Pic courtesy of Kian Eriksen
I was without the intrawebs. It was actually quite nice not to know the intimate details of every one's daily existence, their ever-changing sexual preferences or the contents of their lunchboxes at any given moment. The way it was. The way it should be.
And on that note, guess what I've been up to!
Not much actually, which has made for an infinitely pleasurable and leisurely long weekend. Don't get me wrong, there were accomplishments aplenty, it was all just done at the pace of syrup running uphill. I overhauled and serviced one of the harem (guitars, before your mind leaps blindly to the obvious concubine. Fuck. I mean "conclusion"). I pottered around, did my mandatory Martha Stewart impression, did some DIY, was fed like royalty, lazed about a lot and even won a game of chess.
Aaaah, sweet victory at "games night" - as short lived as it turned out to be. Unfortunately after the game of chess, everything went pear shaped. Trivial Pursuit and 30 Seconds were a disaster. My team got the sedately suburban equivalent of getting moered by a chain wielding gang of thugs in a dark alley.
Speaking of which, life in London still so wonderful, eh, all ye merry ship jumpers? You have to see what the Atlantic Seaboard looks like today. On this awful day in the middle of our uncivilised winter. Unfortunately sans plumes of smoke and destroyed shops, but we'll just have to make do...
Obviously I have read all and sundry's considered inputs and explanations on why a slovenly collection of good-for-nothing layabouts have decided to start rioting in England, and there are many, many theories, but I think it simply comes down to one thing. Well, two things. Firstly a moral decline among the more civilised of our world's societies (well in ALL of society, I suppose). And the eternal "rich get richer, poor get poorer" status quo. I can see this happening in a lot more countries where everyone is mistakenly led to believe that they are entitled to a life akin to that seen on day time soaps without having to work for it. And not being held accountable for their actions or failings. The world is ill. When a body is ill it rejects that which makes it ill or produces a counter punch. Sit tight kiddies, this is going to get more interesting before the facade of law and order is once more returned. Bubble bubble toil and trouble. Shakespeare, Nostradamus, McArb...
The world is sick. Led by money hungry corporate blah, blah, blah. Well, it wouldn't be such a hackneyed cliche if it weren't true. Now I will be the first to admit that I haven't thoroughly investigated what exactly is involved with "fracking" and as a scientist of sorts I am kind of obliged to go and check up before I make comments of the harmful variety, but this whole idea of pomping our Karoo full of allegedly poisonous water, sand and chemicals sounds like a pretty kak idea. So some really good people are standing up against this shit. Even Tarty was there, waving placards like a good Samaritan on a rare day off from the funny farm.
Speaking of Tarty and farms, a HORDE of us is (or are) going away to an undisclosed location (farm) and totally taking over for a weekend in order to re celebrate her 21st again. Redundancy is the new black, shurrup. You live in South Africa - it's like an early retirement present.
Shacking up with The Viking. These people better have their hetero party pants on...
And now that we have covered past and future, we can tackle present or near present. I am currently writing this blog post... there, that takes care of "present".
Near present involves a crazy evening of cacophonous collaboration as we attempt to synthesize some, erm, synthesizer noises from fresh air to add to our groovalicious sound at band practice. We have the unprecedented talents of Rose Thorn on keys, the bashfully brilliant technical know-how of Axxon's main man and the engineering nous of Fuck-We're-Really-All-So-Awfully-Pleased-You're-Getting-Laid-Again-Now-Wipe-That-Fucking-Supercilious-Grin-Off-Your-Face-Guy. A wealth of expertise by any one's standards. Tarty informs me she may pop in.
So. Back at work. Jeesh, that's sucked. Except for catching up on the world around me via the rectangular screen in front of me. Like some existential portal to a world that seems to be passing us by. Hey. At least we can attain immortality vicariously. And the stalking, yes the stalking...
NGDG: "I am really touched by my colleagues' well wishes. Of course the trolls and barbie men know better than to so much as look me in the eye. But I scorn their words. Like cheap underfelt in the carpeted room where one would keep a deformed monkey."
Spread The Love. Now Go Listen To 'Panic In The Streets Of London' by The Smiths. And Hang The DJ.