy said, “you know, I never thought about it before: you don't think this is people meat, do you, Skritch?” Skritch twitched and stopped chewing. He wasn't sure if he was meant to stop eating or not. “Maybe it's rat meat.” Skritch paused again, shorter this time, before he resumed his meal. Meat was meat, and food was not easy to come by. “Or maybe it's an animal from far away. Like a pig, or a cat or a giraffe or a griffon. I saw pictures of those in books. I wonder if Deadeyes has any books?” The pile of meat lessened quickly. Soon there would be no evidence of it but a dark red stain against the dark grey roof. “Well, the night's still fresh. Where to?"

Skritch wasn't listening. Rats don't normally have very significant lives and thus the need for memories is very little. Skritch was not a normal rat; he had memories, he knew he did. But they were locked away in a little vault inside his brain, information he was not privy to (including why he wasn't privy to it) and this was quite infuriating to the creature.

Infuriating, but not foolproof. A ragged piece of memory slipped out of the cracks of the vault, triggered by the conversation. Darkness, dank; An unpleasantly chemical smell. Pain, white-hot; Painful sounds of shrill shrieking (but from where? Who?). Blackness, and then, somewhere else: dim light. Faded pages, letters, words, sentences.

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

And bit the babies in the cradles,

And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,

The words became pictures, bright and sharp, so unlike the haziness of memory. “Skritch? Are you okay?” The pictures cracked, faded. “What is it? Is it the stuff in your head again, Skritch? The memories?” Skritch fell to the floor with a thud, sitting and scratching his head. “Tell me! Was it something exciting this time? I wish you could show me the pictures, Skritch.” Rat-boy sat down next to Skritch. Skritch sighed; the sound more of a muted squeal. “If only you could show me, just a peek, maybe we could figure out what they are. Or at least it'd be more interesting for me.”

The brief pause in activity was broken by a chorus of shrieks, heralding the arrival of something unexpected. The rats hissed and bared their teeth. Unexpected, but not unknown. Rat-boy rose and tapped his Talking-stick twice. In his left hand he bore the ornate dagger that was moments before used for cutting meat.

A voice shouted from the neighbouring roof-top: “Well, aren't you going to invite me over?” A figure, shorter than even Rat-boy, jumped deftly to their roof and walked leisurely towards them. Shoulder length scruffy red hair atop a smiling, somewhat grimy, face. Dirt was, of course, a normal accessory to the denizens of Sideways, whether on battered face or tattered clothes. Alice was not a normal little girl; where one would normally expect a left hand, instead protruded a metallic caricature, overly large and overly long. Nonetheless, it seemed to affect her little, carrying it in as if it weighed no more than air.

Alice curtseyed. “Pleasure to see you again, Rat-boy.” The last word was stretched out, playfully mocking.

“You can't have any, Stronghand. Get your own! We earned this, me and my friends, and we're gonna eat it.”

Alice, Stronghand, frowned. “I've told you! You can call me Alice. Don't be such an idiot.” Stronghand's eyes wandered to the unfamiliar object in Rat-boy's left hand. Leaving no time for reaction, she snatched it towards her with a flash of her metal arm. Her smile returned as she dangled the dagger in front of her. “What's this?” She eyed it intently. “It's pretty.”

Rat-boy grit his teeth and clenched his fist. “Give it back, stupid! That's mine too, I earned it! You can't just -” Strongarm let out a wild, rapturous laugh. Rat-boy tensed. Stowing the dagger in a pocket, she turned and flashed her teeth. “Take it back, then.” Thrusting her metal arm back, Strongarm vaulted across and away from their feeding ground. Rat-boy took one glance at the meat, swore, and tapped his stick once. For the second time in a night, the hunt was on.

No rats 'ere

2010-01-08T02:50:00.001+11:00

No Rat-boy yet, working out the plot (will post some this week, I'm fairly sure). But if you're looking for something to read, I wrote half of this story on Unspeakable Evil and it is purple as hell just the way you like it yo. Also, if you want to read stuff I didn't write at all check out Vyperchild's blog too.

Rat-Boy and Skritch - Chapter Two

2010-01-04T23:40:00.003+11:00

Wherein very little actually happens, and yet I am still fairly satisfied with what I've written.

Rat-Boy and Skritch

Chapter Two: Treasure Hunt

Rat-boy strode across the streets of Sideways, his brigade not far behind. His footsteps jounced and thudded, and sometimes, even squelched, across the waste-ridden streets, kicking a trinket here or an old bone there wherever they lay in his path. Skritch, close behind, did his best to match his strides in his awkward and rat-like manner. The sun struggled vainly, pitifully to thrust its many fingers through the cloud of constant smoke and fog that enveloped the city.
Not many walked among the lowest level of Sideways any more. It was no longer an avenue of traffic. Instead, it was both landfill and graveyard, and only the desperate or clever (but usually both) could make their way 'round the neglected paths. The great (or perhaps terrible) towers of Sideways rose like haphazardly placed building blocks, climbing to escape the stench and the death, bridges connecting them here and there so as to avoid ever going below.
Rat-boy stopped suddenly, tripping Skritch over, and tapped his Talking-stick twice upon the ground, prompting the rats to mill about him. 'I found one!' Rat-boy picked up and dusted off what looked to be a large human skull. He smiled. 'Barely even scratched, too! Yorick, old buddy, you're just what I was lookin' for.'
Rat-boy threw the skull into the air, once, twice, before finally thrusting it towards the mass of rats. The disciplined couriers ferried it and others like it towards wherever Rat-boy strode next, diligent in his curious treasure hunt to find the skulls that were best and most complete.
'Deadeyes'll love these. Think he'll give us what we wanted?' Skritch gave only a non-committal shrug, a difficult act with no shoulders. Eventually Rat-boy was satisfied with his hoard, and as assured as ever he strode towards a certain mound in a certain alley with a certain stick jutting out of the filth, upon which hung, as you may have guessed, an old human skull.

---

'Not bad, not bad. Yes, my lad, I think we may be able to negotiate a deal, fair and just...' the old man hobbled across the uneven floor of his carved out home with grace and ease, piling skulls onto a makeshift rack in the pitch-black darkness. 'We'll bring them all back, lad, you know, we will... When I've finished my work it'll go back to the way things were. They shan't rest for much longer, believe me, lad.'
'I know, Deadeyes. You say that every time I come back here.' Rat-boy smiled and shook his head at the decrepit cripple he could not see under the underside of Sideways.
'Don't shake your head at me, boy.' Rat-boy flinched. 'I can see everything down here. I know you don't believe me any more, but you can't change fact. And don't call me Deadeyes! You know my name's Albert.'
'Sorry,' said Rat-boy. 'It's hard to use the old names.' Rat-boy wondered at the conviction in Deadeyes' voice, and again his mind turned again to the past and present, but as usual that sort of deliberation caused an acute migraine.
Instead his mind turned to the figure cobbling about somewhere in the darkness, speaking words too well-rehearsed and familiar to pay any attention to. He wondered at the impossibility of the underground cavern seemingly carved by Deadeyes himself, as disfigured and misshapen as he felt under Rat-boy's touch. No one stayed with him down here, not for very long, and he never ventured outside. He wondered how large it really was, and how Deadeyes knew always where anything was, despite the lack of light. And especially despite the two glass balls that served as the old man's eyes.
And as usual, Rat-boy wondered whether Deadeyes was wise, like a warm and knowing grandfather, or completely and utterly demented and insane, like most others. He never could decide on which.
'Ah, here it is. Just what you wanted. Take it; have a glance up top, and if you're unsatisfied bring it back. But you know me, lad -'
'- fair and just is Deadeyes the trader! Bring him what he wants and he'll give you the same. Right?' Deadeyes shook his head and smiled at the shabby little boy with the strange powers, the boy he could see all too well. It was a sad smile, but he kept it to himself.

---

Rat-boy ran his hand over the intricate carvings of the bronze hilt of the dagger. Nicked and marked with the ages, it was still of beautiful workmanship, a strange contrast to the world surrounding. His finger slid across the blade; Rat-boy yelped, and drops of blood fell to the ground. Sucking on his finger, Rat-boy said through the corner of his mouth: “It's perfect, isn't it, Skritch? Deadeyes really delivered. Where do you think he got it from?” Skritch did his best to shrug for the second time in a day, nearly fell over, and decided that some questions didn't really require an answer.

Rat-Boy and Skritch

2010-01-03T15:50:00.009+11:00

This nut inspired me to do a little writing and blog reviving. At 2AM. So, enjoy the first part of a spontaneous story.

Rat-boy and Skritch

Chapter One: A Typical Day

A pitter-patter of noise drummed incessantly across the rooftops of the residents of the city of Sideways. It moved from one roof to the other, like a lone and angry storm cloud raining on those who it believed deserved its ire. But rain it was not; The sky was black only with the colour of the night and the smoke that blew always from the familiar factories that loomed over the city like tall and angry overseers. Rat-boy leapt deftly from roof to roof, without a pause for breath or thought; and behind him a sea of feet, fur, eyes and teeth moved in unison. Rat-boy stopped, turned, and tapped his Talking-stick twice. Immediately they stopped and encircled him, all eyes on the conductor of the symphony.

One rat, much larger and hairier than the others, and with a very distinct bald patch across its left side, walked confidently as it could towards Rat-boy. It, or perhaps his, name was Skritch. Skritch was a rather unusual rat; Not only in physical appearance but in demeanour. Skritch walked forward on two legs, like any man was wont; Skritch eyed Rat-boy levelly, as an equal; and Skritch had a name where even Rat-boy could not remember his own. Skritch was most assuredly not a person; but Skritch did not know that, and one that argued the point would have to deal with a very large creature with very sharp teeth. “I smell food, Skritch. Do you smell it?” Skritch’s whispers twitched, and slowly he nodded. Rat-boy adjusted the saucepan atop his head that served as his war helmet. “You know the plan, Sarge; We hit ‘em fast and we hit ‘em hard, and we leave with enough for all the boys.” Rat-boy saluted, and Skritch returned it, and with one tap of his Talking-stick the troops marched to siege.

Skritch raced down one side of the twisted drab grey tower of metal, half an army of rats half his size in tow, pitter-pattering across gutters and grooves towards the window that was his destination. Rat-boy did the same on the opposite side. Through a window each group went, into the dusty shadows of the tower. Rat-boy raised his nose and sniffed fervently; Skritch did the same. There was food in this tower, real, human food. They were sure of it. “Pestilence! Squalour! Filth! Come out, come out, come out!” the booming bass echo of a Castigator come to defend its keep reverberated across the steel pipes and walls of the tower. “Thieves that do no honest work, you shall be punished. I hear the pitter-patter of your fetid feet. Come out and bear justice!” Hundreds of eyes adjusted to the light. Like a practiced drill, Rat-boy raised his Talking-stick and hit it repeatedly on his helmet, causing the echo of loud metallic clangs, to match those of the Castigator's footsteps. The monstrous, cantankerous Castigator lumbered towards the Rat-boy. It was more metal than flesh; grey gauntleted hands as big as Rat-boy’s head, an asynchronous mishmash of screeching steel spikes and metal appendages. Slowly and carefully it stamped its hooves across the ground, yellow eyes glowing like light bulbs, the only sign of organic life the broken mouth and blackened teeth that it used to spew forth threats. “I shall crush you into ground meat and throw you into the Incinerator!”

Like a strike of lightning, Skritch moved into the shadows and towards the source of sustenance. Rat-boy tapped his Talking-stick three times; immediately the rats surrounding him fell upon the body of the Castigator. They scratched at its eyes; bit at its fingers; bore their way into every crevice like a body of malicious water. In truth, they were little more than a nuisance, and many died as the Castigator continued its trek towards the ringleader, slower but yet more infuriated.

However, the time they gained was time enough. Skritch released a high-pitched squeal (“Retreat!”, in his rat mind) and as quickly as they entered Rat-boy and his warriors melted into the shadows and out and away into the city above and below, scrambling for safety among the darkness, Skritch’s rats carrying away the riches of their heist.

Again they converged upon a rooftop, a different one yet not unlike the many others of the city of Sideways. Tonight they had enough to eat, enough to survive. The rats of Sideways chattered impatiently at their promised meal. Rat-boy tapped his stick four times, and instantly there was silence. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes, at the end of which Rat-boy said only this: “Tonight we don’t starve. Tonight we get to eat. I suppose we get to survive. But there are less of us. Those of us that don’t get to survive. Those of us that died so we could. Before we eat… let’s remember them.” And then there was no noise but the pitter-patter of feet and the tearing sound of teeth on meat, of the many who are one, of the rat who is a boy and the boy who is a rat.

DeviantART.

2009-12-06T15:33:00.003+11:00

Perhaps not the most respectable of dens, nonetheless I figured I should have somewhere to dump and backup my 'art' that was more organised than simply posting them to the blog. So here we are.

You'll have seen most of the 'art' already, here. Except for this. This is new.

Happy Frends #602

2009-11-16T20:26:00.002+11:00

More wayward shenanigans.

Happy Frends #601

2009-11-12T17:38:00.005+11:00

I cannot be held responsible for any seizures caused by this issue.

Happy Frends #600 - It returns!

2009-11-11T22:42:00.004+11:00

Hooray and whatnot! Also, a more convenient URL is had (http://happyfrends.co.nr). Click the big honkin' button.

I'll let you figure this one out yourself.

2009-11-10T18:07:00.002+11:00

I speak, you listen.

2009-11-05T23:44:00.006+11:00

Check out this podcast. Basically, if you're following this blog, I have no idea why you're not already following Unspeakable Evil. Unless you are. In which case, this post should be entirely meaningless for you. You can stop reading now.

The mouse is mightier than the pen

2009-10-22T01:04:00.007+11:00

Bloggings and such have been on hiatus; exams loom next week and I really just don't feel like it. But since I usually dump my art here, this is an alternate cover I did for Esoteric's comic, spontaneously and partially due to boredom, partially due to feeling the need to draw something.

Last week on Unspeakable Evil

2009-10-05T17:43:00.006+11:00

I review many things and will continue to do said practice on a regular basis (as I will continue to do this practice of updating this blog with links to that blog); and Vyperchild reviews Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days more in-depth.

And now, a random Calvin & Hobbes:

Still the best video game intro ever conceived

2009-09-24T01:00:00.001+10:00

So simple, and yet, so brilliant.

Yay

2009-09-15T01:12:00.003+10:00

Scribblenauts Preview

2009-09-12T23:56:00.003+10:00

here.

Space Cat

2009-09-07T17:47:00.004+10:00

Was in a 48-hour game making duel with someone over the weekend. The theme was 'growth', and here's my entry, Space Cat. Would have liked to spend more time on it than I ended up doing, but oh well, might expand on it later. Enjoy.

P.S. The challenger, Overkill's, entry here.

What Sonic the Hedgehog should be

2009-08-28T00:33:00.006+10:00

Wantwantwant.

Awesome banner!

2009-08-24T04:13:00.003+10:00

A banner for a school project. Nonetheless I wanted to show-off my snazzy paint skills.

Historically accurate dinosaur modelling

2009-08-24T01:29:00.001+10:00

Pterosaurs breathe fire, right?

2009-08-22T21:08:00.001+10:00

Dinosaurs are awesome

2009-08-21T00:26:00.002+10:00

Happy Frends #12

2009-08-20T20:53:00.001+10:00

That's not very nice.

How do I shot fire

2009-08-18T23:44:00.005+10:00

More nothings.

Game news!

2009-08-18T03:58:00.004+10:00

Haha, I lie. I'm not ready to show you more Eclipse. I'm not ready to show you any Corridors of Wrath, either - yes, another game I have just been inspired to create. Completing one game before starting up another is for clearly for the incompetent. Oh alright, I'll let you puzzle over this pointless tidbit, just to irritate you.

Goddamn butterflies killing me

2009-08-16T23:57:00.000+10:00

What?

A Giraffe Riding A Motorcycle

2009-08-15T23:42:00.004+10:00

That is all.*

*Disclaimer: I don't really know how to draw a motorcycle or what one looks like. Use your imagination to make it look less like a regurgitated dinner.

The Cheat post

2009-08-14T23:59:00.001+10:00

Gimme a moment, dood.

Happy Frends #11

2009-08-14T22:39:00.004+10:00

Give me a shout out if you read this (as in, the comics), either at the site or the blog. Just out of curiosity.

Doo doo deet doo

2009-08-12T23:49:00.002+10:00

Doop de-doop doop dodododo do do do doop de whoop

Some more Damien Drake

2009-08-11T23:49:00.002+10:00

But only a little.

A story in many parts by the Safeer

(continued from last paragraph)...The thing quickly regained its composure, and eyed me levelly. It didn't seem offended, which was a good sign.
'You are... the human? My sources... Damien Drake, am I correct?' gentle and unassuming, the voice seemed feminine in nature, but I still couldn't be certain about its gender. He, she, it, for want of a better way to describe them, looked like a deformed emu wearing a coat. In place of feathers, thick golden-brown fur covered the entire length of its body. Fingers like large, delicate needles protruded from its equally long and slender arms, rather than wings, and in place of a beak, long, rubbery lips, no doubt hiding needle-thin teeth. Perhaps it wasn't much like an emu. My mind and I got re-acquainted and by then I was pretty damn certain: this was a Kemorhan.
'Yeah. I help people. Finding things. Finding other people. I assume your sources already told you that, though. So, what the hell is a Kemorhan doing in the galaxy's greatest landfill?' Kemorhans were a pretty high class people. Pacifists, sure, but sharp as a scythe, the frontiersman of peacekeeping technologies. And they weren't generally the dirty types, by nature. There were exceptions: take off a Kemorhan's 'head', and all you'd be doing is taking out an auxiliary brain. You wouldn't have time to find out where to really hit them: their survival instincts kick into overdrive and you'd be a new layer of carpet before you had a chance to find out.
'Something – something terrible has happened to me. The law here, they can not help me – and my own people have abandoned me. They said that you were useful.' Cold way of putting it, but it was true. 'Mr Drake – you must help me. Payment will not be an obstacle. Please, just – accept my offer and come with me, I can say no more unless you agree to that.' I rubbed at my forehead with my fingers. She – 'cause I just couldn't shake off that air of femininity about it – sounded genuine. And I could definitely use the cash. But something itched at my scalp, not painful but merely irritating. Something was definitely odd here. Something obvious, but out of reach. I was still groggy from my placidity. What was I missing?

Happy Frends #10

2009-08-10T23:41:00.002+10:00

A milestone is reached, and a truth is revealed.

I love this part of the movie

2009-08-09T01:51:00.012+10:00

Random non-sequitur parody of anime in Horton Hears a Who.

Happy Frends #9

2009-08-08T23:54:00.003+10:00

My comic has degenerated into sandwich jokes. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure I just invented the cliche 'sandwich jokes'.

Damien Drake - Private Investigator

2009-08-07T23:43:00.004+10:00

A story in many parts by the Safeer

My eyes wandered listlessly over the minutiae of life thrumming across my vision. My mind was drifting again. A finger traced across groove across the dust covered desk behind me, a path to nowhere in particular. As always, the past resurfaced, like an ugly corpse torn from the weight that tied it down. An unwanted memory flashed, bobbed, sunk again, only to be replaced by one more gruesome. Introspection, an ugly habit. Work was scarce, my proverbial wallet emptier than a Pusher's soul, no cash even for the cheap booze that was my fuel. I was settling in for another day of boredom and self-pity when three sharp knocks broke me out of my comfortable stupor.
I turned away from the window and turned my attention to the door. A tiny head atop a slender neck poked through the door, inspecting my claustrophobic little hole I call the office. The rest of the creature followed, cautious, probing. Damn. An Outie. This could be just what I needed.
'Can I help you?' Not leaving the table, I extend my right 'arm' to the stranger. He, she, it, stiffens at the long, sinuous tentacle that passes for a greeting, visibly unnerved. I smile inwardly. Sure, I needed the job, but I always got a perverse little kick outta that part.

(Continued soon)

Yep, I'm trying to write prose of sorts. You don't have much to go off yet here, but comment away.

Happy Frends #8

2009-08-06T22:25:00.002+10:00

A thrilling conclusion! Well, *a* conclusion.

Tiiired

2009-08-05T22:32:00.008+10:00

I'll totally edit this post later with actual content. Sure, this is cheating, but it STILL COUNTS. So there.

Happy Frends Has Moved

2009-08-04T22:19:00.005+10:00

It looks prettier over there, so yes. Go bookmark it. All of you. ESPECIALLY you. If you don't, I totally won't be your friend anymore. Or don't, cause I'll probably still update here every time I post a comic. But do it anyways. What if I forget? You could be missing out, stupid! YOU'D REGRET IT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Happy Frends #7

2009-08-03T18:52:00.004+10:00

Lo' and 'hold, it returns.

Pamcakes

2009-08-02T20:15:00.010+10:00

Aww, look at widdle Hellboy.

Eclipse, eh

2009-08-01T16:12:00.007+10:00

Haven't touched it in a while due to general business (as in, being busy, not making some sort of money). I'll get back on it soon, and hopefully have some significant, uh, stuffs. Nothing much changed since the last time I posted it up, but what the hell, here it is again: http://www.mediafire.com/file/ijmmq1ndjig/BOXES.exe

Puppet sex and Gary Coleman

2009-07-28T23:00:00.003+10:00

Avenue Q was great. Might do a little write-up on it later. Might do the same for A Little Night Music. Keep watching this space.

Demo #3: stuff

2009-06-14T23:41:00.007+10:00

Blah blah blah blah. No, really.

Pointless demo #2: now includes sound and death

2009-06-14T15:21:00.004+10:00

See title. None of the music is mine, unfortunately. They're just placeholders, so don't go calling thief, either. Let me know if something bugs up. Click.

Hooray for pointless demos!

2009-06-13T16:28:00.007+10:00

Left/right to move, A/S for Day/Night and X to jump. I know there's nothing there, but I thought I would post it anyways, for kicks. The next one will likely show a fair bit more. Clickity.

Game Makin'

2009-06-13T00:55:00.023+10:00

So, I was making this game about a guy who explodes. But then I hear about this and this. Kind of puts a damper on things, even if I thought of it first! So now I'm working on something else. It's called Eclipse, a puzzle platformer game where you switch between two characters to get two parts of a key, allowing you to advance to the next level. What happens on one screen directly affects what happens on the other, but I won't go into speficics just yet. I'll keep my progress updated on this here blag.

Happy Frends #6

2009-06-07T22:12:00.004+10:00

The saga continues!

Happy Frends #5

2009-06-06T21:23:00.007+10:00

Holy smokes, Batman! Continuity!

Happy Frends #4

2009-06-02T21:54:00.008+10:00

Talk about overdue.

Happy Birthday, me!

2009-05-23T13:09:00.005+10:00

Yay, I'm 18, hooray, I'm legally an adult. Now I can do all those things I wanted to do, like, um.. The exact same things I was doing before I turned 18. Hooray for arbitrary signifiers of the passing of time! Now to go back to merrily spending this day doing homework.

The what?

2009-05-20T17:27:00.004+10:00

So, I went to something called "the atre" for the first time today (the Melbourne Arts Centre, to be precise). Went and saw A Little Night Music, a musical (duh) with song and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (who did the same for Sweeney Todd, among others) and screenplay by Hugh Wheeler. Love, betrayal, singing and dancing, that sort of stuff. The wit and sophistication of the penis jokes were much higher than that of the average popcorn flick. I quite enjoyed it and recommend it, though I did get in for free. I guess you could say I paid in the higher learning I missed out on from skipping my lectures, but that joke's a bit of a stretch, even for my crass humour.

Swine Flu

2009-05-04T01:05:00.009+10:00

Just HAD to pull this old video out. If you don't know where its from, go watch Kenny and the Chimp on Youtube.

Unspeakable Evil

2009-05-02T20:33:00.010+10:00

There's a Wolverine review up over there, go read it. I write in it. And so do my chums, who are also okay too. While you're at it, you might want to check out their blogs as well, they're not half-bad. If you're too lazy to read that wall of text, here's a quick summation of what was wrong:

The Universe has a terrible sense of humour

2009-04-30T00:54:00.006+10:00

So, I was on the train this morning. Same mundane half-awake ritual, except I (literally) bump into someone familiar. We both apologise, then exclaim about said familiarity. It's a girl I haven't seen in years, a girl I had a crush on in Primary School. I have a long and not-at-all-awkward talk with a girl since god knows how long. She asks me if I'm seeing anyone, I say "no, not currently".

SHE TELLS ME SHE'S ENGAGED.

Life is too linear.

2009-04-16T22:55:00.008+10:00

We can be anything we want to be!

...provided the conditioning forced on us by parents, teachers, friends, relatives, TV and the media in general, society, culture/s, our feelings of guilt or shame or pride or anxiety or fear or stubborness, our own unique and flawed sense of right and wrong, our so-called responsibilites and obligations to individuals and customs to just about everyone we know or care about, stupidity, love, hate, lack of experience or sense, ignorance, laziness and sheer bad (or for that matter, good) luck don't narrow things down, just a little bit. Oh yeah, being born in a 3rd world country significantly lowers your job opportunities, I should wonder.

Actually, much of it is luck. We don't shape the world around us, at least at first, the time when we ourselves are being shaped. Mr. Universe, or Jesus or the Magic Pumpkin or whoever just arbitrarily decides who's womb we end up in, thoughtlessly ignoring our genetics or our future capabilities to give everyone a fair chance. We are born unto indifference. Empty canvases ready to be filled with higher learning, sure, but between genetics and the aforementioned conditioning we go through until even well after puberty, there's not much choice we really get.

All that said though, I'm pretty thankful to the Great Pumpkin for my situation. Sure, there are a few things I wouldn't mind retroactively changing in my history, but for the most part, I'm happy. That won't stop be from complaining about things though.

Moral of the story: Complaining is a very fun pastime.

Happy Frends #3

2009-04-16T18:12:00.007+10:00

My hand seems to be getting increasingly less steady from the looks of those borders. See if you can guess what Talking-Fish-Head-Man is speaking this time! It was Egyptian Hieroglyphics the last.

Happy Frends #2

2009-04-10T20:13:00.004+10:00

Yes, another one. Seems I don't have anything in particular to rant about verbally yet, so, uh, enjoy?

Happy Frends

2009-04-08T23:42:00.002+10:00

Lol, blogs.

2009-04-05T14:44:00.004+10:00

Now all I need is an Apple laptop, a beret and a coffee shop.