Pith in the Wind

Everest too Much?

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 16:18:32 +1100

Answer: Every night.

I’ve decided to make the most of the daylight. This is no compromise though, there is no trade in of night time for day time. I’m having my cake and eating it too. I figure the need for sleep must be, at least in part, placebo. We live in an age of hand sanitizers, supermarkets, massage chairs, birthday candles and portable everything. It is to be expected that sleep is overvalued. 9 hours seems a bit excessive doesn’t it? Most of those are lost to pointless unconsciousness anyway. I’m getting carried away here. The point of this paragraph is, and this sentence is more of a reminder to me than to the reader, that I’ve started waking up at half past five.

I expect you, the reader, to be, at this point, wearing a kind of “Yeah, so what?” expression. Well, bare with me. My story’s about to switch into past tense and, hopefully, become interesting.

My alarm rung, I winced and sensed some enjoyment on my alarms part. I smacked the sadist and with a roll and two thuds I was standing, in, what I’m remembering as, a groggy hunched backed pose. Anticipating having to trudge through long grass covered in dew I slipped on jeans, a sweater and a jacket. I grabbed a book and a pencil, and set off at a jog for the ~~hills, that were still in wonderful slumber,~~ mountain, that looms up behind my estate.

On my way up the sleepy, alp-like cacophony of cliffs, I found out how detrimental to my fitness the holidays have been. When finally, with a sputter I reached the summit of the everestic peak, one of my knee caps exploded out of my leg, or so it felt, and I collapsed into a delightfully positioned set of rocks.

For a moment, let’s focus on these rocks: there was a stream like gathering of them flowing down the ~~hill~~ mountainous slope. Of the two I folded into, the higher rock, at my head was covered in a grassy substance, might’ve been grass, creating a sort of pillow covering on the rock. The lower rock carried the bulk of my weight, and perfectly accommodated a comfortable posture for writing.

In unexpectedly convenient comfort I looked at the depressing sunrise. Or rather, looked at a wall of grey overcasting, it gave me a goofy smile back, I thought nothing of it. Later, I’d find out that goofy smile was the same as the one a small child gives you when you’re about to sit on his whoopi cushion. Disappointedly I wrote in the book, I’d brought, about half past five, and compared alarms to hangings.

I looked up, probably out of poetic romantics. To look dramatically at the ominous clouds for an extended period of time and then write some deep thought in the book I’d brought, too theatrical to pass up. When I looked up, I noticed a figure walking through the next paddock across from the base of my everest. I took an instant interest in the figure. An internal discussion, with the intention of rationalising the figure, took place in my mind.

“He’s a farmer”
“No, he has no vehicle, and he’s coming from the opposite side of where the farmer lives. Too far to walk.”
“Well he’s just a dude going for a walk”
“At this time, it’s 5:30 in the morning, and there’s nothing but creek the way he’s walking”

As this was taking place in my mind, the figure was obscured as he walked, from the left, behind a large clump of, youthful, camphor laurels. As my brain had pointed out, there is a large creek come swamp there. The figure had to either cross the creek, or else become visible at the left side of the trees again. In remarkable time the figure emerged from the right side of the foliage. My interest in the figure was making it’s on trip up a, graphical, peak. “How could he have crossed the creek so quickly” my eyes lowered slightly, in deep thought. As this thought and I were interrogating each other, the figure crossed another patch of the stream. With the ease of a saint the figure walked straight across the stream. In amazement, I moved slightly to get a better look, at the figure in the distance, through a patch of visibility in the long grass. My movement must have been picked up by the figure, as if he heard me tread on and snap a twig, the figure turned around.

I figure tension is better created in present tense:

He is now impossibly looking at, what I assume is, me; and I am staring at him. I am frozen in amazement, terror and peaked interest, my mind is blank; and the figure begins to walk in my direction. Like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face, my mind is snapped. I dart back to my rocks, not only comfortable but comforting. “I have to write this down.” Follow your intuition. Quickly, I scribble down the events. My brain can’t concentrate. My eyes jump from page to the vacant ridge to page. Every moment that passes brings a heavier breath, a harder thump of my heart. I sit on the whoopi cushion. The floodgates open and spatter my page. “I will finish this paragraph.” Soft swearing and the words “come on” are whispered. The figure’s speed is unknown. My page is close to waterlogged. My wrist on fire. I feel my jumper gaining water weight. I finish the last word. My eyes snap to the ridge. Vacant. I jump to my feet. For the first time for what feels like hours I can see over the ridge. Nothing. The figure has vanished. The building rainfall forces me off the peak, with another sputter.

Jesus, I’ve got to get better at that. Total lack of suspense. I tell it better in person, I swear. This entire story is true, none of this is made up.

Can you plaaashee post more personal massive stories again? plashe?

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 03:38:14 +1100

Point taken. I guess you’re right, it’s probably better that way. I haven’t been inspired to write at all for the past few weeks. The holidays are a killer for creativity; probably something to do with the old tortured artist romanticism. The holidays aren’t painful enough for anything to come of them. I’ll give it a little go, two odd things have happened over the past week or so.

Dallas, were you aware of this?

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 18:40:44 +1100

Dallas, were you aware of this?

... C'est Ahh-ther Guy?

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 18:09:00 +1100

Yesterday I went to the dentist. When I got there, I found out, I wasn’t going to have my dentist. I was going to have “the other guy”. I hope you know “the other guy”. The other guy is your health practitioners colleague. Wether it be your dentist, GP or physiotherapist; the other guy is the guy you occasionally see in the hallway, or in the waiting room, maybe he’s come out to talk to the secretary, or welcome another patient. Whatever it may be, the other guy, is not your guy. You have no rapport with the other guy. The other guy doesn’t know how you like your eggs, so to speak.

Bare with me, this story branches off and I’m about to switch tense.

So, now I’m at the dentist. I don’t get my guy. I get the other guy. I’m being forced into a handshake, introduction and a first impression. I am not in the ideal situation for a first impression. For reasons that string back to the previous night.

Here I am at the dentistry. Limping on a twisted ankle; one shoe in one hand, my belt in the other. I haven’t had to time to brush my teeth, and I’m still late to this appointment. The other guy stands behind his secretary, looking at me, with a badly hidden expression of disappointment and prediction. We shake hands, and he leads me to the surgery.

Now, I should have written this yesterday, when the events were fresh in my mind; but, evidently, I didn’t. So I’m going to have to give a light recount of what ensued.

He ushers me to sit down, and within a few questions, begins to make prematurely discomforting jokes. This is the kind of guy who, when he gets a girl back to his apartment, slams the door and locks it, and says something like “No escape now.” He says to me, as I’m lying down, completely vulnerable, something covering my eyes, “Now let’s rip out a few of those teeth, give him something to remember us by.” I’m not paranoid. I can take a joke, but don’t you think that’s a badly timed joke?

After a little while of checking out my teeth, he stops. He says to me, somewhat rhetorically “You’re not taking very good care of yourself are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I take him slightly off-guard
“So you’re in peak physical health?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“So you aren’t taking very good care of yourself then?”
“No. That’s not fair. I’m saying it isn’t a dichotomy. It’s not black and white here. I’m not in peak physical health, but I think I’m doing okay.”

Finally, his check up ends. “I can’t find any holes” he tells me somewhat reluctantly, “now, we end our sessions with a gentle, relaxing jaw massage. Release some of that tension.” A little weird, but I’m not going to interrupt this guy. I’m not sure if he’s got psychological training under his belt, and wants to start another discussion. So I relax my jaw completely, making sure to not show any signs of frustration. Whilst he’s giving me this absurdly gentle jaw massage he starts up again with the taking care of yourself discussion. Which somehow leads into a philosophical discussion. After a little while he gives me a compliment, which I do not remember in its entirety ”You’re clever”.
“Thank you” I reply
“No, you know it.”
Later on he continues his peculiarity
“You know, you’ve just discovered something that none of you school mates have. You’re smarter than them, which means you have a greater responsibility… To take care of you body and such.”
I don’t know how to respond to this guy anymore. I try and defend my school mates.

The last and possibly oddest thing he says to me, in reply to the conversation we are having, before he finishes the already weird massage “You have to dispense with beliefs, they just cloud the truth”
“Well that’s hard to do. Seeing as all you really have is beliefs. What I mean is, I believe I’m sitting here, I may not actually be here.” I refute him
“No don’t do that. That’s just tricking yourself.”
“I don’t like solipsism either. I was just saying…”
“No, don’t. Dispense with your beliefs. Just go with truths. Listen to your body, it will tell you the truth. It will let you know what you need.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” I punctuate the conversation with civility.

I just burnt my caramelized onion and mushrooms writing this thing. “Smells good champ, but I think you burnt it”

You're a bad person, if you buy your kids christmas presents that make noise

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 10:10:55 +1100

Only a cheaply dressed hipster can spot a cheaply dressed...

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 17:03:23 +1100

Only a cheaply dressed hipster can spot a cheaply dressed hipster. I’m staring at a pair of Urban Outfitter derby’s, and I know it. I don’t really shop at Urban Outfitters, postage is a joke, but I can spot them out on the streets. Saving money is “the dog’s asshole”.

The amount of times I’ve heard someone hyperbolically explain how bad a situation is ,or was, in reference to some part of a dogs anatomy, over the past few days, is comical.

A little longer than a minute ago, a guy I just met complimented me on my chinos. “Nice chino’s man”. I replied “They aren’t, I hate these chino’s. They’re awful, ASOS, poor teenager’s chino’s.”. Turned out, he’d spotted that, and was wearing the same pair, I just didn’t notice. Luckily, he also hated the chinos, and together we enjoyed a comradory grumble. Great dude. I went on to lose a lot of this guys respect throughout the night. I don’t remember exactly how, but I remember a lot of it was due to my enjoyment of Kanye.

From Tumbler to Tumblr

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 18:44:24 +1100

Today I received a book in the mail. I did not buy this book, it was not a christmas present, nor a gift from an old friend who’d moved away. This book was from a man I met only a few days ago, and who I’d only spoken to for maybe an hour.

The other night I was at a friend’s house, drinking scotch from a tumbler, having quiet disagreements and discussing the mechanics, and short comings, of wheelchairs. For reasons I won’t go into, one person was peeling peaches, stacks of peaches, or rather lines of peaches. I internally debated, being a good dude and, helping her out. I ended up looking for external help, I asked aloud “Would I be a hero?”. To which another friend responded “No, get the fuck out”. Taking things literally, I went got my shit together and left.

I’m not sure how long I was gone. At one point I tried to climb a palm tree. Failure is a good teacher. I learnt that, if stranded on a desert island, in the rain, vans will not help you attain a life preserving coconut. A design flaw unlikely to be exploited by chance, I admit.

When I finally returned to the house, I was greeted with “Damn, I thought you’d bring back something incredible”. It was a short stay. This time, I had a purpose. There had to be something incredible waiting to be owned, close by, I thought. After a short walk, I passed a house, that I heard a few people sitting outside of, smoking a cigarette, I speculated. I only walked a little farther than that house, for on my brief return to my friend’s house, I’d removed my shoes and hadn’t replaced them.

I stopped, at a point on the road I thought dramatic. I was at the beginning of a long line of overarching trees. The moonlight was blocked out, and the archway was illuminated only by darkness. Dramatic. I wasn’t going back without “something incredible”. I decided, to walk back to the house with the, speculated, smokers. If they were still sitting outside, I’d introduce myself and hope for good conversation. In hindsight, a debatable decision. I walked back whistling “Singing in the Rain”. When I got to near, there was a man leaving the house. “Nice whistling man”. An introduction must have been fated. I introduced myself to the unknown complimenter.

I got the good conversation I was looking for. We spoke philosophically for, what must have been, an hour. As it turned out, he was a born again christian. He told me his story, without motive of conversion, and I listened without skepticism. By the end of the conversation, he’d decided he wanted to send me a book. Not the bible, I’d told him I’d already read that, but a book about quantum physics and God’s place in it. I received ”Quantum Glory” today, and am eager to start it.

I returned to my friends house to be greeted by a house full of bedtime. I walked in and announced, “Voila! Something incredible, courtesy the divine”. I placed the bottle of wine, that the christian had given me, on the bench, made farewells and left, this time shoes in tow.

I fashioned myself an icon and am garnering immense enjoyment...

Wed, 14 Dec 2011 18:39:00 +1100

I fashioned myself an icon and am garnering immense enjoyment from it. I thought about making puns out of the actors’ names, but I decided against it. For, it would take quite a long time, as I am a photoshop green-horn, and no one would ever notice them, even if I went to the effort. Not to mention the title is already a few puns, in itself.

I’ve never been so summed up in one image.

Overlook the awful shoopdawooping I’ve done. It looks okay small right?

Found a pair of binoculars

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 18:23:00 +1100

Looks like I’m masturbating tonight.

I don’t know Tumblr well enough to make jokes like that, do I?

Bye Cycling.

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 17:19:10 +1100

Just found out my bike was stolen. That’s the second, relatively expensive, bike I’ve had stolen. I live in a little, bucolic village. Bike thefts are not meant to happen in towns like these. That’s one of the upsides of living in boring pastoral towns, whose population is made up of farmers and upper-middle-class, quasi-retirees.

I wish that hadn’t have happened. I used that bike, quite often. I do like to keep my possessions to a minimum, but the bike is a regrettable loss. On the upside, I don’t have to carry around the key to my bike lock anymore, and I can fit all the things I own into a smaller box. Now that I think about it, if I discount furniture (I did buy my own furniture), I could probably fit all of my things into one, arguably, petit box.

Strike up another reason I need to get myself a motorbike. I could buy a nice motorbike with the money I spent on the bikes I’ve had stolen.

They would’ve had to cut through a lock to steal that bike.

I like pumpkin more than The Simpsons and pillows

Wed, 30 Nov 2011 17:23:23 +1100

Today Kelly brought me some pizza she made. It had pumpkin on it. Kelly has my undying love and affection. She is now my woman. I stuck a flag in her and everything.

After you watch that Izzard clip. Watch the rest of them.

Oh man, That kind of dancing could never end friendships. Your groovin' yesterday was definitely the blossoming of great things for you, my friend.

Wed, 30 Nov 2011 17:16:31 +1100

Algebraic!

do you wish you could have gotten to know somebody better before it was too late?

Wed, 30 Nov 2011 17:02:00 +1100

~~“…before it was too late”~~

~~My life is not at all like a day-time soap opera.~~

~~I don’t remember there being a time when I was “too late”, I feel like I should though. The question implies it.~~

It’s never too late, right?

Old chinese proverb:
“The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago, the second best time is now”.

You danced like a fuckin' retard today. Luuvin it ya. Bongo that shit up west way alley

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 22:29:00 +1100

“Bongo that shit up west way alley”

I danced from within. I made my parents proud. I honored those who came before me, through dance. My spirit is high. My soul is star stuff. My ego, untouchable.

The ancient limerick-fable goes as such:
If on Tumblr one should lurk,
sifting through the angsty murk
and in the ask box find a scroll
left by a dirty internet troll
let oneself not go berserk, nor allow the scroll to irk
instead, quickly, get to work
remind the troll, he his the product of failed birth-control.
With sarcastic memes, shirk the jerk

Your dancing was wonderful today, just saying...

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 21:50:47 +1100

I think I’ve successfully ended the possibility of friendship, with most of the people in that hall today.

Reveal yourself. Whisk me away. Take me to Neverland.

you are the cutest thing ever i wish we could be friends

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 23:30:04 +1100

Well shucks stranger.

You wish we could be friends? Why not wish we were friends? Wishing something “could be” is making things hard for yourself.

We could be friends. Wish accomplished. It’s cool. I took all your baby teeth as payment.

You know, I think you might just want one of those foot rubs I alluded to.

Old chinese proverb: If you want a strawberry, you’re going to have to get up and go to the fridge.

Do you like feet?

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 21:48:00 +1100

I like my feet. They’ve taken me to the zoo, and the movies. They’re there for me in times of need. They’re my rock in this sea of chaos, they stabilize and keep me upright and help me from drowning. I’ve known them for as far back as my memory stretches, I guess you could say it’s been a long-standing friendship.

Feet are weird looking, and occasionally they smell like a dead badger covered in honey, but if I like you enough, I’ll man up and give you a foot rub. I’ve got my technique down, I don’t be ticklin’ or nothin’.

thekidsarehip: Erin gave me a tat that says “Best Coast Rulz”....

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 17:01:00 +1100

thekidsarehip:

Erin gave me a tat that says “Best Coast Rulz”. She’s too funny. But it’s true, they do rule.

They rule for 10 minutes. After that, you’re angry, your speakers are broken, and everyone within earshot is applauding you for ending the awful drone.

I don’t like Best Coast. Bite me.

I like The Simpsons more than pillows.

Fri, 25 Nov 2011 23:02:45 +1100

For me watching “The Simpsons” is a solo sport. I wouldn’t keep or make any friends, if they’d seen the effect a good Simpsons episode has on me. I just watched “Last Exit to Springfield” and broke out in hysterics. I sounded like a coked up Christmas elf being tickled by the hand of God.

"It's sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when you're sleeping together, you're all alone."

Sun, 20 Nov 2011 22:06:39 +1100

~~So I’ll see you bright and early Monda~~

Hey, so why do they say bright and early? Whenever I’ve been told “bright and early”, it’s been a half truth. It’s not bright at 5am. It’s early at 5am, but it’s not bright.

Which isn’t to say I’m getting up at 5am tomorrow morning. That is an outrageous time to wake up.

I’ve gotten off track here. The point of the post was not to complain about bad cliches (which has happened before). The point of the post, was to complain about not being able to listen to Louie Armstrong until the end of time. We’re being separated by sleep. Even if I left him on I still wouldn’t be able to enjoy him.

Hopefully I’ll have one of those dreams where a song replays itself constantly.

I’m waiting for the day when I can use that quote smoothly in real life.