The Overdue Orgy

Long time no post. Longtime not much new. The thaetre run is on again. The idea is that a group of amateurs get together and create a play out of basically fuck all. The subject this year is food. About this I feel as inspired as a diesel engine. I hate diesels. Last year we actually did a play of Lorca's. House of Bernarda Alba. We dissected it bisected it and re-arranged the pieces as we saw fit. We introduced new text and we called it 'Walls Within'. It was called Lorca re-mix by one of the local papers. Depressing yet interesting play, it was something good to work from. This year we have no script, no money and so far as much inspiration as a sloth. The subject is food but so far in all the workshops the main theme seems to be sex. We all seem to be very frustrated, due to lack of action I guess. I think we should just have an orgy in one workshop and get on with it. I'll let you know how well that flies.

OUCH!!!!

I hate dentists. (If a dentist is reading this please forgive me for saying so but I'm in a lot of pain caused by one of your kind) A dentist at the moment is the only kind of person who can make me think there is something fundamentally wrong with the basic human design. Firstly, our mouths are filled with dozens of small calcium based (correct me if I'm wrong) THINGs which help us cut crunch and chew our food. So far so good. Here is the catch. THEY ROT BEHIND YOUR BACK!!! And as if that wasn't enough there are nerves going through these useful cutting chewing things we call teeth, to let us know when something is wrong with them. Dynamite on paper. But guess how these nerves let you know when something is wrong with your teeth. PAIN. Very very primitive no? There are chewing toys for pets which clean their teeth. Why can't we have the same? 'Because we can brush our teeth and pets can't' Oh for pitys sake. And guess how a DENTIST (see photo) helps you get through your predicament. HE GIVES YOU MORE PAIN. Lovely. My Valentines Day present this year consists of a botched up filling, a half arsed cavity treatment and a badly executed hence in-effective local anaesthetic injection as a side order. To cut a long story short, I want to die but there's no need to worry. This pain will definitely kill me.

:-(

In a Past Life

In a Past Life...

You Were: An Evil Warrior. Where You Lived: Israel. How You Died: Killed in Battle.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

ANOTHER DEAD CAT

My excuse for not posting is business as usual, and an unusually annoying virus which managed to creep into my computer and wreak havoc with my C drive, and my not bothering to sit down and fix it for a fair few weeks now. Some things have changed since then, some remain the same. I decided to leave the job. It's not worth working for a complete arsehole if you don't have the benefit of a Hugh Jass paycheck. My nails are bitten down, for I still couldn't manage to find a new job, yet sitting at bus stops with a begging bowl is far better than having any sort of connection with that villain. Anyhew, enough venting. On the darker side, one of my parents' cats died yesterday, of sickness. My mother is tearing herself to bits and I feel completeley unhelpful for lack of anything to do or say to make her feel better. Any advice is welcome. This particular cat was her favorite, and I have to admit I found his fluffiness quite handsome and cute. Watching it suffer and die was possibly the worst thing that could have happened to my mother. I can't belive she gets so emotionally attached to things so fragile. I actually like cats a lot despite my allergies, but they are just too damn fragile. It looks at you, it meows and you think you know what it wants, and you either give it food, stroke it, or let it out, as if cats are capable of only three states. There must be thousands of conditions which they try to communicate to us, yet we label the gestures with these basic states. What if this cat was trying to say he was sick for a few days now and we just failed to see? Do I want that kind of guilt and conscience in my life? Erm... NO!!! So, sorry for sounding harsh, but no pets here please. On the brighter side, I put pen to paper again after quite a few months, and am quite excited to see if I actually can get in touch with my inner designer. Hopefully he's there somewhere. (or she) A few ideas I am toying with, like a couch for a friend's new home, a trolley for a competition, and bookshelves for my sweet self. Anyone want anything designed, just ask. I am quite willing to throw in a sketch or two for free. (BE WARNED, I GET MY SHIT COPYRIGHTED!!!!) I will be back in the HNT scene with flying colours hopefully next Wednesday. Have to get used to posting early if I'm gonna play this game.

SHOCK!!! HORROR!!! I FORGOT HNT!!!

So as it transpires, on Thursday without feeling that strange feeling one feels when he/she has forgotten to do something, I went to bed semi-content (as usual) with the world I was closing my eyes on for a few hours. The next morning was no different. Woke up, washed up, shaved, and a sandwich and milky Earl Grey later, I still felt no different. Nothing forgotten. Little did I know that in exactly four hours and 22 minutes (if I did the math right) I was to jump up from my desk, and yell to the surprise of my dear(irony) office mates "Shit, HNT" (closest translation). It is not because the end of the world is nigh because I forgot to post, there's always next week, It is not that I had taken a picture so worthy of posting that it's a shame it has to wait, it's just that gap between sanity, insanity, and memory where common sens dares not enter. "Shit, HNT" jumped out from that corner of my mind and before I could do anything it had come out. Now I have to esxplain to my beloved(uber-irony) workmates what HNT means. And before I could stop myself my moth says "Half-Nekkid Thursday". If it were a normal office I would have loved to share, but since my office is ruled by a despot, yes sir, no sir, you have to watch what you say sir. Would you kiss my arse sir? I wish I were an octopus. That way I could fold A0 projects to fit into A4 sleeves (two tentacles), sip Earl Grey (one tentacle), CAD a swimming pool (one tentacle), worry about 5 36-tonne beams spanning 20metres (no tentacles), sigh (no tentacles), wipe my arse (one tentacle), choke my boss and the site manager (two tentacles), and put one eye at the tip of one tentacle and stare at one of the receptionist girls all day (one loooooong tentacle) at the same time. Can you tell that the things I really want to do amongst these are the latter two? Blonde, (not my usal poison) petite, (yeah baby!) gorgeous, (sigh) leggy, (miles and miles and miles and...), and with a voice to die for. No wonder she's a receptionist. (Did I mention, SIGH WITH A STUPID GRIN ON MY FACE?)

HNT-7 Among Other Things

So a stranger drifted in the other day. The "muse" of the boss, who is a married man, asking for a favour. Tomorrow I have to meet the guys wife, with whom we also work (she: interior designer, I: architect, company: contractors), and try not to mimic 'I beg your pardon but your husband is a cheating bastard and I wish to gods you have a toy-boy' using any part of my face. Balancing the crime is dynamite on paper. Anyhew. None of my business. I've been told I brew a good cup of coffee. I'm sipping a mug of it right now. Nothing fancy, yet neither too sweet, nor too strong. A difficult equilibrium. But what is good coffee worth without a pair of hands other than mine getting warm around another mug of it. Hands of the queen bee around whom the hive of my fantasies is built. Anyway, enough from that pit.

HNT-6

I haven't got the foggiest what this is supposed to be.

Spur of a long moment. Happy HNT.