A little girl walked through the busy city with her mother. People pushed past them talking on mobile phones, smoking, rushing.
"Where are all the people going mummy?"
"Nowhere" the mother replied.
And she was right.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
Black Sails....
Well, no one will give a fuck, but I recently re-purchased AFI's 'Black Sails in the Sunset' which in one of my all time favourite albums.
Testament to my painstaking maintenance of my music collection, someone sat on my old copy of this cd a few years ago and i never got around to 'archiving' it before hand.
Ah well...
Anyways, this is enjoying high rotation again..
Wow, i bet this post made your day.
You're excited aren't you?
Sorry for wasting your time.
Tomorrow will bring updates to the Four Burials exercise that Mel and I have been participating in.
It's exciting I assure you.
The 3 stories which are overdue will be including the follwoing words:
1) Dream, Animal, Trace, Basil
2) Shiver, Fingers, Ripple, Danger
3) Desk, Button, Elephant, Walk
So come back and witness some brilliance... Pfffttt.... sorry i meant stupidity.
Testament to my painstaking maintenance of my music collection, someone sat on my old copy of this cd a few years ago and i never got around to 'archiving' it before hand.
Ah well...
Anyways, this is enjoying high rotation again..
Wow, i bet this post made your day.
You're excited aren't you?
Sorry for wasting your time.
Tomorrow will bring updates to the Four Burials exercise that Mel and I have been participating in.
It's exciting I assure you.
The 3 stories which are overdue will be including the follwoing words:
1) Dream, Animal, Trace, Basil
2) Shiver, Fingers, Ripple, Danger
3) Desk, Button, Elephant, Walk
So come back and witness some brilliance... Pfffttt.... sorry i meant stupidity.
Ask and ye shall receive... A crap response #1
Dear JC
My boss smells. Should I tell him?
From J
Dear J,
Is this a joke, or are you experiencing a bit of a workplace dilemma?
Presuming the circumstance is the second option, here is my breakdown of the situation:
Option 1.
You tell him he smells. This sets of a chain reaction of various events, which have been detailed below:
1a) He freaks out and promptly heads to the toilets to refresh, or being the boss, heads home for a 'meeting' (or a shower)
1b) This then results in an embarrassed employer which often initiates some stern treatment of the embarrasser (ie. you) even if you were telling him for his own good.
1c) In a small office, paranoia spreads quickly. Thus you create a workplace on the edge, where everyone is hypersensitive to the slightest suggestion that something smells awry.
1d) Trust issues begin to develop. People are not sure whether you're looking to politely inform them of their problem, or whether you're on a witchhunt to publicly announce the uncleanliness of anyone within nose-shot of you.
1e) The backlash from this is that there will be a sudden rise in both the frequency and quantity of deodorant/aftershave/cologne/air freshener being used by paranoid co workers to mask both existent and imagined smells. Asthmatics become alarmed.
1f) Distrust reigns supreme and the stench of uncertainty is far worse than anything else in the office. People eat bland food to avoid any potential odours that may result from the consumption of certain spices or flavours.
1g) Productivcity hits an all time low as breaks for toothbrushing/washing/deodorising deplete the workweek by up to 4 hours a day.
1h) The final straw is the day someone turns up with the protective face mask on. No one is thinking straight. All work pales in comparison to the importance of staying clean. A colleague will arrive one morning wearing the white cloth breathing mask, eyes darting nervously and the 'everyman to his own' mentality begins.
1i) Co-workers begin guerilla tactics in order to divert the attention away from their real or imagined scent. Ploys include egg sandwuch substitutions, crushed garlic in toothpaste tubes and the hiding of perishable items under desks.
1j) tempers flare, lives are lost.
Option 2.
You don't tell him.
Everthing plays out as above, however there is even less trust because people know that he smells and also know no one is going to tell him, or them if they smell.
Thus, the half life of the above happenings would be much shorter.
The choice is yours.
JC
DISCLAIMER: Do not use this as actual advice. Last time someone took my advice a species of small rat-like marsupials became extinct.
Yes, I do feel bad about it.
My boss smells. Should I tell him?
From J
Dear J,
Is this a joke, or are you experiencing a bit of a workplace dilemma?
Presuming the circumstance is the second option, here is my breakdown of the situation:
Option 1.
You tell him he smells. This sets of a chain reaction of various events, which have been detailed below:
1a) He freaks out and promptly heads to the toilets to refresh, or being the boss, heads home for a 'meeting' (or a shower)
1b) This then results in an embarrassed employer which often initiates some stern treatment of the embarrasser (ie. you) even if you were telling him for his own good.
1c) In a small office, paranoia spreads quickly. Thus you create a workplace on the edge, where everyone is hypersensitive to the slightest suggestion that something smells awry.
1d) Trust issues begin to develop. People are not sure whether you're looking to politely inform them of their problem, or whether you're on a witchhunt to publicly announce the uncleanliness of anyone within nose-shot of you.
1e) The backlash from this is that there will be a sudden rise in both the frequency and quantity of deodorant/aftershave/cologne/air freshener being used by paranoid co workers to mask both existent and imagined smells. Asthmatics become alarmed.
1f) Distrust reigns supreme and the stench of uncertainty is far worse than anything else in the office. People eat bland food to avoid any potential odours that may result from the consumption of certain spices or flavours.
1g) Productivcity hits an all time low as breaks for toothbrushing/washing/deodorising deplete the workweek by up to 4 hours a day.
1h) The final straw is the day someone turns up with the protective face mask on. No one is thinking straight. All work pales in comparison to the importance of staying clean. A colleague will arrive one morning wearing the white cloth breathing mask, eyes darting nervously and the 'everyman to his own' mentality begins.
1i) Co-workers begin guerilla tactics in order to divert the attention away from their real or imagined scent. Ploys include egg sandwuch substitutions, crushed garlic in toothpaste tubes and the hiding of perishable items under desks.
1j) tempers flare, lives are lost.
Option 2.
You don't tell him.
Everthing plays out as above, however there is even less trust because people know that he smells and also know no one is going to tell him, or them if they smell.
Thus, the half life of the above happenings would be much shorter.
The choice is yours.
JC
DISCLAIMER: Do not use this as actual advice. Last time someone took my advice a species of small rat-like marsupials became extinct.
Yes, I do feel bad about it.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Hinder, discoloured, calm, clock
The air still smelt of rich tobacco and his fingers were discoloured from holding his pipe.
She cried. Not for him, but for herself.
He’d been so selfish. It was out of spite he’d let it come this far.
It was bitterness that killed him.
He always seemed happy, but she saw the look in his eyes when he drew back on the pipe, or when he drank the last bit of colour out of the bottom of his glass of scotch. There was a cold flame in his eyes. The vivacious glint that lived within the pale blue ocean of his iris disappeared when he forgot to hold it there.
She knew he despised them for going with their mother.
She knew he despised their mother for hindering his career.
She knew he despised the world, his writing had told everyone that.
The clock chimed and she knew she had to leave.
The rain was cold outside, She pulled the hood of her parka over her head and placed the small, tainted flask in a half full garbage bin on the footpath.
Her hand was shaking by itself, but she felt calm.
She knew it was what he’d wanted, but he had too much pride to do it himself.
And at least now they could grieve the father they’d lost years ago.
The rain sang songs of falling as it cleansed everything from the sky down.
She cried. Not for him, but for herself.
He’d been so selfish. It was out of spite he’d let it come this far.
It was bitterness that killed him.
He always seemed happy, but she saw the look in his eyes when he drew back on the pipe, or when he drank the last bit of colour out of the bottom of his glass of scotch. There was a cold flame in his eyes. The vivacious glint that lived within the pale blue ocean of his iris disappeared when he forgot to hold it there.
She knew he despised them for going with their mother.
She knew he despised their mother for hindering his career.
She knew he despised the world, his writing had told everyone that.
The clock chimed and she knew she had to leave.
The rain was cold outside, She pulled the hood of her parka over her head and placed the small, tainted flask in a half full garbage bin on the footpath.
Her hand was shaking by itself, but she felt calm.
She knew it was what he’d wanted, but he had too much pride to do it himself.
And at least now they could grieve the father they’d lost years ago.
The rain sang songs of falling as it cleansed everything from the sky down.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Man, beer, sleeping, brown
Often she'd find herself here.
Crouched under the corrugated iron that leant against the wall behind house.
He always came home smelling of beer after work on Fridays.
He'd get angry and would break stuff. Sometimes he'd push her mum around and she'd cry. Lily hated it when her Mum cried.
Her 'episodes' as her mum had called them were happening more often too. They seemed to coincide with his Friday night outbursts.
After the last one, they had to call the ambulance. She'd woken up from her sleeping, thought she heard the man say something about 'Pepsi' and that her fits seemed to be related to anxiety.
Tonight though was bad, she'd blacked out completely and when she'd woken, in her place, under the safety of the brown, rusty corrugated iron, her lip had been bleeding.
Her mum wasn't yelling anymore but she could hear him pacing up and down the hallway.
She stood on her tip-toes and peered through the window.
Her mum sat huddled in the corner of the room under the safety of the brown, rustic curtains, Lily could see her shoulders moving. She knew she was crying.
Lily climbed back under the iron and for a moment, she and her mum were in the same place.
Crouched under the corrugated iron that leant against the wall behind house.
He always came home smelling of beer after work on Fridays.
He'd get angry and would break stuff. Sometimes he'd push her mum around and she'd cry. Lily hated it when her Mum cried.
Her 'episodes' as her mum had called them were happening more often too. They seemed to coincide with his Friday night outbursts.
After the last one, they had to call the ambulance. She'd woken up from her sleeping, thought she heard the man say something about 'Pepsi' and that her fits seemed to be related to anxiety.
Tonight though was bad, she'd blacked out completely and when she'd woken, in her place, under the safety of the brown, rusty corrugated iron, her lip had been bleeding.
Her mum wasn't yelling anymore but she could hear him pacing up and down the hallway.
She stood on her tip-toes and peered through the window.
Her mum sat huddled in the corner of the room under the safety of the brown, rustic curtains, Lily could see her shoulders moving. She knew she was crying.
Lily climbed back under the iron and for a moment, she and her mum were in the same place.
Threats... Scary, scary threats...
So.
Here's a hypothetical situation:
You're phoned by an unhappy client at your place of work.
You do your best to appease said client.
You discover staff have gone far beyond normal requirements to make this client happy and that client has been generally very troublesome and argumentative.
You (still) converse very diplomatically with client.
BANG!!!
Client then informs you your conversation has been recorded and if client doesn't receive 'answers' by the end of the day, the conversation will be played on talkback radio.
You then inform client a person who is in the correct position to deal with this will be in contact with them immediately.
BANG
Client then states that if no 'answers' are received by the end of the week, a national current affairs program will be contacted and your company will be exposed. Note that your company is at no fault and has nothing to hide at all.
It's the equivalent of bashing the kid who runs the lemonade stand in his front yard because you dropped your cup of drink and want a new one.
What would you do?
I'd laugh.
And I did...
The thought of Naomi Robson hunting me down and pouncing on me as though I was a lost antelope as I walk to my car is seriously entertaining.
I hope 'client' lets me know which radio station to tune into for the playing of the conversation.
Will update on progress...
Here's a hypothetical situation:
You're phoned by an unhappy client at your place of work.
You do your best to appease said client.
You discover staff have gone far beyond normal requirements to make this client happy and that client has been generally very troublesome and argumentative.
You (still) converse very diplomatically with client.
BANG!!!
Client then informs you your conversation has been recorded and if client doesn't receive 'answers' by the end of the day, the conversation will be played on talkback radio.
You then inform client a person who is in the correct position to deal with this will be in contact with them immediately.
BANG
Client then states that if no 'answers' are received by the end of the week, a national current affairs program will be contacted and your company will be exposed. Note that your company is at no fault and has nothing to hide at all.
It's the equivalent of bashing the kid who runs the lemonade stand in his front yard because you dropped your cup of drink and want a new one.
What would you do?
I'd laugh.
And I did...
The thought of Naomi Robson hunting me down and pouncing on me as though I was a lost antelope as I walk to my car is seriously entertaining.
I hope 'client' lets me know which radio station to tune into for the playing of the conversation.
Will update on progress...
Descent, Line, Silently, Bake
For the nth time, the horizon became taller.
There was less of the blue sky, more of the red dirt rising up to meet it and more of the black line that divided his left from his right.
Paces were nearly as short as the laboured breaths he exhaled.
"Keep walking Richard. There's not far to go."
Lucky that voice had come along with him. It was the same voice that had told him he couldn't do it. The same voice he was trying to leave behind when he started walking.
It was his own.
He never remembered the road being so steep or undulating when he'd driven along it all those times. Granted it usually was dark and he was more concerned with the 'load' he was carrying, but it never seemed so steep.
He struggled upwards, his toes scuffing against the bitumen. Ever so gradually the horizon began to level and his steps, whilst stilted were becoming easier.
The red dirt dropped away before him, into a valley of sorts, studded with chiselled rock formations and small, very small tufts of green. His strides became longer and a wave of fresh air rose up along the hillside as he began his descent.
Ahead of him dust blew up and danced towrds him. Enveloped in this dust clous his eyes stung.
"Keep walking Richard."
He rubbed the grit out with the back of his index finger.
The sun screamed silently down at the land, doing it's best to bake all it yelled upon. He knew it wasn't much farther.
He'd be there soon.
There was less of the blue sky, more of the red dirt rising up to meet it and more of the black line that divided his left from his right.
Paces were nearly as short as the laboured breaths he exhaled.
"Keep walking Richard. There's not far to go."
Lucky that voice had come along with him. It was the same voice that had told him he couldn't do it. The same voice he was trying to leave behind when he started walking.
It was his own.
He never remembered the road being so steep or undulating when he'd driven along it all those times. Granted it usually was dark and he was more concerned with the 'load' he was carrying, but it never seemed so steep.
He struggled upwards, his toes scuffing against the bitumen. Ever so gradually the horizon began to level and his steps, whilst stilted were becoming easier.
The red dirt dropped away before him, into a valley of sorts, studded with chiselled rock formations and small, very small tufts of green. His strides became longer and a wave of fresh air rose up along the hillside as he began his descent.
Ahead of him dust blew up and danced towrds him. Enveloped in this dust clous his eyes stung.
"Keep walking Richard."
He rubbed the grit out with the back of his index finger.
The sun screamed silently down at the land, doing it's best to bake all it yelled upon. He knew it wasn't much farther.
He'd be there soon.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Some sugar, a certificate, a goose and a fork
X09fgolM
14SandersonRd
0395255451
3l3ph4nt
3GigStorageSpace
PayBy13/03/06
Ctrl+Alt+Shift+S
NoRightTurn
InsertABlankDisc
NewUpdatesAreAvailable
Do you want us to remember your password?
Every day you're bombarded with useless information. Your available memory gets used up by trivial values like client ID's, item codes, login details, phone numbers, street directions.
Do you ever wonder if your brain is glazing over?
Sometimes you feel like each empty piece of information you take in is like a tiny grain of sugar which along with all the other grains of sugar, melts to create the toffee which covers the apple, which for the sake of this particular analogy is your brain.
Now, if there's enough sugar (or enough information) and hence enough toffee, it's impossible for the significant or important or beautiful events that are worthy of rememberance to break through this glaze and register in your memory.
Thus, instead of remembering the name of the stunning woman you met the other night, you remember a registration code. Instead of recalling an anniversary, your mind regurgitates a certificate number. Rather than remembering the image of a skein of geese silhouetted against a burning sunset, you remember one of a thousand other utterly hollow pieces of data.
Eventually, your entire thought process becomes consumed by your requirement to absorb all these granules of detail and you're no longer able to recall anything that is of value to you.
You become completely numb.
You only process what is given to you and nothing more. Not because you don't want to but because you don't know how anymore.
You're no better than the computer you're sitting in front of.
At some stage in your life, you reach that fork in the road where you have to decide:
Do I want to really use my brain or do I want a toffee apple?
14SandersonRd
0395255451
3l3ph4nt
3GigStorageSpace
PayBy13/03/06
Ctrl+Alt+Shift+S
NoRightTurn
InsertABlankDisc
NewUpdatesAreAvailable
Do you want us to remember your password?
Every day you're bombarded with useless information. Your available memory gets used up by trivial values like client ID's, item codes, login details, phone numbers, street directions.
Do you ever wonder if your brain is glazing over?
Sometimes you feel like each empty piece of information you take in is like a tiny grain of sugar which along with all the other grains of sugar, melts to create the toffee which covers the apple, which for the sake of this particular analogy is your brain.
Now, if there's enough sugar (or enough information) and hence enough toffee, it's impossible for the significant or important or beautiful events that are worthy of rememberance to break through this glaze and register in your memory.
Thus, instead of remembering the name of the stunning woman you met the other night, you remember a registration code. Instead of recalling an anniversary, your mind regurgitates a certificate number. Rather than remembering the image of a skein of geese silhouetted against a burning sunset, you remember one of a thousand other utterly hollow pieces of data.
Eventually, your entire thought process becomes consumed by your requirement to absorb all these granules of detail and you're no longer able to recall anything that is of value to you.
You become completely numb.
You only process what is given to you and nothing more. Not because you don't want to but because you don't know how anymore.
You're no better than the computer you're sitting in front of.
At some stage in your life, you reach that fork in the road where you have to decide:
Do I want to really use my brain or do I want a toffee apple?
Catching up...
Ok, so I was going on about the 4 words thingy... Here's what you've missed so far.
(And i use the term 'missed' lightly)
A death, a sea shell, a radio and a jacket.
Cupped in my hand, the sun reflects of it's curves and leaves a shattered spectrum across my fingers. It's freezing. The wind off the bay pulls through the hood of my jacket and weaves it's way down my back. I shiver.
I think back to the panic of forgotten meals, the excitment of a pinched finger, the boredom of movement. I remember the bathing, the relocating, the sand.
I throw the shell into the ocean, back to where it grew from, back to where it belongs.
It doesn't travel far though as the wind grabs the empty shell and it flails in the air. It lands in an inch of water, and I decide that's good enough.
I look out at the breaking waves and then turn and make my way back to the carpark behind the beach. Thinking of my lost friend
The car is still warm from the trip, I rub my hands together and wonder how the hell humans can get so attached to crustaceans.
"It was a fucking hermit crab for christ's sake" I tell myself as the chorus of "Rock Lobster" blares from the radio.
(And i use the term 'missed' lightly)
A death, a sea shell, a radio and a jacket.
Cupped in my hand, the sun reflects of it's curves and leaves a shattered spectrum across my fingers. It's freezing. The wind off the bay pulls through the hood of my jacket and weaves it's way down my back. I shiver.
I think back to the panic of forgotten meals, the excitment of a pinched finger, the boredom of movement. I remember the bathing, the relocating, the sand.
I throw the shell into the ocean, back to where it grew from, back to where it belongs.
It doesn't travel far though as the wind grabs the empty shell and it flails in the air. It lands in an inch of water, and I decide that's good enough.
I look out at the breaking waves and then turn and make my way back to the carpark behind the beach. Thinking of my lost friend
The car is still warm from the trip, I rub my hands together and wonder how the hell humans can get so attached to crustaceans.
"It was a fucking hermit crab for christ's sake" I tell myself as the chorus of "Rock Lobster" blares from the radio.
Post Number Uno
Well...
First post...
Yeah.
I have a story thing going on here where 4 words are issued each day and a story is written to include these.
This is done outside of work hours of course...
See my fellow procratinators efforts and her other crap here
At least I'm not on messenger.
Anyways.
Call back.
Meanwhile I'm going to work out how to put pictures on here.
I have an inkling it may have something to do with the "Add Image' button...
First post...
Yeah.
I have a story thing going on here where 4 words are issued each day and a story is written to include these.
This is done outside of work hours of course...
See my fellow procratinators efforts and her other crap here
At least I'm not on messenger.
Anyways.
Call back.
Meanwhile I'm going to work out how to put pictures on here.
I have an inkling it may have something to do with the "Add Image' button...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
