Monthly Archives: June 2009

Zen and the Art of Enforced Inactivity

Let’s face it, the easiest way to deal with sudden inability to function is to take lots of drugs and zone out. I did that for the first three days. Then i realised it had actually been a week, so i tried reality again. It sucked so much that i went back to the drugs.

Happy to report they still work. Still have thumb strapped, which – as i was already wearing wrist supports for any typing – is just the icing on my cake. However, i can still type, just not well enough for me to waste the little time i have doing long blogs when i need to be getting on with the novel.

It’s going rather well, *touch wood* so i also don’t want to shift my focus too much, or i’ll lose where i am. And when. Yeah, i live in my head, so? Someone has to.

I do go outside. I’ve fortunately managed to control all my massive neuroses little foibles so i can still leave the house, i’m not actually terminally obese, (though have been there, so do not think i’m some kind of body fascist), and i still drive a car. I’ve managed to give up smoking tobacco, which after two years (nearly) still astonishes me.

Allowing our minds to take our lives over on the outside is like me doing a retro-tech futuristic novel means i should be skipping about ‘in costume’ in real life and only answering to the name of the heroine of my book.

Actually, i could start tweeting in character, maybe? No no no. Thrice no, i say! (Bit of drama there, for those who like that kind of thing. me arguing with the voices inside my head is always entertaining.)

Our minds influence life to astonishing degrees. We smoke or eat or drink ourselves to death, we hide indoors, we stop driving, we stop going to the supermarket and start only going as far as the corner shop, then try to stop going there too. We justify it all to ourselves. And for no real reason. We know that. It’s just something in our mind.

I once thought i had agoraphobia, as i didn’t like going outside when i first went to London. Then i realised that every time i stepped outside, i could see someone else, (it’s a crowded place), whereas inside the house there was more space around me. I had claustrophobia, you see? The reverse of what it looked like.

Mr Whatsit has been having a rough time, finally got some drugs that work from the doctor, and has been sleeping joyfully, zombie-boy catching up on maybe four months of not much sleep.

That’s my news – we’re both in pain but drugged enough to cope. Lol – and compared to many of my friends at the moment, we’re not doing too badly.

There seems to have been a rash of sudden illness, cancer diagnoses, of mid-winter depression, of bullying and depression, and of course, people have been going green in support of Iran. I haven’t, i’d only just gone red on Twitter to cheer myself up, with it being two days away from the mid-winter solstice here.

I feel sympathy and empathy for the Iranians – but i don’t think some unquantifiable number of people on Twitter dyeing their avatars green will help. I mean, does the head of the Iranian Secret Police say….

Zomg,  all mah Tweeples haz gone green!
Can haz democrasee! Stop teh beetingz!

Somehow, i don’t think so.


temporary loss of service…

My thumb’s still sore. So no blogs for the moment, (except this one), i can do a bit of Twittering, but basically am trying not to use it. Just so y’all know. It’s much better, but still strapped up.

As if i didn’t have enough on my plate with the bloody mould sensitivity and it being winter and the mould growing like… well, mould! Though we soldier on. We have started packing. Two – yes TWO – boxes of books. Well, we have a month of saving petrol money before we can move any of it, so it’s a start.

Mr Whatsit evidently has too many non-human parts to be considered for medical experimentation – all that metal holding him together inside. They suggested i try selling him to a mining company, as titanium always fetches a good price.

His leg brace is also titanium, but of course, if i sell that before i sell him, he won’t be able to go to the shop when i need chocolate, so that would be short-sighted of me. Besides, at the moment, he’s doing all the cooking thanks to my thumb, so he’s saved his pretty hide for another week or so.

So, that’s my life. I am finding this thumb thing very frustrating, but at least i can use the hand again a bit – i can pull my pants up! Only 5 days ago, I couldn’t even use my left hand that much.

It’s ow already *scowls* so ending this.


i fell apart during the night…

…and woke with an apparently broken thumb or some kind of awful tendon problem. I couldn’t figure out how i could do it without waking up, but it was as bad as when i broke my foot (which  i both heard and felt when it happened and it didn’t sneak up on me while i was asleep). It kept getting worse, until that night i staggered out of bed, crying (like a girl, Mr Whatsit said), that my thumb was fucking killing me.

I upped my painkillers and I kept it strapped up tight all the next day – we were of course, in the middle of a three-day weekend – and resigned myself to a wrist and hand in plaster for a month or so.

If i accidentally moved it, the pain was actually “cry out loud even if you were in public and trying to be cool” – yep, severe pain. I did indeed, as Mr Whatsit is alleging, squeal like a girl.

Not just the thumb, but the first two fingers too, shooting up into my elbow and shoulder, though i could feel was probably tendon in my thumb. I didn’ t know what i’d done, but i figured as i didn’t know if was new or old injury (i have too many to remember), i didn’t want to ice it,so just compression bandaged and splinted it. (I happened to have a splinted wrist support, i didn’t whittle one from a handy pine tree. One-handed, that would have been a trip.)

I also found some marijuana butter in the freezer, left over from the obligatory xmas bikkies. It was tricky, but i mixed it with some chocolate in the top half of a double boiler, got it into an ice-block mould, and then put it in the fridge once it started to cool off.

So despite my disability, i was high enough to be Zen about almost anything. I did make a few tweets that in hindsight i considered possibly embarrassing, but i figure my followers are reasonably thick-skinned. I try to remember the NSFW thing (Not Safe For Work – has nudity or some other aspect a boss might object to).

But the weird thing, from ‘broken’ on Saturday, my thumb is by Monday afternoon, massively better. I credit my followers’ good wishes for my recovery – or to at least them praying that i would  stop whining about the damn thumb – with my miraculous healing. The Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™ helped, too. (I lay around reading detective novels, not using thumb.)

It’s still very sore, but compared to the weekend, it’s amazing. I’m telling you so you understand that we’re doing the Catholic thing, and amassing proof of miracles. Yo, cos i’m a deity, and we have to have proof. Like on the TV. Gil Grissom in CSI wouldn’t take no miracle on face value. No, he’d try the Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™… or if he didn’t, he should have.

Here in the Church of the Queen of Darkness® we’re pleased the first miracle that proves i might be the Antichrist is documented, although the miracle’s not complete – thumb still hurts. *looks at readers* Well? Pray harder!

Wait – that’s completely a joke, and knowing how much the Universe loves to fuck with my head, i’m going to rescind the order now, before someone prays, God gets pissed off at the unnecessary prayer, and my arm falls off in sudden rare form of instant god-leprosy.

Thumb does hurt. So going to stop typing. Before i get too heretical even for Baby Jebus who forgives all and rains down jelly babies in rainbow colours upon the world.

Man, you have to try the Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™.

Yeah, voices-outside-my-head are in complete control. I don’t even know my own name.


sex and drugs and rock and roll…

… are very good indeed. At least, so the song says. Having overindulged in all of them, i can vouch for that. Though over-indulgence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hedonism is a nice place to visit (not for me, i’m not big on public displays of nudity or swingers’ resorts, but others enjoy it very much).

When it comes down to it, it’s in Jamaica, and that’s just not convenient for the modern dictator monarch intrepid novelist on the go. Not as an Antichrist headquarters. Though it’s tempting just to try the grass. i used to smoke with Jamaicans in London, we like similar states of zoom.

Are you one of those people, who when asked, so what do you do for a living, have a one or two word answer that’s completely true and not contentious?

I envy people like that. I mean those who are a thing. Like accountant, doctor, [insert vocation here]. Because being a writer is like when you say you’re ‘an artist’.

Once people find out you make plasticine toys then show them to your friends on Twitter, they tend to think ‘artist‘ eh? Well, we don’t know about art, or claymation, but we know what we like, and plasticine models of animals won’t get you anywhere.

For those new to the strange labyrinth we call my mind, this post is probably brought to you by the voices-outside-my-head (basic rule of thumb, those we listen to, because they never tell us to hurt anyone… the voices-inside-my-head can be ignored with impunity) who think it’s funny when i tell people that I’m the Antichrist.

I’m not really the Antichrist, but then (as we’ve discussed) the Antichrist would say that. It’s like “when did you stop beating your wife?” I find the career question hard to answer without someone saying “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”

So, i’m sort-of a writer, of the new-and-improved giant space opera-fantasy epic of Doom! And currently trapped inside a mould-ridden house (also of Doom), but soon now, i will find a way out. This ‘way‘ so far involves saving madly and thus far, acquiring some boxes. They’re very nice boxes.

Sturdy, and made of cardboard. A plentiful number. We also have tape, packing paper, and one box assembled, so just as soon as someone gets the urge, we can start packing.

We can’t afford to move any of it for maybe a month, (at least) so there’s not a lot of time-pressure. Time is meaningless – lunchtime doubly so. Was that a Douglas Adams quote? It sounds as if it should be.

Aha – he said it’s an illusion. Nope. Well, yes. And it’s meaningless. And fleeting. Time is also like a piece of string. No, seriously. Pay attention – i will be asking questions later. See, anywhen is actually right here, right now. Well, maybe just a step to the right. Cool huh?

I’m probably not going to ask questions, because i’d have to provide links, explain then discuss string theory, posit parallel universes, and read more than i really wanted to when starting this.

It was supposed to be an airy rambling about life. I’ve already had to find links to Hedonism II, Wallace & Gromit, and now Douglas Adams has started posthumously grandstanding in it.

He wrote one of the funniest books ever Life, The Universe, & Everything – which is a fab book, if you haven’t read it. It was made into two movies, neither of which are actually as good as the book. It’s the kind you can’t read on the train, because you laugh out loud too much. “42!”

Here’s something scary for those who remember reading it  close to its publication date. It was published 31 years ago. Feck. Age is so huge. Sort of like space. Either it’s not enough or it’s too much, for most of us.

I cope like everyone else, i’m about thirty inside my head (i was much more sensible by the time i hit thirty), and on the outside, i’m 48. I look in the mirror and wonder who the baggy bint with the silver streaks in her hair is.

I suppose i’m your average Supreme Being. Yeah, delusional is exactly what i was going to say. On your knees, children of the blog… yes, of course you can have cushions. Ahem, you at the back, i wasn’t serious. For heaven’s sake, use a comfy chair.

We’ve discussed this before – worship of me involves reading the blog (laughing, thinking, and even commenting, when i let you get a word in), and adding me on Twitter.

The whole thing, about overindulging a bit, partying hard, (no, i have no idea where i’m going with this, i presume there’ s a point somewhere, or even somewhen), is that you get a bit older, and it’s cool.

I have experience. I have done things. At least, other people are impressed, which is funny, because at the time, it was just life. I thought everyone was doing it. Imagine my surprise when i discovered there were heaps of people who’ve never even tried a Flaming Sambucca. Back in the early 80’s, this was, before they started putting them out before you drank them. I did fine. Nobody was more astonished than me when i didn’t set fire to myself.

I saw someone use Bundaberg Rum to create a Flaming Bundy. I think maybe rum’s more flammable? Especially if you pour it over yourself when you toss the drink back, because you’re drunk . Whoof! It was very spectacular to watch.

He was fine, the alcohol burned off fast, and his facial hair was so greasy it didn’t catch, but i took it as a signal that the night was over. It was 2am, my mate had stopped fancying him, and we’d only followed him to his London bedsit because he said he had booze. I was ready to go home when i discovered it was Bundy.

Among things you really need to do before you leave your 30’s – like read the Tree Lobsters Webcomic – I was astonished to find women who never even had an orgasm until they were over 40. How can you go through life without exploring a bit? Gawd.

Over 40, you’re going to hurt yourself trying to do all that teen stuff. Only teens can do it, you know, that burning the candle at both ends, without payback of massive proportions. And they get payback, they just don’t let it stop them.

I forget, some people are still thinking that down there is some freaky place you mustn’t touch, or like nitroglycerine, it might go off. “OMG, look out, she’s gonna blow! Everyone, run!” *sounds of screams and running feet*

Sadly, people being stupid isn’t enough reason to kill them. It’s a good reason to encourage them to neuter themselves accidentally with a sandwich maker. Death or sudden emasculation. You have to make it look like an accident.

Like when you’re parking the tank, and oops, you dropped a track on the neighbours. And maybe their kids. “I’m sorry, officer, i didn’t see them there.” He’ll say, “Queen of Darkness, eh? What’s with the tank?” Men are complete suckers for tanks. Maybe i’ll let him take it for a spin.

I won’t say “OMG, it’s the filth!” Or anything referring to da Babylon. I’ll impress him with my knowledge of weapons of war (total dilettante, but glib, that’s me – and i have a nice smile). I’ll tell him that the tank is to invade Queensland.

And he’ll say, “Flatten a cane toad for me”, or something equally derogatory about Queenslanders. I’ll be cool, because there’s all this stupid interstate rivalry going on with these little postage stamp places over here on the east coast, but i’m not from these parts.

Western Australia is a over a million square miles (2,532,400 km2) – eat that, piddly lil eastern states places. (Texas would fit 5+ times in WA.) Besides, i’m following the actual New South Wales police on Twitter, so safe from arrest. They don’t want to offend me, because i might unfollow them on Twitter.

Yes, cunning of me. And the next time they announce they’re seeking a mysterious Queen of Darkness who’s allegedly been playing war games with a tank at the Budgewoi shops, and ran over some women and children on a crosswalk, where they really shouldn’t have been, i’ll have advance warning.

If i’m home by then, and can see what’s happening on Twitter, of course, as i don’t have a mobile tweeting ability. The worst part about Twitter? I find myself wanting to tweet things when i’m out. *sighs*

I even think, wow, maybe if all those Mac users are having so much fun, i’ll have to get one. I will tweet from cafes like everyone else does. And i will take photos of my food, even if it looks like dog turds on a plate. (Most food doesn’t, most food is jealousy-provoking good stuff.)

Then i remember i don’t like Macs, so screw that. Oops – i nearly joined a cult there. See how easy it is? Beware of religion, and pass the bong.

I have PMS, a cold, and a massive allergic reaction. I feel like crap.

But the drugs are working quite well.


is everyone nude?

Top Searches
“facebook ate my baby”,  bdsm penectomy drawing,
sting in the tail soap,  man humps a camel,  a horse humping a man


These are top searches people used to find my blog – god, you people are sick, lol. Except for Mr/Ms Clean there, looking for soap – i hope you weren’t too traumatised. And i suppose ‘facebook ate my baby‘ is okay. When I look at the most active posts, sex and violence win every time, and a little necrophilia or bestiality doesn’t hurt. Well, it doesn’t hurt one’s hits.

I spent the morning on Twitter and commenting on blogs. Well, i didn’t actually post all comments. The one that said “you’re stupid, they’re stupid, and you all deserve to die” didn’t get posted. Neither did the one that said “oh ffs, you’re being a hysterical fear-monger” or the one that said, “oh what a pair of wet sad fucktards!”.

I’m not that desperate for hits that i’ll encourage bare-knuckle fighting in the comments.

Some people do – and for some it works, for others it becomes a distraction. Serious flame wars do detract, usually. Sometimes, they’re great, as on Hello Kitty Hell, where Hello Kitty has one fan. Her name is Darlene, and laughing at her responses is part of a visit to the site.

Never read the comments on the LolCats site, or you will end up in a place worse than Hello Kitty Hell. You will never have sex again, that’s one thing for sure, and you will start making your cat wear clothes.

Some sites seem to end up with a bunch of people snarking at each other in the comments – others end up with people showponying, trying to act cute and funny, to pull people to their own blogs. It’s true, if you can say something good in the Comments, it will bring people to your blog. However, if it bombs, you look like a fucktard.

Me, i’m just happy to get comments, though i get annoyed when they don’t say anything except “i wrote a blog post on one tiny aspect of something you mentioned in passing in this post… and here’s the link”. Oh *drips sarcasm*, did you wonder why that one was deleted?

I am moderately annoyed today. Hormonal, hmm?

Well, yes, *stabs you in the head* i am a bit, now you mention it.