The World Wide Web: Eating Your Mind and Raping Your Language

So, I was on MySpace and there's this guy I have as a friend purely because he was attractive and I'm shallow. But he seems to spend his entire life on MySpace whinging about his entire life and I haven't really known whether to be amused or annoyed.

But from his last blog, I've decided that annoyance is probably the way to go. The blog itself was titled "Fauxmosexual" and had some point about how sexuality has become a fad. Which I don't agree with - in my opinion, everyone's bisexual on some level, it just depends what level - but that's not what annoyed me so much.

What annoyed me is his appalling spelling and grammar. It's not even just MSN-talk anymore, people just aren't bothering to go back and think about what they've typed and make it even vaguely comprehensible! What really ticks me off is “then” instead of “than”. You cannot say that is just easier or anything like that, it just proves you have no grasp on the English language.

I’m ok with the occasional missed capital letter or misspelling. I mean, I sometimes don’t bother to put capitals in blogs because it’s “easier”, but people manage to miss out spaces and mix up letters because MySpace or whatever doesn’t have a spell-check! Or people seem to think that a full stop means you don’t need a space afterwards. It’s full stop then space, people, and then, if you’re feeling particularly generous, perhaps even a capital letter. Is it really that hard to just go over and double check things like that?

Also, I hate EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!!!! in the middle of sentences. Use capital letters, italics or even both. It’s really not that hard. Also, more than three exclamation marks in a row is really annoying (see, italics). Technically, you’re only meant to use one anyway. Then there’s the using the alternating exclamation mark and question mark to make more of an impact. It’s an exaggerated (shouted or whatever) question; you can’t just stick in question marks in place of exclamation marks!?!?!

Also, in HTML text, is it really that hard to just type “<-b-r-space-/->” every now and then? Breaking up paragraphs makes things that much easier to read it’s really worth looking into it.

The Internet is destroying what was left of the English language.

The Jumper Thief

Walking around any public place, eg malls, parks we can see examples of human courting rituals. The suggestive coffee drinkers, the flirtatious shoppers. One particular courting ritual that is evidenced in most females, but especially teen girls is the jumper branding. The female steals the males jumper and wears it in public, in theory a practicality to keep warm but in reality a mark of ownership. In this act she advertises to watchers that she has claimed a man, it is a mark of power over the man she has claimed.

This male doesn't need to be hers, it can be any males jumper, as long as it is seen that the jumper is not hers and it is her will that parted him with his possession.

This gives the female certain perceived power, it marks her as a higher rank then the male she took the jumper from and also any female that does not have this power over another.

This power play is very important in young womanhood. These females have not yet proved their worthwhileness by social or cultural standards so power over others of the same low ranking social positioning moves them up slightly in society's food chain it is most often done by the alpha female of a pack of teenagers and the higher rank the male who owns the jumper the more powerful the female appears to be.

So please, when you are next in a public place watch for the female that claims a males jumper, understand the connotations of this gesture then try to ignore the self- important bitch.

hypocrysy

So, the general gist of this post is fairly hypocritical on my part.
But i need to get this off of my chest.

I was at a gig just over a week ago and there was a small cluster of irritating indi-er-than-thou indies present. Though I can get a little like that and the gig was Jackson Jackson - an obscure Australian band - so there were bound to be some of these types there, one of the guys t-shirts caught my eye and caused me to loath him and all others who own the t-shirt.

The t-shirt was a typical indi-t with a random picture and quote, but it was the quote that got me:

A life without knowledge is a death in disguise.

ARGH. FRUSTRATION AT THE WORLD is all I can express. What a stupid sentiment! To me this demostrates that there are both indies shallower than your average teenybopper and would buy the t-shirt because it sounds deep and would make them seem intellectual and that there are some truely idiotic people in the world. If you take this statement seriously, I have some very firm and fundemental disagreements with your view on life.

This quote immediately brings to my mind another quote of pretty much the inverse, Slarty Bartfast in The Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams (books or radio series, certainly not that awful movie):

I'd far rather be happy than right any day.

Doesn't that seem a much more sensible message? Shouldn't that be true? I'm not saying that knowledge and true happiness are mutually exclusive, but I just think it's a sad world where people feel you have to have one to be able to achieve the other.

English Short Story

I figure I may as well post my short story too. Have fun with it.


Robin hurried across the busy intersection, attempting to not be too late for a lunch meeting that started a few minutes ago. He ran a hand worriedly through his messy black hair, thinking of the people he was about to meet with. He was a swirl of anxiety and energy, his slim frame skilfully navigating through the swirl of people moving in a hundred different directions.

Then he saw Her, casually strolling on the pavement a ways from him, seemingly undisturbed by the surrounding people. They paid no attention to her either, though they maintained a distance, strange on the crowded sidewalk.

He always saw her from the corner of his eyes. Never when he expected it. A moment, crossing the street, seeing her lithe figure in the crowded sidewalk. When he turned towards her she was gone, lost in the sea of faces. His mystery woman, his muse in the midnight hours when he painted the face that haunted his dreams. Impossibly deep violet eyes framed by flowing white blond hair, pale translucent skin made slightly less ephemeral by the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know her, but they had never spoken, never met in the mundane sense. His muse, he called her, this mysterious, fey beauty his shadow companion in life. Robin was ever haunted by her. Relationships failed, opportunities passed without a glance. He painted, trying to capture this woman with his paints. Somehow he knew this would call her to him finally, compel her reveal herself to him.

That night in his studio loft he painted her as she has appeared to him that morning, so wild among the city people. He entered the trance state he always went into when he painted her. He only surfaced that morning, when the dawn sun shone through his windows. Blearily he came back to earth. She was there on the canvas in front of him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see her, offering him a smile. Too tired to react he watched as she reached out to touch the paining of her. She shivered as she made a contact with the canvas like energy was coursing through her, like she was on the sweetest high. She moved closer to the painting and seemed to merge into her painted form. Robin stared in confusion for a moment before collapsing to the floor in a pile of exhausted limbs.


Robin woke that afternoon, lying uncomfortably on the hard floor. Glancing blearily at his watch he say that it was late afternoon. He couldn’t remember why he was there until he looked up at the easel he was curled below and saw another painting of his muse. Struggling to get upright his hand brushed the painting briefly, sending a feeling like the forest in a storm, wild fey energy. He saw her watching him and heard someone whispering Airlia.

Later that afternoon he was still brooding. He had made coffee and sat on his chair in front of the easel. The blackouts were getting worse. Looking at the painting he murmured the name he had heard, Airlia. He didn’t know why he had been gifted with her name finally. Things felt as if they were coming to a head. He felt trapped.

And then he sensed a presence behind him. Hopefully he whispered ‘Airlia?’
The voice that replied sounded like storm winds and lilting birdsong. ‘A name has power. Be careful who hears mine, my love.’
‘I’m yours as ever, my muse. Whatever you wish.’ Robin says. A thrill goes up his spine at finally voicing this to her, the object of his longing for so long.
‘Thank you. I’m sorry for what I have to do to you. Your mind, your paintings . . . they give me form again, they stop me fading away. They stop me going to the dark place. I’m sorry, I love you. I do.’ Airlia rambled.
Robin nodded. ‘I know.’ He replied.

He stood and turned to face her, seeing her for a moment only before she faded away. He called her name for the rest of the night, like a lost child.


It was days till he saw her next the agony of waiting, wondering if she would appear again. His paintings were flat and empty. Then one night as he was staring at the black canvas she appeared with the smell of the forest clinging to her. He stole a glance at her and saw tears silently running down her face. Her smooth hangs tugged him up and she him turned around to her and then her lips were on his and she tasted like tears and honeysuckles and she broke away to whisper again how sorry she was.

He painted. Airlia watched herself formed with tears running down her cheeks, making her green eyes brighter and her mouth red from kisses and blond hair tangled. As he painted Robin felt himself going into it and it was beautiful, his muse. His everything.

When he was done he collapsed gratefully onto the floor, thoughts gone and heartbeat faint. She looked down at him and kissed him for the final time and knew what she had to do.

She found a candle and lit it watching the flame burn bright. The studio loft, covered in countless paintings of her feeling like a shattered mirror.

Robin woke to find her standing above him, holding a candle as if praying. He understood immediately. ‘No!’ he screamed, ‘Please! Give that to me . . .now!’

The look in her eyes said everything. I love you. I’m sorry. I have to. Silently she moved the candle to the last painting. Silently they watched the red-hot flames hungrily devour the paintings.

Silently he watched his world burn.

English Assignment

ok, so i have to right a "suspenseful" short story for an english assignment.
so i wrote me a cliche fantasy.
it's supposed to be 1000 words and currently stands at 1539.
also, the writing gets a little sloppy towards the end.
anywho.... here it is:


He was running as fast as he could without losing balance and plummeting to his death; fear of falling clashing with the fear of the things behind him catching up. He was working hard not to look down, he knew that if he did he would get stuck, wouldn’t be able to keep going. Just as he thought this, the bridge jerked beneath him and he fell to his hands and knees.
From this position he couldn’t help but look down between the planks. He saw, impossibly far below, jagged rocks, dead trees, blazing fires everywhere and all slightly distorted by the heat rising from the barren land. And, out the corner of his eye, he saw demons lurking in every shadow, darting in and out of shelter when he wasn’t looking, eyes (of those that had eyes) glinting with the orange light of the fires.
Give that to me… NOW.
He hadn’t heard the words, the best way to describe it would be to say that he’d heard it in his mind, sort of bypassing his ears, but that wasn’t quite right either. The words were just there, and he wasn’t even sure where there was. He did know one thing; he knew they were catching up.
The bridge was still swaying like mad and there was no way he could run anywhere near fast enough to get away and maintain enough balance to stay upright. He pulled the small object out of his coat pocket and examined it briefly; this was what they wanted. He didn’t really know how or why he had it or even what it was, but as he held it he realised one thing; they weren’t going to get it.
So, he had three options: one, keep running and be either caught or fall, but that wouldn’t achieve anything; two was to throw it over the edge, but in the hands (claws, tentacles or whatever) of any of the demons below was just as bad as in the hands of the things behind him. So, option three seemed the best option. Even though it was just as unlikely to work as any other option, it somehow felt right. He took his sword from his belt – well, he thought of it as a sword, it was more of a big machete – and slashed at the rope holding up the bridge.
For a moment, all of reality stood still, save the ripples that ran along the ropes as the tension was released. Then the world seemed to jerk up. Everything became a blur of orange and black and he landed in a heap of sheets and limbs on his bedroom floor.
Amory Smith was a tall, blonde twenty-something with dishevelled hair and three-day-old stubble. He was also psychic. He had dreams, dreams of events that could have happened in the past, present or future. But, the dreams were never of his world, always of some other reality. Because of this, he had seen some pretty strange things in his time and was prepared to believe anything was possible.
He got up off the floor, pulled his coat on over the clothes he’d slept in and pushed all the books and old newspaper articles (books on the supernatural, witches cults, even ghost stories and cuttings about inexplicable events and things such as UFO sightings) off the oven in order to boil the kettle and make his much-needed early-morning coffee. He looked around his dingy, single-room apartment, complete with cockroaches and one tiny, grubby window.
He walked over to the window. The dream was becoming more regular, practically every night. The Pit – he wasn’t sure if that was what it was called, but it was just what he had always thought of it as – was real enough, and he knew that he was going there eventually, but the increase in regularity of the dream was still worrying. He didn’t want to go somewhere like that. He looked out the window and into the park across the road. He had a decent view from his 4th story apartment.
Darkness.
He blinked and looked out again; he could see people jogging, people riding bikes, people walking dogs, families sitting down for a picnic by the lake. It was the perfect portrait of a peaceful Saturday morning.
Death. Destruction. DARKNESS.
There was no mistaking it this time; Amory knew he had seen the world of his dreams, the Pit. But what did it mean? Was that world bleeding into his somehow? Or was he having waking-visions of some kind? Whatever it meant, he was certain it couldn’t be good. He started as when the kettle whistled it’s high-pitched tone at him and turned to make the coffee. The sunlight glinted on the side of the rusted old kettle.
Fire.
He blinked it away and sifted through still more books on the ground for the coffee-grinder. He plugged the grinder in and the small room was filled with the smell of fresh coffee.
The smell of burning flesh. Enough to make you puke. FIRE.
He gagged. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. He set down the grinder, having lost his appetite, and grabbed his keys. He’d go talk to Bill. Bill would know what to do.
Bill was just an old guy with a particular interest the supernatural that he’d never explained. But he did have an incredible knowledge of it.
Amory made his way to the door, navigating his way through the piles of books and dirty clothes and dishes. He walked down the stairs and across the street to his rusty old Moris Major. He stood and looked again at the park. Nothing usual this time, no fire, no red sky, no dead trees. He came up to the last set of lights and they went red.
Eyes.
Amory broke out in a cold sweat. Something was wrong and he wasn’t sure if even Bill would know what to do. He looked round to see the woman in the car next to him staring with a puzzled expression.
Watching. Glinting in the light of the fire. EYES EVERYWHERE.
The light was green now. He sped round the last corner and up the road to Bill’s house and ran across the lawn and up to his front door.
“Bill!”
Nothing.
He banged on the door and shouted louder.
“Bill! I’m in trouble!”
He heard movement from inside. Thank God.
Bill opened the door and peered out, “What’re you yellin’ about?”
“The P-Pit,” Amory stammered, “The dream. I’m seeing the Pit. Only I don’t think it’s just a vision anymore.”
“Come in, come in,” Bill ushered him inside, “This isn’t good.”
“So, you know what’s happening?” Amory asked hopefully as he entered the living room. There was a roaring fire causing everything to cast long, dark shadows.
Shadows.
“Not a clue, but at a guess – ”
Heat.
“ – I’d say that that world and this are colliding.”
Creeping out like tendrils. On the edge of perception. SHADOWS.
“It’s getting worse,” Amory said urgently, “We need to do something.”
“Look,” Bill was looking grave, “The world in this dream, the one you call the Pit, it has another name, most people call it Hell.”
Amory felt a sick feeling settle in the bottom of his stomach, but in a way, wasn’t really surprised.
“And there are things there that want something, want this,” Bill took a small object from his pocket and pressed it into Amory’s hand. It was spherical, make of glass or crystal and had a gold core, which was emanating a strange light.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t explain much at this point, you just can’t let them get this.”
“But what do you mean? Who’s them? Why– That shadow just moved!” He whisked around, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back and almost screamed, Bill was still seated in the armchair he’d sat down in, but his throat was slashed, blood soaked his shirt, the gaping wound looked like a grotesque mouth.
He bolted out front door and ran, ran as fast as he could. He had no idea where he was going but he just knew he had to get away.
Darkness.
His heart was racing; he was panicking now.
Fire.
He just had to get away, had to keep running.
Shadows.
Had to keep running. Had to keep his balance.
He stopped and almost toppled of the bridge. Bridge? He took in his surroundings, he was in the Pit, in Hell, and he knew that this time it was no dream. Just as he thought this, the bridge jerked beneath him and he fell to his hands and knees.
Give that to me… NOW.
The thing from his dreams, the Pit, it was all happening. Only this time was different, this time there was no question about what he was going to do. He took the sword from his belt where he knew it would be and slashed at the rope holding up the bridge.
For a moment, all of reality stood still, save the ripples that ran along the ropes as the tension was released. Then the world seemed to jerk up. Everything became a blur of orange and black.

Quote the Third

In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.
-Douglas Adams

The Interwebs Rant Part Two, The Attack of the Angst

A while ago I ranted here about the internet. I talked about how fantastic is seems sometimes to be connected like this, to people I never could have met otherwise.

But there are some days I really hate it.

Today I was checking emails and remembered an old address that I hadn’t checked for a while. So I log in and find an email from my estranged father. The last time I spoke with this man I had an emotional breakdown at my own birthday party.

He wrote about how guilty he felt for leaving. How he wished he had kept in contact. He ended with, 'From your loving father.'

I just stared at these words. Just words on a page from this man who hurt me badly. The words didn’t feel like him, they felt empty. If he said this me, if he looked at me and told me he was truly sorry and he loved me it might heal some of the emotional wounds I’ve been carrying around so fucking long.

So for today at least, I hate the internet. Yet I still love it. All humans need to be heard. In posting this maybe someone will hear this. That isn’t much.

But maybe its enough.

QUOTE THE SECOND

"We're just animals, howling in the dark because it's better than the silence."
- Suzie Costello, Torchwood

EPIPHANY

I have come to the rather unexpected conclusion that life is good.

And no, I did not get laid, sadly.

I had this epiphany while reading one of the many MySpace bulletins/chain-emails/anything of that sort that was complaining of the state of the world.

As I am rather tired, and do most of my best thinking while rather tiredor rather drunk, I realised that life actually isn't as bad as people make it out to be.

It has its ups and its down. And at times it may appear that there are far to many downs and not nearly enough ups, but it's not all bad.

Firstly, people complain about the state of the world today and (this one applies to the older generations particularly) how much better things used to be. THEY WEREN'T BETTER. There were world wars and vast sicknesses and plagues and slavery and a global recession and MUCH more discrimination and many, many more things wrong in the world. Therefore, there aren't more problems these days, there are simply different problems.

Then, there's all this talk about how computers and internet are meaning that there is much less communication (I apologise for the appalling grammar). But, and I can see that this is a very "internet-generation" point of view, I talk to my friends, who i know all of outside of the internet, on MySpace and Msn and via email etc.

I'm not religious, so I don't believe there is a reason for life or a divine plan or anything like that. Life is just a coincidence. Life is just chaos. Nowdays, people might be attempting to organise the chaos, but all you end up with is vaguely organised chaos.

I figure you may aswell just go along for the ride, enjoy it while you can, because, ultimately, you only get one shot at it.

Life's a game, so why not play it? Of course your going to bend, and even break the rules every now and then, but that's most of the fun.

So, basically, what I'm trying to say, in my own, cynical way, is that life's not as bad as people seem to think. People are either stuck in the past or stressing about the future.

All you really have is now, so make the most of now.

Run.

Jump.

Dance.

Sing.

Scream.

Fall.

Get back up and do it all again.

A Day In The Life Of

Any explanation of the contents of this conversation would ruin it. Don't try to make sense of the maddness.

Fnord: I'll show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

PASSIONATELYapathetic: I like that in a girl.

Fnord;You like a rabbit hole in a girl? . . . Maybe a spoon in the rabbit hole? Or the absence of spoon (It is not the spoon that bends) Ahhh! Think about purple elephants! Think about purple elephants! EVERYTHING IS RUINED FOREVER!!

PASSIONATELYapathetic: I like the absence of a spoon in a rabbit hole with a girl having sex with a purple elephant while ruining everything forever.

*ROLLS EYES*

Due to recent comments made by certain individuals, I would like to point out that there is a VAST difference between being intelligent and being able to spell.

Quote the First

In the beginning there was nothing. And it exploded.
-Terry Pratchett

The Interwebs Ramble

Warning: Trippy content

The internet does an awful thing to me sometimes. It makes me think, about the world. About people- every person with their own stupid, secret, amazing world inside them, about how if you listen here, there are humans communicating in ways not possible generations before.

I'm part of the internet generation. I cant remember times before the internet, it is as everyday as gossip to a teenage girl (which i am also). And its awesome- in the original sense of the world.

And the internet is angry. Scientology has come under fire from an organization known as Anonymous- but I'm sure you're aware of this. (Those who don't, if its not on Wikipedia is doesn't exist.)

The technology that is driving this- the interwebs. It's changing the world. The Anonymous masses met on the internet, they talked. People heard. They listened. Anonymous is declaring war on a very rich, big organization. The internet is creating a world of information, you can feel it at your fingertips when on the keyboard.

This blog, in the din isn't even the dream of a whisper. But sometimes the only thing to do is scream anyway. Maybe someone will listen. maybe it will affect them in some tiny way.

The supersaturated flow is made up of a lot of these- people shouting into the space, hoping someone will listen.

Maybe their words will change the world

EPIC FAIL.

I was shown, by my associate Fnord, a website that should have been brilliant. I was sorely dissapointed to find that it was merely a bunch of Americans bitching because they thought they were better than everyone else.

I was so dissapointed that I promptly joined the site and posted the following under the same name as this post. I shall put a link to the website below so that those of you like me can appreciate my outrage at this abomination I had the misfortune of reading.



Hello!

I am a teenager from the baron deserts of Australia and therefore have no access to technology and you will probably just disregard my opinion as an outsider's anyway.

But I soldier on.

I have joined this website purely because it annoyed me and I needed to make it known that it did so.
Also, I like the attention, but enough about me...

To the creator of this abomination. I would like to point out that it is blasphemous and hideously grotesque to take such an awesome concept as the founding ideology of this website and turn it into the cesspool I have had the misfortune of stumbling across and subsequently bitched at.
I should probably point out that I use the word 'awesome' in a literal sense. Meaning NOT like a hotdog, to make a reference none of the sick souls that created this and perhaps a very small percentage of the poor souls sucked in by it would get.

OK, I was first dissapointed when the three television shows you have on the home page do not include Blackadder. All who think they appreciate sarcasm should immediately find means of obtaining and watching this BBC series. For the people of two didget IQs reading this (ie, all the Americans) BBC stands for British Broadcasting Company.

I then decided to investigate the website, to see if the could redeem themselves of this oversite.Upon veiwing the 'Sarcastic Quotes' section, I noticed that perhaps two of the quotes i viewed were sarcastic. Many more were indeed clever, but I feel that when visiting a link labelled 'Sarcastic Quotes' one would assume that at least 50% of the quotes would be sarcastic.

I then moved on to viewing your forums.
In one rather interesting and insightful forum, an Idian man tells a story of a bus trip in America. He is then accused of 'whining' by a 'greenbanana' character.
I haven't been able to find much other that whining on this site and, I assure you, JonnyBravoWarm is responsable for only a very small percentage of it.

In conclusion, I shall say that I probably had a more extensive vocabulary at the age of six than most of you do now and have been using sarcasm and irony CORRECTLY since I could talk.
I am sorely disappointed in this attempt at an intellectual whatever-it-is you're actually trying (and failing, I'm quite sure) to achieve here.

My last word is a quote from another BBC production (Torchwood, for the dickheads still reading this): "...I think even the stick up your arse has got a stick up it's arse."

Thank You All,

Much Love and Merriment,

Yours sincerely,

A Dissapointed Viewer.



the website itself is: http://www.sarcasmsociety.com/

PE Teachers

Oh. My. God.
What is it with PE teachers? There all such fucking control freaks.

Mainly, the PE teacher at my school. Honestly, TWO THIRDS of the school were trying to get into the locker area, but he wouldn't let us because it 'wasn't time'. It was a matter of minutes early and most of the other teachers in the school had said we could go early, but NO, we can't go to the locker area because it 'isn't time'. *glare*


So, I have come up with a couple of theories about PE teachers:
THEORY 1: A large ammount of PE teachers became PE teachers because they were bullied in school and see it as an opportunity to get their own back.
THEORY 2: Many PE teachers are in that line of work because they were the school 'jocks' and then, after leaving school, realised that high-school sport was all that they were ever going to be any good at.
THEORY 3: Alternatively to Theory 2, many PE teachers are such because they were never any good at sport in high-school and now they can FINALLY beat high-school students. What these people don't realise is that being, on average, 10 years older than most year 12s, this isn't actually much of an achievement.
THEORY 4: This one is slightly more specific. The reason we weren't allowed into the locker area is that we could get to our school-books and learn, heaven forbid. And my dear sports teacher realised that if this happens, there will suddenly be a severe shortage of people in his 'profession', if you can even call it that.
(Alternatively, there is a good friend of mine's theory about the locker area, which I think deserves an honorable mention; "He's a fucking retard with an IQ I could count on one hand.")

Required Reading

In my reckoning, there are two prinicpals this blog is based on:

1) the apathy principal- what you cant be bothered to do alone, drag a freind into

2) the teenage mind theory- we, as teenagers are so awesome everyone should listen to us. with that in mind, i present your quide to our twisted minds, the required reading for this course.

Websites:

questionablecontent.net

sinfest.net

bunny-comic.com

asofterworld.com

xkcd.com

 

TV Shows:

Blackadder

Torchwood and Dr Who

Buffy

Firefly

Hellsing

Cowboy Bebop

 

Movies

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

10 Things I Hate About You

Love Actually 

Serenity

Sweeny Todd

Donnie Darko

Drop Dead Fred

Underworld

Saved

Interview With a Vampire

Ultraviolet

  

Comedy 

Eddie Izzard

Monty Python

Rowan Atkinson

 

Books

The Sandman by Neil Gaiman graphic novel series

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne

Everything by Terry Pratchett

Everything by Douglas Adams

A Suffusion of Yellow

I would just like to point out that if we DO make and obscure reference or quote, it's worth checking out and doing a bit of research. It is BOUND to be awesome, and like you have anything better to do with your pathetic lives anyway. I mean, your reading an utterly pointless ranting blog.

I leave ye with a riddle: I'm hard yet soft. I'm coloured yet clear. I'm fruity yet sweet. I am jelly. What am I?
Muse upon it further, I shall return.




(ps. if you don't get that reference that's just SAD).

Apologies For The First Post

   I'm pretty sure most of the conversation posted below made absolutely no sense to anyone other than my apathetic co-contributer and I. I congratulate anyone who managed to make it through the illogical or invisible segues, nonexistent grammar or spelling and obscure quotes. Though there are bound to be many, many more obscure quotes. 

   By way of introduction I am not sure what to say. We're both high school kids in the barren wastelands of Western Australia. Any person or persons who make any comments bout kangaroos, ect will be hunted down and shot. Though this may be hard, as America seems to have all the guns.                                                                                                                                         

   And so welcome, unconventional conventionalists . This way lies madness. I hope you have fun, I know we will.

FIRST POST!!!

Well, this is first post, people.
Prepare yourself for many, many more random rants.
And here's the convo I just had with Fnord...

{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
and we really need to actualy start the website
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and the whole thing with any maths sum with an answer greater than 4 is actually 'a suffusion of yellow'
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and we really do
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and we shall call it apathetic athiests
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
eah, thats cool but id like something that makes no sence
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
like dissosiated obsession
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
which is also kool
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
or passionately apathetic
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
or we could think of something REALLY deep that just seems to make no sense
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
like what?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
meh.
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
but i hav another awesum adams' quote
¿ŦŏM¿™ He was the best bang since the Big one. says:
Mozart tells us what it's like to be human, Beethoven tells us what it's like to be Beethoven and Bach tells us what it's like to be the universe.
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
i can't think of anything that isn't connected with douglas adams atm
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
any particular reason>
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
i'm on the interwebs looking for a rant that would make a kool t-shirt
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
oh yeah
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
'a learner's guide to flying' would be kool and random, but only if u'd read hitch-hikers guide...
¿ŦŏM¿™ He was the best bang since the Big one. says:
I wrote an ad for Apple Computer: 'Macintosh - We might not get everything right, but at least we knew the century was going to end.'
nuther awesum quote, and this one would make an awesum t-shirt
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and u could hav the whole ipod ad thingy on the t-shirt
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
what about calling it relative truth?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
that's be kool
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
*that'd
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
the founder of buddism said "“Do not think of how big the universe is, it will merely hurt your head.”
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
wat about calling it relative reality?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
joy!
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
=D
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
im gonna see if its taken on blogger
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
kool
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
and im still listeing to dirty little secret
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
hehe
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
fuck. taken
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
i like the relativity theme tho....
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i has a thesorus on the comp, ill look for something related
¿ŦŏM¿™ He was the best bang since the Big one. says:
mk
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
constant relativity?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
unconventional conventionists
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
no, that'll almost definitely be taken....
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
suprisingly, no
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
kool
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
tho it feels slightly plagueristic
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
it does
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
actual reality
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
eah, kinda lame
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
kinda.....
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
pray there's no god
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
he hoped and prayed there was no god. then realising the contradiction, he just hoped
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
tho i prolly mangled it
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
yer, that's wat i was just reading
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
hey, from a vauge memory
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
conform. free will is overrated
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
not sure why that popped into my head tho
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
relative conformity?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
meh, i'm just spurting random crap now
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
like u wernt in the first place
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
well, this stuff isn't as awesum anymore
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
damn people who took relative reality
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
DAMN THEM!!!!!!!!!!
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
and the blogg fails
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
http://relativereality.blogspot.com/
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
it really does
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
that makes me wanna cry
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
yeah
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
creative reality
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
meh
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
mmm
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
refridgerator of DOOM!
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
conformist reality
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
*sigh* nothing is as awesome
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
i've moved on from douglas adams to terry pratchett......
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i noticed
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
relative sanity?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
kinda kool....
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
kinda
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
damn this then
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
godless reality
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i think we need a different theme tho
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
oh, and atheist was a french term
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
oh
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
well, it has lain roots but wasnt used in english till 1500s
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
im randomly reading the wiki article bout it
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
mk, hav fun
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i will
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
sodomy non sapiens
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
huh?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
means, i'm buggered if i kno
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
pratchett quote
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
shiny
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
reversing reality
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
eah
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
u kno, if we stay up long enough, on of us will come up with those awesum things u can only think of when ur half dead
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
maybe. what we really need to do is get together one night, hang round and talk bout it
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
fluride dreams
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and not allowed, remember?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
fuck her
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
flourescent dreams
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
meh
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
kinda cool
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
'And what would humans be without love?'
RARE, said Death.
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
apathetic semtiments
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i has a kitty cat
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
rational paranoia
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
i think apathy is a good theme for us
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
apathetic paranoia?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
apathetic reality?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
relative apathy?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
adoring apathy?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
passionately apathetic?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
if u want to use your thing
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
i dunno, i just think we mite be able to think of sumthing awesumer
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
but if u want
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
im getting to a point that im sick of thinking bout it
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
sarcastically sincere
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
ive used 69.90 of my phone cap
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
that one is kinda cool
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
grayly definate
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
shades of purple
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
the note of orange
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
the letter green
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
black purity
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
white death
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
red soul
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
a suffusion of yellow
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
fuck, i think that trumps all
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
=D
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
honest lies
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
Psychological green
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
kind evil
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
the lies behind the truth
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
thats an shiny idea
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
=D
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
calm mania
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
perfectly human
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
perfect imperfection?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
flawed perfection?
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
flawed reality?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
taken
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
ahh
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
perfect corruption?
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
pure corruption
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
hehe, kool
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
and available
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
maybe we should take it then
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
its cool but not awesome
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
yer, i reckon that the only thing u would consider awesum is now relative reality, and that;s partially coz it's not avaliable.
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
*that's
{Fnord} Pour some misery down on me says:
possibly.
¿ŦŏM¿™ Pre-Death, Post-Life says:
and we should put this convo on the site.
....And so I did. For the most part, this is a conversation about what to call the blog, but it's only about half the entire conversation which was about some other stuff aswell, so bits probably don't make much sense (all who don't get the 'unconventional conventionists' reference FAIL!). But we did pick a name in the end, are we not awesome?