smash is dandy!

original title/link: "put the drill to my head and...hmm" . . . originally published: 15/01/2008

Poo.

It’s 4:32am and I cannot sleep, due to the fact I have slept so much in the past fortnight that I think I have banked enough sleep to keep the most lazy, lethargic narcoleptic awake for at least a week.

Sadly there are few options available for entertainment at this time, but I narrowed it down to:

1) Get up and watch new gas mashin DVD a very good mate sent me,
2) Lie there and pretend that I’ll get to sleep in a minute, all the time knowing I won’t,
3) Have a wank, or
4) Write a d*land entry.

How lucky for you guys that I chose number 4, eh?

As Dandy pointed out in my comments recently, I did steal the title to my last entry from the content of one of her entries from ages ago.

As punishment, I have decided to raid her archives and will, hopefully for the rest of 2008, have my entry titles consist of randomly picked phrases from her entries.

And all the better if they sound incriminating and obscene, hehe.

Incidentally, when I link to people in my diary, has anyone actually bothered to hover their cursor over the link to see what comment I make about them?

Try hovering your mouse pointer over Dandy’s link…

*waits*

Ha!

I think I might have to hi-jack Dandy’s diary again and write her an entry sometime soon.

It’s so hard writing an entry for Dandy’s diary though. You all know I’m a disgraceful, potty-mouthed, rockin babe-shagger, but it feels somehow wrong to be rude in Dandy’s diary. Sort of like pissing on a gravestone.

Poor Dandy. I’m sure at times she despairs over the day I clicked onto her diary and sent her some stupid dumbass message.

Heh.

In other news… I have a job interview on Friday!

It’s still within the service, but a totally different department.

There are some advantages if I get this job:

1) I won’t have to work with the cunts I work with now,
2) Even if the new people I work with are cunts, they are a whole new bunch of people to wind up and annoy the shite out of.
3) It’s slightly more money and bigger pay increases in future years.
4) The work is far more interesting.
5) The training lasts for months meaning I won’t have to do any real, actual WORK until May (when I turn 30, get saving for my present!)
6) It’s near a great biker pub that does cheap food and cheap drinks and plays great music.

Hmm. I can see 6 possibly becoming problematic if I happen to suffer from job dissatisfaction…

The only thing is I hate job interviews.

I don’t mean I get nervous, far from it. But the stupid bloody questions, for fucks sake.

Dumb questions I have been asked:

What is your favourite colour?

Smash: Black, because it goes with anything. (The interviewer didn’t seem to like that.)

What would you like to achieve in the next 5 years time?

Smash: A huge lottery win, so I could buy myself a garage full of super cars, have an endless supply of beer and babes at my disposal, and just generally have fun until I died at a stupidly young age due to excess. (The interviewer didn’t seem to like that either, especially not when I added that if I could have it now and instead of five years time, then so much the better.)

Would you get your hair cut if I said you could have this job?

Smash: No. (I got the job anyway, and ended up staying there nearly three years.)

Describe something about yourself that is unique

Smash: My fingerprints. Next?

Would you say you are phlegmatic?

Smash: No, but on cold mornings or in the height of summer, I get horrendous catarrh.

Perhaps I should try to be a little less cheeky this time round?

Nah, how would I get a good diary entry out of that one?

Although perhaps I am being optimistic in saying this is a “good” diary entry.

With hindsight, maybe I should have just opted for the wank.

i felt compelled (the power of smash compels me) to reply (and embellish even more here… shhhhh):

using big words with concurrent consecutive consonants confuses me...

catarrh, hummph

and what's all this about hovering over dandy?...

meanwhile, dandy and cunt so do not go together (unless we put a sweet in there somewhere… oh shut up, you did not write that... smash is the potty mouth… wait, maybe nobody got it… oh shit, shutup), which is one of the many things that makes your entries so much fun (or is that morbid humor?... gutter slush?... literary wanking?... infinite entendre?... perhaps we can just agree on dangerous?) to read... especially at work... out loud… over the public address system… maybe if i had a British accent… or French… maybe a little mad Hungarian… in any case, one must always be looking over one's shoulder to see if anyone is glancing over at what one is laughing at as one wonders if one should actually be laughing... not me, of course, but certainly one...

what time is it?...

am i reading you daily again? (are you?... anyone?)…

can there be random political humor in here? (warning, link opens with video playing)...

is random amusing?...

will random survive?...

these and other earth rattling questions may or may not be answered in the next installment of: the soap that ended suddenly without really ending at all, so no wonder nobody felt clean…

people care, you know?

meanwhile, from the files of other random asides and wanky guilt trips (does this mean random survived?... or perhaps random, random's italic twin brother?), i am considering starting another new daily-ish webpage (diary, blog, journal, bootube, blip, whatever) since my history has demonstracted (occasionally demonstrated too) quite effectively that moving on to new daily babblespots consistently loses the attention of any audience (friends?) i might attract during my year or two at any given address (being flighty is just so unwelcome in the blogging world, ya know?)... also, perhaps i might perfect the abstract art of actually maintaining an attention span for more than ten seconds and therein provide readers with something worth returning for more to read for with...

somehow, i think the prepositions tripped me up there, but certainty is an elusive mongrel...

yes, so, in any case, anyway, whatever, meanwhile, hello :)

and oh yes, thank you :)

.
.
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no offense to dandy or anyone was intended in the making of this poo for we love her, yes we love her, and we definitely do not say so enough, so we take this opportunity to say so more than enough for polite society (cuz, yo, we be lovin dat gurl!... 'specially when she laughs… in fact, that's what we should do, create a new blog called "Dandy laughs"… Garbo would so not roll over, stop saying that… it could also be a humor site called dandy laughs as in, laughs that are dandy), but then, we be diggin dat hoochie momma ho time, beget it!... and besides, we're buried here in smash's diary comments and there's little polite or society about it, now is there?... or here, even…

but we be cultured, dammit!

you've been missed, really you have, just like these scenes from old movies i've failed to mention in passing, but allude to now as if somehow they've been referenced so subtly that no one ever noticed...

playing those mind games, forever...

and you know that, for sure...

gotta let it go now...

see ya.

candoor | 15.01.08 - 10:41 am |

________________________________________

wait, i left out the r in hurmmph, can i get a do-over?

ptp
(protruding tongue productions)

candoor | 15.01.08 - 10:42 am |

well that's just dandy!

homelessness starts at home

this will find elaboration later, but for now, i just wanted to out it here…

making a turn today i saw a homeless man standing on a street corner. he was holding a sign and wearing a blue sweatshirt. i wondered about him. i thought of him as a newborn baby, starting out as a life the same way everyone does. i wondered if his mother and father had dreams for him, for what his life would be like, for what they hoped he might become. or maybe he was discarded from the very beginning, not wanted or cared about, seen as a burden for existing. i wondered if he had any children of his own, a family, had any dreams left, had ever known caring arms. i wondered where he slept, what he ate, whether anyone ever talked to him, or showed any compassion toward him. i wondered if he was sick and in pain.

do we look through invisible people because we are afraid of how we could disappear too, ourselves becoming invisible to those driving by?

i made a lot of assumptions about the man in blue today, all of which could be totally wrong and probably are. i know nothing about him, about any of the circumstances that led him to his place on the corner in his bright blue sweatshirt holding a sign telling the world he was hungry and without a home. i could make up any number of stories about his life that led him to that street corner, none of which approximate the truth. i was merely driving by, sitting in a warm car, full from breakfast, needs having been met (for today), one of hundreds who would drive by him...finding it difficult to really look at him. i felt sorry for him, which felt pretty useless. feeling sorry didn't feed him or clothe him or provide him a home or make anyone care about him. i drove by, just like everyone else, still feeling sorry, and also feeling shame for looking through him too...too afraid of what he represented, the potential to be cast off and thrown away, forgotten and unloved. in the past i have stopped to provide what cash i had on me or purchased a meal and/or a drink, and given it with a kind word and a handshake. did making just one minute different in someone's life make any difference at all, or did it merely make me feel better for the moment?

the man today seemed real in a way others haven't before, closer, more personal. i looked down and realized i was wearing the same kind of sweatshirt as the man on the corner. his was blue. mine was red. his was worn and dirty. mine was clean and bright. our lives may have been very different today, but there we were, wearing the same sweatshirt, intersecting.

i'm inside, sitting at a computer, full now from dinner, comfortable and sleepy, wearing my red sweatshirt.

it's cold and raining tonight...his blue sweatshirt isn't nearly enough to keep him warm and dry.

the experience inspired me to write this to myself:

carry brochures for local homeless shelters, labor-ready type day labor places, free counseling centers, and government welfare offices... if he does not want to remain homeless and begging, he does not have to... if he is stuff in a self-destructive psychological loop, he needs professional counseling... i might go as far, if i felt it was safe, to offer to drive him and walk with him into to any one of the places i mentioned above... sit with him while he waits for the people inside to offer what they can... above all else, help him face the fact that a day labor place will, on most days, offer him more than enough to feed himself, bathe himself, wash his clothes, buy a new shirt, sometimes enough to buy something more, even a room in a boarding house... and the opportunity to regain his self-respect and change his habits if he wants to...

or you could enable his helplessness and assuage your ridiculous learned guilt by giving him a dollar... i think that is a futile and destructive choice, but that's just my opinion based on my experience...

putting a band aid on a broken arm might seem like a moment of kindness and feel good emotionally, but the arm needs a whole lot more to heal well...

same for a broken psyche...

and as for you...

you did not take anything from the man... you did not physically or emotionally destroy his self-esteem or put him on the street... you did not make him give up on himself... your guilt feelings are your choice based on the mixed up psyche and stuff you learned from religion... don't use him to try to put a bandaid on your broken arm, it will not work and only enables the self-defeating emotional habits and mixed-up thinking that somehow has you feeling responsible for someone else's experience and choices...

love you :)

methods to the madness

there comes a moment of epiphany in a catharsis and this may or not be one of those, but it's planted here anyway because it may have some growth potential for someone, humanity, even, but definitely for posterity (cuz posterity is such a big old soul and infinitely creative, after all)… i shall leave it for those wonder boys in love with themselves and the idea of constantly re-writing history (what, a jab at academics?... how crass, but wait, maybe it was a disguised self-mutilation that went right over their heads… that'll leave them wondering) to come up with the worth or value of the documents… i'll just continue uploading…

we begin with a series of entries in the third week of november in the RealTime™ blog that ruminated (and regurgitated) the current state of life as i know it (or knew it then) looking around me more than usual to assess myself by noting my place in space and interactions all of which (and who knows what else) prompted z0tl to say (and we begin):

i hate people who walk around pointing to negative people, insisting they are positive for doing so.

being able to recognize negativity is not positivity.

now i'm not saying you're doing that right in here, but you are walking a tight rope and you are inviting DISASTER in your life when you get so arrogant that you believe you can never be depressed.

but of course you don't believe that, because you are DEPRESSED, ever since i've known you, really, about being LONELY and unable to find someone who you can truly SHARE your potential for happiness with.

and so it goes.

anyway, the xwifey used to say the ability of a person to be happy is genetic. now then, if i'm endowed with a set of genes that allow me to be miserable, may i be allowed to please enjoy that temporary makeup fully without having to listen from those happy stupid people going around telling everyone how they should be happy in every circumstance?

i happen to be happy at this time, but i'm fully aware i have the ability to be miserable at any time, with
all my heart, beware of z-dawg!-)

ps: i expect at least a 58 pages response to this with an 8 page executive summary in a comment.

pps: with the full understanding that this discussion is practice for juch j.hoppers as may be envisioned
reading this utter crap decades or even millenia from now, when archive.org has been pangalactically archived.

ppps: because you do understand i don't actually believe you're one of those people who may have written this
entry not knowing what true miserablesbility is.

pppps: oh, yeh, i'm on track #4 through your mp3s better be good when i get to #8.

i'm soooo speshiallll

and then z0tl said...

i'm climbing a tit line.

and then z0tl said...

what this crappy movie 'the peaceful warrior' based on the book [which was much better], in which it is said:

happiness is not true happiness unless shared.

what a bunch of bull. climb a rock or something.

at which time i was inspired to respond, though amidst distractions and already ongoing tasks, including writing a second entry for the day that was delayed many hours due to the distraction of writing the response to the comment above that will appear below and all together is becoming this entry, whatever it may be, become, bego, or begone, even… you see, the words above, scattered as they may be, in a triad delivery as only the great masters of humanity can do, provided food for fodder, fodder for thought, though for feeling, feeling for futility, futility to avoid, and cute visual images on television could not distract me at the time because the television was not on, only the music, the music that compels, me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, the power of music compels me, and no holy water is needed…

yeah, so this is what i said (with multiple {and musical} elaborations):

i've missed your brilliant axe...

that last line may have been the most sincere statement in this blog, ever, or at least in this entry so far… the tongue goes back in the cheek for the next bit… yup, right, you are correct sir... i'll still find references to amuse me though, like Ed and Johnny and Carnak the Magnificent cuz that's more fun that wallowing in the pity party, for me at least...

this music mix, for instance, is one of the journeys through the roller coaster of bliss and depression (cuz being manic is more fun than being catatonic for me and this first music mix is for me... somebody's gotta indulge the child, after all :)

it may be way too sleepy for your tastes, but then, look at the title… it is about the words more than the music, this time, but some songs rept in just cuz the melodies were so soothing to the savage beast… my savage beast, you find your own solutions to yours, right…

the recent entries are kind of cleaning house, sorting out the experience of living here, we three, and how i experience it and how i feel about it... it's probably not the proper human thing to do, publishing it all here, but then, i've never said i was trying to be the proper human, just a human (and i'm losing interest in that endeavor lately, but that's probably the seeds of another blog)...

i think i might want to try some arrogance in for size cuz all this goody-goody stuff sure has not worked (except to make me a giggling doormat)... so while we all know that my feigned efforts at being human are just time-passing games, even if i did want to experience being a human, i seriously doubt i would ever want to be with a human ever again… humans are simply not awake enough for me… and that's sure not as arrogant as that thought could have been. so i am still dummying down and being the kinder gentler me out here in cyberland…

idjit…

on another thought stream, i am too happy by myself when i stop being here in this human world where physical love and the illusion of flesh bonding ethereal beings is so possible... that is why i keep coming back to the lonely days, lonely nights, where would i be without my woman (BeeGees) saga that keeps me pretty much in high school... it was fun there and is still fun of dreaming of sharing such emotional drama (hoping for the bliss part) again...

but there's still the irony that every complaint, every whine, every stupid feeling, every depressed hole, every arrogant assness, every negative thought, whether i want it to or not and whether i let it out or not, ends in the dream... just look at the impromptu "CD" i just put together before coming here to read your comments:

Any Old Kind of Day Blackbird/Yesterday When You're A Free Man Everybody's Lonely A Day In The Life Lonely People Short Stories First Episode At Hienton Talking To My Angel Oh Daddy New Horizons Song For Myself Our House

. . . . .

Harry Chapin Beatles Moody Blues Harry Chapin Beatles America Harry Chapin Elton John Melissa Etheridge Fleetwood Mac Moody Blues Harry Chapin Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young

oh, wait, this was the moment i realized that the comment box doesn't allow such HTML... so i said "my bad, i'll just turn it into an entry as i usually do when i comment a lot cuz i am so desperately begging for attention and wouldn't want to waste a word la la la...

see next entry :)"

and here we are, padded, embellished, and continuing… it will likely not meet your full expectations for width and girth and pages, even. as it's just not that important (not you, not me, and surely not the self-indulgent project we so passively call this web world… or was that just me… anyway, i have to be back at work tomorrow and have a very busy week engaged in my newly renewed search for the one or at least a good fuck-buddy and I've already forgotten the laundry once sitting here distracted by your wisdom and forgetting laundry is not good for the shirts cuz it makes them all wrinkled and besides, the next-to-season-finale of Heroes is on tonight and you just know how much i am into saving that dang cheerleader), but you do deserve your time in the dark here for tearing yourself away from your wild nights of sex and debauchery just long enough to lavish me with your comment love…

so reasonable estimates are a waste of time, but let's see how this babble flows…

of course depression is the times these days and have been ever since i was once in love with amy, which may have been but an illusionary blip on the radar that distracted me from the deeper depression that was born into me (or i was born into) when i found myself in this human body in this human world… just imagine an enlightened being (what would be easily considered a god on this planet) the experiencing all these limitations and ignorances and stupid human thoughts for the first time… trauma is just the tip of the cosmos of this experience, but then, Douglas Adams helped a lot…

bliss is a relative thing, as is depression… i find humanity quite depressing, what with the apathy, the self-destruction, the condemnation, the fears, not to mention the sorry state of particle physics… i find myself easily absorbed by the collective consciousness (and sleeping conscience) and wallow away in my own irreverent (and quite public) misery laboring under the pretense i am waiting for the one and all I've ever needed was the one and so on, while doing my utmost to repel any true the one with my own personal sardonic negativity, self-destruction, condemnations, fears, apathy, and body odor (not to mention my particular physique)… ain't gonna find no lovin when the self-lovin ain't there… but there's always the good fuck buddy idea…

over the last ten years my faith in humanity, if i ever really had any, has been drained dry… i attracted users and whine about how used i am… i don't appreciate myself and shine about how under-appreciated i am… you know where this is going, so i won't repeat each cleverly worded phrasing of the same thing and just assume, cuz, after all, it's been a while since i made a good ass out of u and me…

so listen to Gavin Friday and you might start getting a feel of the real experience i know as being me in my head… sometimes… and other times, it's the bliss illusion… and just because i've created the nightmare more viscerally in this life does not make the horrible torturous traumas any less illusionary than the bliss, but that's too logical for this would-be discussion… wait, i'm uploading the entire Gavin Friday CD and will turn it into a playlist just for you so you can save it for your next great depression (and they think he jests)… after all, this will be the third entry in the already immortalized undeleted blog…

but then, we don't have to wait for the music to be uploaded… it'll get there when it does and the link will work when i figure out where to put it and type the right address and then we'll all be happily amazed at the lengths and depths (not to mention cyber queues) i'll go to just to make a point that will be rendered meaningless by the next entry, or paragraph, even (stop planning ahead)… and in spite of my pause to remember laundry (I'll have you know that i shall be going to work in slightly wrinkled my shirts for the next two or three weeks thanks to you… haughty and all, i am), Gavin continues to upload (hey, it's somewhere around 130Mb of music cuz i rip at a 320kbps rate {and hardly singe a hair} and i'll have you know that too) and i have sufficiently lost my place in line (or rather, in my mind) so i have no idea what i might have said before i got up to hang up slightly wrinkled shirts and move washer load to dryer and dryer load to basket and new load to washer, not necessarily in that order… wait, i think i forgot that last bit, be right back…

ok, you can listen to Gavin Friday (it'll auto-start playing the first song, but you can stop it and control volume and all that for as long as the page remains up on the net)… i also learned about putting a robot.txt file in my root directory while i was learning all the other stuff needed to put this link together for you and continuing the laundry and listening to music that is ironically, not the playlist on any blog but just a playlist i put together for today many hours ago in my itunes… but thanks for the impetus… zo where were we?...

ah, but i am sufficiently distracted now… if only i did not have laundry cooking when you inspired these streams of semi-consciousness… it could have been epic, aye?... especially in the current month of self-destructive self-depreciation (but i ate tuna out of the can tonight… could the next step be back to salads and dropping the weight again?... there are just a few weeks before the next holiday influence and i already bought chocolates (and hot chocolate mugs and other gifts) to hand out to all the revelers at work, so the challenge will be great to the will power and taste buds… if only the exercise bug would bite hard again… maybe that's the meetup group i needup most… of course it is… where else to find the active high-energy people… and the 5K runs around town… but why do they charge so much?... and why do i keep buying into the excuses?...

this is the boolshit that the master speaks of in trilogy and prophesy and history and for all posterity… this is why we are here… for posterity, at least… and to infinity and beyond, as well… i do boolshit well… so well, i deserve more o's… but now i am making a mockery of the seriousness of the situation, the matter at hand, the teachers (and teachings) of the master, and most of all, myself… this is what i do, you know, or even if you don't know, now you know, even if you don't know that you know, or what i do, this is it, what i do, and whatever you know, you don't know enough… but you could, if you wanted to, you could be a hero, even, if only just for a day…

all you need to do is care… and share… you care, say something meaningful, and life changes… let it in, and it changes for you too…

i'll be back some time to continue…