I see 2AM every night. Starting to see 3AM too. I lied. I don't speak to the walls. I don't speak at all. Beginning to understand what I've done, and I have no idea what I'm doing. It doesn't matter. The pigeons keep me company.

They told me about eating dinner standing at the kitchen bench, talking to the walls, and the impossibility of a single person filling a dishwasher, but they didn't tell me about the toll on my toes.

My muscles remember the moves of a different furniture-in-the-dark dance. I don't know these steps.

Oh Our Lady of Cardboard Boxes, who watches over those fools who suddenly decided to apply for leases while in the middle of nightshift and then start moving money and paperwork around while out of the country, you have been kind to me in the past week, as I winged my way through process of dismantling my room and activating the apartment. I have yet had no hiccups or major inconveniences, and for that I thank you. Early tomorrow, the movers will arrive, and then I will need your help most. May the transition from true home to new home be smooth. May the truck find a carpark on the street. May the mattress fit in the elevator. May no random passerby grab a box from the back of the truck and leave me without my underwear, for oh Our Lady of Cardboard Boxes, I do need my underwear. May I be able to stand at the end of the day in my new castle, and be triumphant. For your continued favour, I give you the company of my (currently absent) father, the consideration of my mother, the joy of my brother, and the love of two small smelly dogs. They might sound like small things, but they are not. I hope they please you, and you continue to smile on this fool.

Essay question: was traipsing about Japan just a cover to buy music? Discuss.

I found my year 12 shirt while throwing clothes in boxes to act as packing material. It was scrawled with signatures. Some of the names I remember, some I don't. "You are my cumball" made me grin, "can see u doing bondage" made me laugh, and "don't leave me" made the world stop.

I don't know who wrote that.

Who was the bright fucking spark who decided to make books different shapes, huh? Whose bright fucking idea was that? Clearly, not someone who has ever tried to move a whole bunch of different sized books from one home to another. Clearly, not someone who has ever tried to neatly pack said books in boxes, and found the nasty horrible little fuckers are uneven and don't fit together neatly at all. Clearly, a right fucking prick.

And you! You are all (mostly) writers! I SEE YOU. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?!?! FIGHT YOUR FUCKING PUBLISHERS. DEMAND REGULAR BOOK DIMENSIONS.

The Revolution Is Coming.

New Japan post here.
It contains ninjas, and by ninjas, I mean ninjas. It also contains
world heritage listed castles, lovely sculpted gardens and public
masturbation, but we both know you're going for the ninjas.



(If that most kick arse video doesn't work, tell Blogger.)

Out of country. Again. AFK. BBL.

99 life-sized wolves stream up an invisible hill and faceplant into a glass wall.
Visual metaphor.
Cai Guo-Qiang's site for more photos and other art. Found on haha.nu

here's to another year getting accustomed here

Around the age of 10, I realised I would never get to go to the moon.

It was one of those 'oh,' moments full of heart-break, not unlike being dumped, not that I had any idea what it felt like to be dumped when I was 10, but I did have a crush on this boy, who in turn had a crush on my best friend, which is probably a better analogy, because the moon is all about unrequitedness.

It still upsets me, because I'm the broody type.



At least once a week I paw through the gallery at The Deep, looking at the same photos over and over. I love these beasties, I really do. Knowing that they exist gives me that giddy delight that causes me to grin for no obvious reason.

But this act of looking at the photos is really a creepy stalker thing, because I know they're another moon, and I have even less chance of seeing these little fellas in the deep ocean than I do of playing leap-frog on the lunar surface, and looking at these photos is like timing yourself to stand on that certain street corner at a certain time hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who doesn't know you exist, which isn't healthy behaviour at all, but you carry on doing so anyway, and you never see them.

The world needs more ghostly octopuseseses.

Disclaimer: Nightshift, okay? I absolve all responsibility for any peculiar character traits I may be exhibiting. If you mock me, I will cry at you. It will be snotty. Nightshift does that, you know. I cry at the thought of being faced by dinner. Dinner, I can't handle dinner, why would you ask dinner of me? I CAN'T DO THIS.

You have no idea.

Have a not-so-peculiar chaser;

Around 2am I discovered kawaii not, a little webcomic of cute every day items being unsavoury. The following strip made me cackle.



Actually, the whole archive made me cackle. The poor banana dipped in chocolate.