When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen--

-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Success.
Though I owe most of it to the inclement weather, my being able to take it easy for a few days that is. Using willpower to try and stop shindigging is not an option. Willpower to me just relates to my awesome power to say “I will!”.
So, Wednesday was spent in blissful stasis.
On Tuesday evening it was gritty Korean cinema (Oldboy, a must see if you want to feel all hollow and grimy inside) followed by vicious existential sparring in The Market Bar. It’s getting to seem like every evening an examination of the futility of life is played out between myself and La Sorciere. My indestructible spark of optimism antagonizes her burgeoning nihilism. It’s all an illusion so why endure the struggle? I’ll tell you why, because we can learn to manipulate the illusion to improve the sensations to which we are bound. To what end? Because we can only go off what we perceive a priori, to hold firm that the end is the end is more folly than to remain open to all possibilities.
Certainty is an absurdism, so we have to trust the pseudo-certainty we have available.
And so on and so forth. We’ll know the answer one day, and if we don’t then we won’t be in a position to rue the efforts in trying to figure it out as oblivion takes its claim.
So don’t worry about it.
The glass might be half empty or it might be half full, but either way, there’s a glass there, we have to accept that much.

Tsk. See what happens when I’m off the beer?

Talk to yissers later.

How can poodles exist on earth in 2004?

Good grief I’m in a heap.
Time to retire into torpor for a while and refill the maxing tanks.
I’ve been denying myself sleep and poisoning my body far too much of late.
(See - http://www.bodytonicmusic.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1749 for evidence)
Not by choice but through circumstance I tell you.

In sport, Arsenal have been defeated by Manchester United, ending their 49 game unbeaten run in the Premiership. The match was clear and decisive with each team adhering closely to the rules and regulations of Association Football. United scored two clean goals that were beyond dispute courtesy of Ruud Van Nistlerooy and Wayne Rooney. Arsenal boss Arsene Wenger conceded after the game that his side were emphatically defeated by a better team.
That’s how I’m going to remember it anyway.
There are other sources who may give slightly conflicting views of this analysis, such as ‘the media’ but I would take all those other treatments with a sea of salt.

The last few days have been fairly hectic.
Fox’s birthday turned out to be quite a mess. Good larfs had in the Bleeding Horse but drunkenness descended all too suddenly and the group, which was far too large to reasonably handle anyway, got broken up into dissident factions and spread like a twitching plague across the city.
An aborted attempt to infiltrate Belvedere got me in hot water with the Pretresse, not helped by my busy behaviour back in the flat later when we were Outre de nos têtes and I learned that Starman is really just Over the Rainbow with different words.
So thence to Metropolitan where memories are but refracted shards of oddness, I THINK I had a good time, but can’t be totally sure. Mitsubishi test-drive the night before the full rally had me well soused.

Gonna try and take an early one esta noche , but I doubt I’ll be let. I smoothed over les eaux variables by purchasing Bjork’s Medulla as a birthday gift and peace offering. It went down well.
Did I say it?
You know what I mean.

!

Here!
What the hell happened to my blog previous to the one after this one????
It was called TCB Baby and it was really, really important.
And now it’s gone?!
That pisses me off!
I can’t be chronicling my disgraceful adventures if they are going to get arbitrarily deleted like this. Well I'm not writing it again so tough!
For fuck snakes like………(fume)

Give what back?

Bizarre how the human brain reacts sometimes.
It should have been a struggle today to contrive all the stories required today but I actually motored through them at twice the clip as normal.
And I was caked last night, completely munged, snapping the face of myself.
But I feel fantastic now! Actually 110 per cent. Now that doesn’t make a lick of sense.
Although, I was late making the desk, which is unusual, as I only finally hit the hay around 6 after taking it to the Wax. A very successful Waxing it was too. All has been sorted now for tonight which is a celebration of the life of Fox. We took a test run last night and everyone, (well, Fox, me and Eavan who were the only hardcore out) agreed on the quality. Oh, kudos to Frenchy Jon too, he may have hardly any eyes but he uses his keen nose to root out the truffles for us.
Don’t really know where we’re going or ‘owt but probably be checking out something from the DEAF line-up of treats. Nyesss.
Question is, will I bring a ready-made companion for the night or will I mine the gibbering gestalt for something new?
Either or, it’s all gravy. Radge has me well sussed, despite my best efforts to try and convince him that I had any capacity for fidelity.
Have to make sure the Slav Johnson gets well head-locked tonight. He has been seriously lax in his disgracefulness recently. It just won’t do.
Let me see, that’s it.
¡Él nunca paradas!


Oh, by the way, Fidel was tripped!!

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres

Well I don't know.
I don't.
Honestly.
Wax on Thursday sans Uncle Phil. A strange one, had Fox not thrown up his hands and called for the Jagermeister then it might have actually been sub-par.
As it was I managed to get learning - impaired as opposed to totally retarded. The pressure was finally dropped to satisfaction, but that was the only thing that was.
Four nights this week in bed after six am “I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.”
Too much, demasiado, I am struck dumb and blind by the all-ness of it all. I am sitting on Puck's promontory. I am Kant at his steeple. And it's still no good.
The apple has been bruised.
It won't keep, Consumption or putrescence are the only options.
And so the coils tighten in glee while Titania bears her neck.

Alas!

Telescopage and Cosmic Collisions

Lord God Almighty.
Sleep deprivation is an inexpensive but dangerous drug. And one I have been abusing so much these last few lunar cycles. I feel like I’m really a smaller simulacrum of myself inside my body working it with controls and dials; sensation is dulled and there’s a serious time-lapse between perceiving outside stimulus and actually feeling it
It rules!
Well, except for the tense, nervous headache and shattering pain running through my bundesvessels.
But it’s cool because I’m in such constant physical discomfort that it’s almost impossible to get annoyed by anything else.
Another late late early early night last morning. After watching the respectable but dull dispatching of the Faroes Fell and I headed to………sigh……The Globe. Actually, cancel that sigh, have avoided the place for half a week or more so that ain’t too bad. No, don’t cancel that sigh. Hold it over till after the nest sentence.
So anyway, I succumbed to the Sicilian Succubus again. ( )
The pazza ragazza was irate that I was ignoring her recently so I earned myself a full – blooded wallop in the mouth. The same mouth she was kissing a second before, you couldn’t be up to these Aye – Ties. Good laugh though, So after that we lingered around in Ri – Ra, but it was full of the new crop of first years from the local colleges all trying to re-establish their egos from secondary school, as busy a bunch of busy cunts you’re ever likely to hate.
Fell and I descended on some innocents, just to see, like. But it ended in ignominious failure, to be honest; neither of us could have given a gnat’s nuts for the fare on offer.
And thence home, where confusion incarnate awaits as usual now.
Arm – wrestling, modern jazz dance, the splits, Eridu Arcane, judo, sliding in slippers, rolling across the floor, Rompity – romp.

And so bed.

At 6.00 am.

In work at 10.

It never stops, it really doesn’t.

Subversive rear naked chin lock

Slipped on a banana skin on the way to work this morning. Fell arse over tit.
With such early doors high comedy like that, I thought, this day is just going to be all down-hill from here.
But it hasn't really been, the day has glided along at a constant gradient.
I should be more tired than I am. Gersende and I had a war of attrition last night. I'm convinced she was trying to see who could stay awake the longest. We watched the full rotation of Euronews about 5 times. (That damn Berlusconi..)
Every hour that leaked by someone would say 'Are you tired?' and the other would say 'No! Are you!'. When [plainly bought of us were shattered. Exhausted mostly from the wrestling lessons I was giving her. Now, many people would know that one of my passions is inter-gender wrestling. In fact, it's a sort of dark, sick obsession.
And here is a girl who indulges me in it completely. Instant wood.
Then she wants to use the weights, then she wants to show me some fencing moves, then she makes me herbal infusions. All the while I'm struggling not fold her over and blast her like the genetic jack-hammer I am. I mustn't. It's that simple. But something's gonna give. Especially when she insists on coming out of the shower and lounging around in her skimpies. Finally hit the sack at 6.28 after some frottage.
So basically, my home - life is in utter disarray. So lets move on.
What are the other things on my mind?


Wait a minute………..WHAT ARE THEY!??

Stupid gay testosterone.

That's it, if she wants a trip to Space Mountain so be it.
Better start looking for a new flat on Daft.

L'Anee des Meduses

So on Thursday I went to see a production of The Man Who as part of the ongoing Fringe Festival. (Which sadly doesn’t include an exhibition of the more favoured hairstyles of the Dublin peasant – classes)
And I saw that it was good. An adaptation of Oliver Sacks’ engaging work (The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat) wherein the human side of those suffering from brain injury or neurological disorders is brought richly to life.
The performance was an amalgamation of many of Sacks’ case studies from the tourette addled Witty Ticcy Ray to those poor souls suffering from Visual agnosia (seeing the components of an object but not the overall form) or Werdicke’s aphasia.(A disassociation between words summoned and meaning conveyed)
(The girl who played that last role was phenomenal, how she learned that weird, flowing, rhyming language will always be beyond me)
The book brings to bear the bizarre existence of those whose limbs have become alien or who have been dismissed as retarded yet are gifted with uncanny artistic or mathematical talents. The like of that. It illustrates the true fragility of our sense of reality. Which is hardly there at all when you think about it. So don't, you'll only lose sleep.
So the play had four actors who interchanged roles very well, playing patient to doctor from scene to scene. Hard to say it was enjoyable, apart from the ticker, but it was damn well acted. There was one minor technical hitch where the overhead camcorder device fucked up and the sound was a bit dodgy but overall it was cool.
Apart from that, I’ve just been trying to get my finances back in order. That holiday pulled me inside out from the arse. Life has been pretty strange recently, for a few moments there over the last couple of days I lapsed back into 5X version 2002, a poor imitation. But I shook it off, it was just a blip. I’m right back on top now, perhaps a little TOO on top. Ive got to resist the urge to put my co-habitor to the sword. But it’s so very hard. I promised I’d keep it Plato for at least a fortnight but last night was a strain. Everything was against me. Alcohol, Check. Quiet night in, Check. Filthy french film on the telly….sigh…….Check. ‘Too close to the bone’ sexually charged conversation, Check. Chick having ridiculous amounts in common with me, ARG! Checkity fucking check!
I give up

Wee head rules the big.

I’ll let you know.

Rene Artois just wants enough peace and quiet to run his cafe and "'ave it off" with his waitresses without his wife Edith catching him out.

If the last few weeks were goombah in flavour today is definitely frog.
The new flatmate moved in yesterday, moved in, in fact, to a glistening apartment after I spent most of yesterday scrubbing away the funk of forty thousand years, or more accurately, six months of grimy maximilisation residue. It was hard work, especially seeing as a rough and tumble night was had there after Wax on Thursday night. By marvellous quirk I managed to hook up with my old philosophy mucker Ev Condon for a five – star drunkening. He’s off to play music in San Diego and Las Vegas soon so was well up for the oiling. After a few cocktails, one of which was truly an unholy concoction that for about an hour seemed to have exploded his liver, we decided to head to the Backlash and get retarded.
Doctor Phil was there and soon we were happy as larks, later arrived Tyrl, Hamo,Eavan and Leo and as time ceased to run in the correct order we ended back at disgraceland and then everything sludged down into a Battle Royale, bruises and chokes, spumante and jokes. Everyone was gone when I awoke half a day later and the place was a kip. The usual then, but probably the last one for a goodly while.
This last out of deference for the new girl, Gersende. She is a Parisian and says ‘In Fact’ a lot. It’s her version of Jacques Santini’s ‘Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurhh’. Though thoroughly less annoying. But she came with cash and seems laid back and intelligent. We both like Bjork and hate flying so there’s a start. Should be an interesting time.
The other reason why today is frog is because I have to write a lot about French horseracing today. A loose connection but since I keep having to write Prix de l'Opera Casino Barriere d'Enghien and Prix de l'Abbaye de Longchamp Majestic Barriere.and the like of it I feel justified. Also, there was all that stuff about the protestors in Cherbourg not wanting the plutonium ships coming in. Which doesn’t make much sense as the crap was being brought over to get processed down from weapons grade as the yanks don’t have the facilities. But sure, y’know. Fuck it. There are enough half-baked polemicists out there with their own blogs so if you want that sort of guff you know what to do.

One.