Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in bionic_groin's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, January 28th, 2010
1:51 pm	It’s been awhile since I’ve updated. I guess I’m not so lonely anymore that the internet is the first place I go to when I have something to say. My friends threw me my first surprise birthday party this last summer. It was pretty sweet – there were two awesome cakes (one of which was the probably the best cake I ever had) and they got me a bikini (that actually fit my male frame – I’ve worn women’s underwear before and find that they don’t give much ball support and that my balls usually slip out and flop about) that I put on and pranced around in down the halls of the university. Then I posed in my bikini outside the office of one of the professors we know while people took pictures. We should probably wait until he gets tenure before we do pranks like that around him and his office although that wasn’t the worst thing we’ve done to him to date. My parents bought a house in surrey. They now own property as they have been renting these last ten years. It’s the “family house” so me and my brother are expected to contribute to the mortgage although I can’t truly consider it be my house since they went against all my advice and got a place in surrey (far, far away from any bridges or skytrain stations). I’m sorry - it’s not really my house if it’s in a place I don’t want to live. Either way I helped them move all of our old, heavy furniture into the new place and it was brutal and dangerous. It wouldn’t be so bad if they had just let me and my brother move stuff on our own and in our own way, but my parents had to frustrate me and my brother endlessly by micromanaging our every step in irrational ways, telling us to move in ways we can’t, telling us what we were carrying was light when it clearly wasn’t, or just standing there barking orders without actually carrying anything themselves. And when they would help to carry something they would prove to be extremely hazardous by suddenly letting go of their end or by failing to stabilize their end of the object. The cabinets were hell. I had a friend who lost a finger doing exactly what me and my brother were doing – helping our parents move cabinets up and down stairs. If my dad suddenly lets go of his end of the huge, retro cabinet, as he was prone to do with other furniture, I would certainly have lost a finger or something. At one point me and my brother refused to move one monstrous cabinet up a flight of narrow spiral stairs on the basis that it was too heavy and dangerous. My dad was furious and threatened to hire movers to get his friends to help, which wasn’t really a threat at all since me and my brother would have been happy if he had hired big burly professionals capable of doing the job. Had he treated friends or hired movers the way he treated us they would all have quit on him way sooner. The cabinet is still sitting in our garage. Me and my brother’s rationale was that, upon hearing my mother’s half-serious whims about selling the house immediately and moving somewhere else, we weren’t going to bust our humps getting the killer cabinet up the stairs if our parents were just going to move again in a month or two. I spent a few months (like close to a year) working on my undergraduate thesis. It’s not a real thesis like a masters or a phd, but it was still incredibly stressful and prolonged. I came out with a fairly good mark but I don’t think that sums up the mental torture I put myself through on a daily basis. Had I time to update my LJ while working on the thesis I’m sure every post would have been filled with utter hate and sadness. What made things worse is that my girlfriend was out of town (on another continent) for that period, working on her own thesis and research. I finished my thesis (though my research continues), my girlfriend came back after a big adventure in europe, she finished her thesis and did well after a similarly arduous ordeal. Now things are good, I suppose. I couldn’t find a final coop job, the last thing I need to do before I can graduate with confidence (which I should have done many years ago). So I’m stuck in limbo for a few months until I paperwork my way out of this pickle. My supervisor’s out of town so there’s only so much I can get done in the lab since I need him to obtain samples for me. That and with the olympics hitting town soon the campus (which has been designated as an olympic parking lot) will be just about inaccessible. So I’m stuck on my ass without a job and unable to do my research. I’ve been trawling craigslist for short-term, part-time jobs and the only ones that seem interesting at all are the adult gig jobs, except I have to be a girl to do most (all) of those. So last week I was going to go snow shoeing with the professor friend I mentioned in the first paragraph (the one close to tenure yet who hangs out with me and my scandalous friends). He has a tendency to drive fast, but he’s taken stunt driving courses and he’s european, so we assume it’s normal. So he was going up mt. seymour real fast like he goes everywhere, and we go up the winding mountain roads, hit a tight curve and we begin to drift. I’m thinking, “Cool, he’s doing some cool euro driving tricks.” Then it looks like we’re about to spin out and he turns around to correct, over-corrects and drives us right off the road. We drive right over the concrete barrier meant to keep us on the road and slide sidewards down the embankment. Because we were on a mountain and drove right off the side of the road there was a moment where I worried about the possibility that we just went off a hundred foot cliff and were going to plummet to our doom, in which case my last words at that moment would have been “Fuck.” But since I’m here writing this there was no doom but which we make in the future. So no sooner did I yell “fuck,” did the car halt to a stop, its wheels cutting into the mud as the car slid sideways. If the embankment was a bit steeper the car would have flipped, but it wouldn’t have went far since it was scarce a ten foot fall till the tiny brook at the bottom of the embankment. We laugh. The professor’s cat ears (he has a thing for cat ears) land on my lap, I put them on my head and laugh some more. We could have tumbled and landed upsidedown in the creek and would have been fine. No dying today. If we had gone off the road a kilometer or two further down the road then we would have been treated to a four-hundred-foot vertical drop and certain death, but instead we climb out of the car (it was like going up a rock wall with a padded interior). People drive, stop, and ask if everyone's alright, but they just want to know if there's any cool injuries or maybe want to pretend that they're a hero. The professor calls the cleanup crew, the mountain crew truck shows up, calls the tow, the tow truck shows, calls a bigger tow, the bigger tow truck shows up and the two tows lift the crashed car up like a claw machine picking up a toy, lift it over the concrete barrier and set it down. I tell the professor I’ll hold on to his cat ears, which I later added to the pile of stolen junk in my room that I’ve accumulated over the last few months. He’s more concerned about insurance and the fact that he’s probably going to have to pay thousands in repairs. A couple thousand dollars can buy many cat ears. It could have been worse and I should be angrier at him for nearly getting us killed, but I guess I’m more focused on finding something to keep me busy during the day and about avoiding all the tourists that are going to be hitting vancouver in a week. My supervisor and this wreckless, cat-ear obsessed professor both had the wits to get out of town well in advance although the latter, a chronic sex-a-holic, considered staying in town purely to prey on all the tourists looking for sexual adventures in vancouver. Ug. Current Music: Fencewalk by Mandrill (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 16th, 2009
6:22 pm	Red Elvises, Skytrain actor, american dollar store, Sand Vaginas The Red Elvises were town the other day and I went to see them. That was the first time I have ever went somewhere specifically to go see a particular band. I went to a metal concert not long ago with the goal of seeing a band in which played someone we knew – but that was me going to a metal concert just to go to a metal concert, which was also a first. But this was the first time I went to go see a band that I’ve wanted to see for awhile. I missed them when they came to vancouver last year and now I finally got to see them in person. They put on a really great show and me and my friends got up right in front of the stage and started dancing like maniacs possessed by the soviet surf rock and roll energy that was emanating from the band. There were selling Red Elvises condoms and I picked one up. They were pretty pricey, but I’m guessing their intended more as memorabilia than to be actually used. I should have got a couple of them so I could hang onto a couple of them and save others for general use. For now I’ve only got one and I’ll save it for after the Reds nuke america and we’ll all be living in bomb shelters. I’d want to bang this chick but we don’t have enough food saved up for any kids so I’ll have to whip out my Red Elvises condom that we’ll have to reuse over and over again. The other scenario where’d I’d use it would be if the nukes were being dropped and we had like only moments left and the chick still wants me to wear a condom because I’m gross and there’s no one else around. Then I’d whip out the red condom and drop a bomb of my own. And then the bomb would hit ground zero and vaporize everything and all that would be left would be my dick because the space-aged material in the condom would preserve my cock. And then giant mutant women will find my cock and worship it, and they’ll use it to clone and rebuild into a giant robot that rules over the world sharing my realm only with others who also bought Red Elvises condoms and used them as the bomb dropped. In short Red Elvises is a great band. The other day was pretty crappy and strange. It started off with me forgetting to validate my skytrain ticket just as a bunch of skypigs come in sniffing for fares. Diss. I got fined but I’ll contest it in the hopes that maybe they’ll let me off. It’s true that my ticket wasn’t validated, but it the simplest of mistakes. I was used to having a bus pass on me and feeling secure getting on transit without having to worry about remembering to validate my ticket. If I had to interact with a person or machine that checked fares before getting onto the train then I wouldn’t have made the error. It would never have happened if there was a bus driver sitting there asking for tickets before letting me on. But vancouver’s system of letting people on the train first and then randomly and brutally slamming down on whoever happened to forget to validate their ticket as I did. I got to check out my new lab. The PI talked to me and told me that the PI in the lab I just finished volunteering in gave me a bad review. My old supervisor wouldn’t have me back in his lab if I wanted to get in again. Diss. It’s a blow to my ego and it seemed to come from out of nowhere since the lab staff and the principal investigator always gave me positive input. I feel bad that I failed them and that they were disappointed with me. I feel bad that they wouldn’t even tell me that they were disappointed with me. I’m glad I was told about it though. In retrospect I probably deserved the bad report – I didn’t really treat the opportunity as seriously as I should have. I didn’t spend as much time in the lab as I could have and I probably could have gotten a lot more done if I had managed my time differently. So it was a fair judgment. That being said I don’t regret anything. I had fun with all my diversions and I made clear choices at the time to do what I did. The last few months were a great time for me and I wouldn’t have wanted to have squandered my vanishing youth in some lab making an insignificant contribution to a field that no one outside of that particular vein of research would care about. I’ve been working in the lab for awhile now and things are going okay. So I head into vancouver to get arrange a court date for my ticket and I get to the office just as it closes. Diss. On my way back I hear this guy having a ridiculous conversation on a phone. He, as becomes ostenably clear within moments of hearing the conversation, is an actor. An AAAAACTOR! He was trying to give a pep talk over the phone to a fellow actor who seems to have walked out of an audition because the director was eating a cheeseburger and the actor who was to perform was a vegetarian who took offense to the consumption of meat. “Don’t let the cheeseburger stop you. Pretend he was eating a carrot-burger.” What proceeded was an awesome one-man-show about a man living in a world of flakey vancouver actors and was trying inspire his fellow actor into doing required auditions and overcoming an incredibly zealous objection to people eating meat. The best part is that the role being auditioned for seemed to be a part of VFS production. This actor’s friend was spazzing out about doing an audition for a student video production in which said film student was eating a cheeseburger. Film school. And then this friend of the vegetarian is on the phone trying to calm the storm with what else but overacting. Most people try to calm people down like, “It’s okay, man. Take it easy.” This guy was like, “This is what actors do. You have to go past the cheeseburger and do audition. We’re doing this together. You can do this.” These must be the best actors in the world because they fucking know how to make drama. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m making fun of them but it was really quite awesome to see what ham actors are like in their day-to-day lives. It’s like they overact when doing regular things and talk to people like they’re reading from a script. But the big diss here is that I forgot to follow after this guy, approach him and say, “Are you an actor?” and proceed to cast him in a youtube video production. Seriously, if I was making a low budget cult movie then this is the kind of actor that I’d want in my movie. Me and some friends drove by a building that was bombed out in Vancouver awhile ago. My friends thought it was an assassination attempt and may have had something do with with biker gangs. It was cool, like a whole chunk of the building was missing. Apparently some guy in the building was blown away for like two blocks and managed to survive. Me and some other friends went to the US a few weeks ago. We were staying at a friend’s cabin. We went to the shopping mall in bellingham that all the canadians go to. I’ve been to it once before. I am still amazed at how many super fat people there are in the US. Maybe it’s just small border towns that have all the fat people. Like we were in a mcdonalds in a walmart right next to a old country buffet and just saw all these fat people walking out of it. The mcdonalds was full of all these immigrant colored people – I guess they all wished they weren’t poor so they can eat where the fatter white people eat instead of regular fat mcdonalds. We went to a dollar store and I was amused to discover that they sell dollar store pregnancy tests. So I bought one and decided to use myself as a control. Being a guy, me being pregnant would be rare, so I tested it out. There was no false positive, so I guess it’s good for a dollar. Also there were dollar store douches. Actually I got a twin pack for a dollar, so that’s 50 cent douches. If I knew they were so cheap I would have bought more and organized a big douche fight where we all squirt each other with the douche water like they were water guns. I have enough for a douche duel as it stands. Also, while in the dollar store, some white lady thought I worked there. I guess the idea of a brown guy who’s not trained to serve you is a strange concept in the US or something. Then me and my friends went to the beach and made sand vaginas. We used a big rock as a clitoris, seaweed as pubic hair and were going to use a star fish as the anus. The tide was coming in and the inside was wet because we dug so deep. It was also filled with worms and crabs. And there would be these squirts of water shooting out through these little holes in the sand, so she was a squirter. Old people would walk by and wondered what we were building. It probably reminded them about how they can’t get aroused anymore. Then everyone took a picture of me huddled up inside the wet sand vagina in fetal position. Later a friend of ours reported that he saw some kids playing inside of it because they thought it was a sand castle. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 7th, 2009
8:58 pm	Nazis, straight guys, bouncer fail I did some karaoke awhile ago. It was okay but the one event that stuck out in my mind was when at one point someone requested a marching-type song in Japanese. When the song started playing everyone in the room put their fingers beneath their noses emulating a hitler stache while putting their other arm up in a nazi salute. Most of them did this while goose-stepping in place. Imagine a line of people hitler heiling and goose-stepping in place while one person marches across the room while heiling and doing a hitler stache with his fingers. It was quite the spectacle. In more nazi-related news I was at Sin City awhile ago and met a guy who, seconds after telling me his name, started telling me where I can get drugs at the event and other events at the same venue. He wasn’t a dealer, but more of a drug enthusiast who wanted to, in his words, “spread the culture”. He also revealed to me that he was a nazi and that he supported the ideals of national socialism. But he assured me that he wasn’t racist and didn’t include racial elements in his doctrine. He was probably just saying that because I’m non-white and would have supposedly been offended at the mention of nazis. But his precautions are unnecessary because I wouldn’t have cared if he was a racist and a full-blown nazi. Odds are I would still be more racist than he was. In fact had racial subjugation not only have been a doctrine but an element of his sexuality then I would have congratulated him on supporting a fetish/kink that I think needs more representation, regardless of whether we were at a fetish themed club event or not. I bumped into subbie shoe shine guy - the guy who stuck his hands down my pants the first time I went to Sin City - after he gave me some discount tickets to get into the event. Last time he made a comment about how hairy my junk was. My junk was hairy last time. This time: not so. So I told him that I updated my crotch’s look and gave him a peek of my hairless man parts. He was going to reach in for another grab but I stopped him and said, “not tonight, man.” I’m so proud – I’ve learned how to say “no”. Also at Sin was a friend of mine who was coming off of a break up and was drinking a lot. I worked with him as a bouncer at that party a few months ago so I figured he would be more responsible at other people’s events. Last time he came to Sin City he got thrown out, climbed back in through the smoke pit, and made out with the promoter’s wife or girlfriend-type person. This time he was really buzzed and kept telling me that he wanted to punch someone. Not anyone unparticular, just someone – he was in the mood to fight. Enter: subbie shoeshine guy – subbie shoeshine guy started hitting on drunk punchy guy and drunky started fronted shoeshine guy while trying to assure everyone of drunky’s heterosexuality. “I’m straight. Straight up I’m straight,” drunky would repeat. Shoeshine would just come on harder and act cuter: “It doesn’t looks straight,” said shoeshine while pointing and drunky’s crotch tent, “it looks kind of curved to the left.” Drunky got more aggressive and shoeshine kept on going but eventually backed off before a fight broke out. I did another bouncer job at an event with the same promoters and venue as last time. This time we had more security, but that was as much a bad thing as it was a good one – I’ll explain in a second. A number of my friends from the SFU martial arts club were there, including drunky punchy from the above paragraph (he wasn’t drunk while working - I just introduced him earlier as “drunky”). I figured he had enough experience getting kicked out of establishments that he’d do a real great job kicking other people out. The night was going smoothly for me – I was doing the door and we caught some weed and ecstasy. The ecstasy was green and had a happy face on it, which apparently meant it had heroin in it. We had this new bouncer who was super tall and really pro. A lot of the new people were real pro and perfectly suited for the job. Things got pretty embarrassing at one point – the head bouncer called all the available security down to the dance floor and told us we had to throw out three guys. We scoured the floor looking for them. One guy in the crowd told me there was a fight that needed breaking up. I saw three people grappling – one in a white shirt, one in a black hoodie and another in a black shirt. I was stupid and dived right into them to pull them apart. The guy in the white shirt slipped away and the one in the hoodie and the other in the black shirt were wrestling and punching each other. I recognized the guy with the black shirt as being one of our guys and the hoodie guy was punching him in the head. I grabbed the hoodie guy and tried to pry him off. The head bouncer yelled out to me and told me to choke the guy I was trying to pull off. So I listened and tried to sink in a sleeper’s. That’s when I heard the hoodie guy say, “I’m on your side!” At first I figured that would be ridiculous – that would mean that we were just fighting each other. That would just be stupid. Shit. So we all stand up to a chorus of teenage party-goers chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” We look around and realize that we were three bouncers all fighting each other while the guy we were trying to get slipped away. And then the crowd surrounding us started laughing. Three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees of people laughing at us. I choked one of my own guys who was the brother of the head bouncer, and the head bouncer told me to choke his own brother. Security fail. What a diss. At least I got this story as a result of it. We found the three guys and the tall, pro bouncer threw them out like a champ. All this time, while all the guys were down on the dance floor dealing with and largely causing a mess, the guys we kicked out were going around back to the front door trying to bust their way back in. Because all the guys were down stairs at the dance floor only the girls (two) were left guarding the door against a dozen guys trying to force their way in. Double fail. Later in the night we were doing a perimeter check of the facilities while I was staying by the door again. Our guys came across someone trying to steal a window from the venue. Like actually take a window out of the wall and run off with it. They chased after the window guy, who dropped the window and started running. They ran past everyone and down the street and up a hill. The chase went on until my guys were within ten to fifteen feet of the window thief, but the window-snatcher dived into some bush and the security people ended their pursuit. I didn’t run after them, but I should have for the exercise. But balance that against looking stupid in front of everyone again and abandoning my post by the door again and I made the right decision. Other than that I went to this Irish pub downtown and watched a bunch of white people dance like white people. I also got to be part of that gross and disgusting couple and made out in front of everyone on the dance floor. But everyone was so drunk and tasteless that nobody cared. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 11th, 2009
4:21 pm	Bouncer job, Improv, Mosh pit, School girl drag The day after new years, my friend, who was the first person I had sex with, said she didn’t want to hang out with me anymore. I was sad, but I knew it was an inevitability - we both knew it was a short-term thing that we were doing. She started listing things that were bad about me and I knew the list well. I probably could have helped her flesh it out, but I was making an effort not to put myself down so much while I was spending time with her. Weeks later, we see each other as regular friends without benefits. We’re still on good terms and don’t mind doing things with her, but it left a certain gap that was usually filled with sensual nakedness and other things. So I got this gig as a bouncer/security guard at a party in north vancouver. I got it through connections in the martial arts club at sfu. The martial arts club has long gone underground ever since they stopped filling out the club paperwork. They have resorted to sneaking into training areas to practice and make an effort to avoid security. One day some facilities manager chases us off a training area. We weren’t even fighting – just doing yoga. So we left and went to go train somewhere else, but he followed us and started hassling us again. One of the guys in our club started mouthing off to the facilities person saying stuff like, “Why do you keep bugging us? Why don’t you go get a girlfriend or something?” While our guy was lipping off at the facilities dork, the rest of us bugged out and scattered and then reconvened at a new location. That’s when it was announced that someone was hosting a party and needed security people and that the martial arts club was to be recruited. So we had practice sessions in hidden locations where we went over basic self defense moves. The guy leading our security team spent some time in japan learning ninjitsu and showed us some ninja moves. We got to do lots of racial profiling training – the rumor was that it was mostly going to be persian gangs who were going to cause the most trouble, so we were to be especially rough with them. We probably spent like a quarter the training session just talking about beating up persian kids. The job was for valentine’s day and we were supposed to confiscate all outside liquids. No alcohol was to be allowed inside. The event was for younger people and it was mostly high school students who showed up. So I spent my valentine’s day patting people down for contraband and weapons. A few fights broke out, we found a dude passed out in the bathroom, and our team leader beat the fuck out of some guy and threw out a shit load of people, many of which didn’t deserve to be thrown out. I helped another security guy drag some chick across the dance floor and toss her out. The part I seemed to have the most trouble with was guarding the DJ booth. Chicks were allowed to go dance with the DJ, but I had to make sure they didn’t stay up there too long and I had to stop guys and ugly chicks from getting up there. I was also supposed to stop there from being too many people up on stage, and no matter how crowded the DJ area would be I would be inundated with dozens of girls begging me to get up on stage. And they got tricky – girls waiting to get in told me to go get some girls off the stage to make room for new ones, so I went up to pull some down and all the ones waiting in line burst in and start zerg rushing. So I spread my arms out like a net to try to catch them all force them back off the stage. Luckily the night turned out okay. There were a few weaknesses in our security, but thankfully nothing bad happened. Despite all our racial profiling efforts we didn’t have any trouble with persian kids. At the end of the night we got to divvie up the stuff we confiscated. All we really got was a bottle of absinthe. The guy who found it drank half the bottle right in front of all of us. There’s another event planned for april and our security team was invited back. I hope things will go well again and that people we threw out this time won’t come back with reinforcements. In my lab I made my first phylogentic tree based on the genes I sequenced. It’s pretty sweet. I’m thinking of sticking it up in my room. A couple weeks ago was a surreal friday for me on the SFU campus. Things started off when I started hanging out with the parkour club. We were doing drills and jumping up on stuff and climbing walls in public at a high traffic area of the school. So all these people would walk by and see all these people running up walls and climbing shit. Then I left the parkour guys and went to improv club where they were doing an exercise this week called “taking it to the streets” where we perform improvised skits in public. We staged arguments and break-ups and went to the cafeteria and pretended to eat imaginary food. And we got half our team to freeze in position like statues while the rest of us came by like we were on a tour. One of us was acting as a tour guide and talking about each of the statues. People would walk by and be bewildered. And we all looked up into the sky and pretended to see something coming at us and started freaking out. We got other people walking by to look up into the sky to see what we were looking at. Then we’d all scatter and run off in different directions leaving everyone confused. Then the night ended with metal. I went to a metal concert with a friend and I went into a mosh pit for the first time and it was pretty sweet. My ears were raped and they’re still buzzing for two days after the show. I should have brought ear plugs, but I would have looked totally lame in a mosh pit with ear plugs. When you step into a mosh you abandon all concept of self-preservation and wearing ear plugs would not be consistent with the philosophy of destruction and disregard for personal injury. I’ve got a new intimate friend. We do all kinds of fun stuff together. It is truly springtime for hitler. Awhile ago I went to a party dressed in drag. I wanted to wax for the occasion, but my hair was too strong for the wax. I was using those noob waxing strips with the wax already on the strip. I had a friend help me out and whenever she’d pull on the strip the wax would stay on my leg and get pulled off the strip. I just had too much hair – waxing was not going to work. So I gave up and naired everything. She helped doll me up as a japanese schoolgirl with blue hair. I was so sassy and gorgeous. If only I could find a way to get rid of stubble. Another person at the party who I believe is either a post-op transsexual or will be getting her operation soon commented something to the effect of, “the first time is always fun, isn’t is?” It was pretty fun, but I feel my dickgirl work is done. (Comment on this)
Friday, December 26th, 2008
5:38 am	nunchucks, best holiday bus ride, I'm Dreaming of a Black Christmas (feat Ras Kass) I did a gift exchange at the nerd club at SFU awhile ago. I brought nunchucks. We played a game to decide who got what gifts where you can steal gifts from other people and stuff. It was pretty fun. Everyone was fighting over who got a set of throwing knives that somebody brought. My nunchucks were also pretty popular. I got some kind of pendant that’s part of a costume for a character from some anime show I never watched. We also had a dance-off where I got to exhibit my growing headspin skills. On the bus home on christmas eve one of the passengers smelled pot on another passenger. “I know it’s here,” he said. Another passenger joked, “Oh, that’s just my B.O.” “That’s some good B.O.” said the first passenger. They eventually found out who had it and implored him to light it on the bus. The holder was reluctant and didn’t want to get thrown off the bus. The first passenger said he’ll go ask the driver if they can do it and said he’ll pay the driver five bucks. We all laughed at the “five bucks” part. So the first passenger went down to the bus driver and asked if it was okay to light the roach and got a “You guys do whatever you do back there,” response. When the first passenger came back to us he told us we got an okay. We asked him if he paid the driver five bucks and he said “yeah.” So they lit the doobie and passed it around and I gave out some cookies that I bought earlier but wasn’t in the mood to eat. So there was everyone smoking dope and eating cookies and enjoying the bus ride home. That is what the holidays are all about. I’m dreaming of a Black Christmas When I was going insane I started reading a lot of paranoid black power literature (it counter balance all the white power literature I usually read). Because I was in a paranoid state of mind, the paranoid theories proposed made sense to me. Sure people were intentionally injecting africans with HIV under the guise of inoculations in order to fan the flames of an AIDS epidemic. But where did white liberalism rest? I figured the liberal-conservative rift was a good cop – bad cop routine with the purpose of slowly assimilating those with a different culture and ultimately eradicating the savage culture all together. The liberals would offer the new inductee to western culture (which included the submission to white people and ideals) a chance to be assimilated on their own terms, all while heroically defending the poor colored people from the salivating jaws of the conservatives. If the colored people didn’t accept white culture from the kind liberals the conservatives will be released to dole out superior culture through the barrel of a gun and the liberals would stand there with their hands in the air saying “well, I held them off for as long as I could.” So be fair I’ll offer the white power perspective. White nations are suffering from birth rates below replacement level while colored countries (entirely 3rd world) are populating at explosive rates. With open immigration polices in western nations the doors are open to the influx of colored peoples and the supplanting of white nations with peoples of non-white heritage. If that continues then the white race faces the possibility of extinction in the form of simply being out fucked by other races. In that case white supremacy is a matter of survival for, and is necessary to the continuation of, the white race. I’ll ignore the fact that russia and ukraine are still huge sources for white genetic material. I’ll also ignore the fact that white people still control enough resources to bloom in population within a single generation if the need arisen. The bottom line is that if you are a white person who is not reproducing above replacement-level and not doing your best to encourage the eradication and/or sterilization of colored people then you’re defying your evolutionary programming and spitting in the face of your heritage. The black power perspective on the same phenomena is that all races originated from black people and that the african race is so diverse that it contains a number of distinct races within the population, but they are not recognized as such people their genetic diversity isn’t expressed as a function of their skin. In this view white people are a single mutant strain as part of a massive tree, and there’s no reason why the population of a single mutant family should even be comparable to rest of the species. There is no special reason why white people should be given a third of the earth as opposed to another group with a similar set of disorders not relating to skin color. The battle ultimately rests on people’s opinion on which set of genetic features is superior and worthy of reproduction and I don’t think the question can be answered given the complex nature of society. America (canada included) was always an interesting case. The white supremacists want america to themselves, saying it’s a white country. If might makes right, and seeing as how the land was originally stolen from the natives, it seems fitting that the land is being stolen, in turn, by other races. You could always say that the countries were founded on the basis that it should be free for everyone, but the reality is that everyone seems to think that they’re entitled to it and should be able to kick everyone else out. When I was crazy I figured that race wars were too dangerous to fight in conventional terms, so they had to be fought through civilian means. I figured the way to establish racial superiority was to establish cultural superiority with your culture placing your race as the ideal to be strived to in a Sisyphus-like manner. You’ll never be able to krump properly unless you’re black. If you’re white you’ll have to aspire to be as black as possible if you ever want your krumping to be taken seriously, a goal that will keep you running your whole life. In that note it is interesting how black americans have mastered the same mechanisms used against them by white people for years. However the extent of their power is limited to street dance and not other areas of human interaction such as economics, education, entertainment, labor, law, politics, religion, sex, and war. So I figured that the genetic conflict between the populations on this planet have developed to the complexity that cultural and geo-political superiority is potentially more important than the number of genes active in the form of living meat. A person may not have any kids at all, but through cultural, economic, and political contributions could ensure that others that are genetically similar stay in a position of power – a position from which they could populate their nation rapidly and eradicate or sterilize other populations. I was also listening to Ras Kass’ Nature of the Threat at least a couple times a day. Here The main reason I bring this up is because it’s christmas time, a time when a third of the world looks up to white gods like santa, jesus and saturn. Except jesus wasn’t white, and “jesus” wasn’t his name. I figure people should stop fooling themselves and just go back to the practice of Saturnalia. At least that way we’d have more gay sex. Current Music: If They Move Kill Em by Primal Scream (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 21st, 2008
11:02 pm	making heroin, fucking clowns, santa blowjob, demon exorcism So I moved into a new place awhile ago. My work, my school, and my friends are all situated in burnaby while I’m bussing it from surrey every day. So I’ve had enough of that and finally started renting a place near my work and school. It’s a shitty place but I’ve got an amazingly good rent, so I’m happy for the most part. My roommate is an interesting guy. He’s been working at Denny’s for the last 15 years. I’ll talk more about him later. It’s a basement suite in a house owned by a married couple. I hear a lot of yelling coming from the house. My job started getting interesting. I got a break from cleaning flasks and doing simple extractions and got to start playing around with gas chromatograph and mass spectroscopy machines. So I finally got to do mass spectroscopy after so many years of only hearing about it. It was pretty cool and it’s a powerful analytical technique. Also, because I was trying to derivitize morphine so that it would run through the gas chromatography machine better I had the opportunity to synthesize heroin. We added acetyl groups onto the hydroxyl groups on the morphine molecule so that it’ll go through the mobile phase better, effectively turning it into heroin. Just as I was starting to enjoy my job I got laid off. The company blamed the economy and said they had to cut costs, so shortened the contracts of all the current coop students and cancelled all the coop students that they were hiring for next semester. They renegotiated my contact behind my back with my coop advisor and my work term ended a month early. I was pissed because that was a month of wages that I wouldn’t be getting. But on the positive side at least I get a month vacation to just jerk around. And jerk around I have done – I got December off and the month is almost done. I was at SFU awhile ago for some reason and I bumped into a gang of clowns. It was a bunch of girls dressed like clowns and acting like clowns. They had clown theory down and performed an entertaining spectacle. There was no explanation for the clowns, they just came and vanished, and the audience was left wondering if it had even happened at all. But it did, it definitely did. If by chance one day you reading this are one of those clowns then let me say that you made my day. I went to go to a BDSM munch where fetishists of all walks of life get together and talk about random stuff at a restaurant. There was some really old dude who talked about bees for like an hour. He was a beekeeper and he hated bears because they keep busting up his bee hives. He wants to carpet-bomb them like they do to people in iraq. There was a quebecois guy who had good advice on where to get rope for tying people up and also felt that quebec was too socialist. There was also a librarian and a bunch of other people. There was one lady who lost her footing and kept falling over and had trouble walking. She only had one drink so I’m guessing she either pre-drunk a lot or is suffering from some medical condition. The BDSM people appeared to be big nerds, which made me feel comfortable as I hang out with nerds a lot. It was a lot like being at a sci-fi con. I took part in an event where a bunch of people in santa suits mob the streets and cause havoc. People were encouraged to wear the dirtiest santa suits they can and that’s what I did. I think I had the dirtiest, grungiest santa suit of them all. The santas would march the streets and visit like every pub they find. The event was interesting, but most of it consisted of sitting around pubs and bars for long periods of time. It was like being in a pub for twelve hours straight, which I found very unpleasant. Among the highlights was when we stopped at a strip club. The performer started laughing as a bunch of santas started swarming into the strip club while she was doing a show. She just sat there laughing for awhile. Eventually she recovered and finished her routine. While waiting for the next performer the santas started chanting, “Santa wants tits, Santa wants tits, …” And santa got tits. We often filled establishments to capacity and overflowed into the streets where we would dance to music played over loudspeakers. Sometimes the santas would hold up traffic when crossing the street. It would take forever for all the santas to get across and we’d often by walking straight through red lights. Most of the cars were patient. At one point a girl santa started humping a car that was waiting for the santa herd to pass. She was this asian driver and had a hilarious look of horror on her face as she turned back to see this santa girl humping her car. My one wish of this year would be to have gotten a photo of the disgust on the driver’s face as her automobile was being humped by santa. Eventually she laid on the horn and that only provoked the santas. Santas swarmed the car and started yelling at the driver, who then began to drive into the santas. This drama of car versus mob is one that I’ve seen far too often. I am reminded of one of the zombie walks I’ve attended where events played out in exactly the same way, with the very same results – the santas responded to the vehicular aggression by kicking in the headlights and side panels of the car. The windshield didn’t get kicked in like at the zombie walk, but things almost went there. At one point we crashed a clown party. There is a clown parade that goes on during the same day as the santa mob. And at one point we crossed paths. There is a lot of beef between the clowns and the santas. Were some of these clowns the same clowns who showed up at SFU one day? Who knows? The night ended at Sin City. The doorman went through the santas with a fine-tooth comb to make sure they lived up to the costume standards of the event. Many santas were turned away or didn’t want to pay cover and our numbers dwindled. While there some guy asked me if santa likes blowjobs. I said that I’m just santa’s helper, but I’ve often seen elves coming out of santa’s room with a little icing on the cake. I was joking more than he was. I said that I didn’t want to have my dick sucked by a stranger that night but I’ll help him find another santa who will. So I went around the club asked all my fellow santas if they want a blowjob from this guy who was wearing only a plastic dick over his own dick. None of them took the offer. So I figured I’d give the guy his christmas present early and agreed to go into the bathroom with him. So we went into the stall and he sat on the toilet while I fiddled with my santa pants for a comically long period of time. Eventually I got the pants off and he started sucking my dick while I held my stuffed santa stomach up so his head can get in toward my crotch. I wasn’t really turned on – I’m not really aroused by guys, especially if they’re middle aged and balding – but I do have to admit that his blowjob technique was flawless. He was really a master at blowjobs, I wish I could have been hard for him. I wish I knew girls who could and would give me blowjobs that good. Eventually there was a knock on the door and a loud voice saying, “Open up, right now.” So I pulled up my pants, opened the door and said, “ho, ho, ho.” It was the doorman and the security staff. They told us to take it home, which I certainly didn’t intend on doing. I was sort of relived that they came when they did – I was getting bored but didn’t have the heart to ruin the other guy’s fun. The security people didn’t even look at me and talked more to the other guy, leading me to believe that he’s a repeat offender and shooing him away has become routine. I think he’s turned on by getting caught so I guess things worked out good for him. I'm just glad to have helped him develop a brown santa fetish. The time before that when I went to Sin City I got two of my friends who were chicks to make out, and it was pretty cool. But it was a double-edged sword – they wanted to see me make out with a dude. I came close that same night (not the santa night) when I had a three-way make-out session with two of my friends – me and a guy friend double-team making out with a female friend. We’d be grinding her from both sides on the dance floor and taking turns sucking on her face. I was wearing my gas mask and had to take it off to make out. Then I would grab my female friend’s hair and push her head into the other guy’s face to prompt making out between them. But she would go from making out with him to making out with me, so there would be some transfer and it was like I was making out with my dude friend. But I don’t think that was enough to appease her. I figured letting a dude suck my cock would be doing one better, but I think they still want to see make-out action. My roommate has become very annoying recently. He says that I had demons that that the demons are teleporting him around and hiding porn in the house. He told me that I had to become christian or leave the house. I’m doing neither. He started speaking in tongues and put his hand on my forehead to exorcize the demons, but he said they’ll come back unless I become christian. His behavior has elevated my mild annoyance with christians and religious people to outright hatred. I want to start a satanic cult just to fuck with him. I believe the source of his consternation is that I have sex and am not married. I tried to explain to him that we’re allowed to do such things in this country but he said that this is a christian country and interprets mistranslated biblical law to supersede the government. I thought western culture was supposed to be better than this. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 9th, 2008
9:16 pm	A Surrey moment, VCon, furry dance-off, Super Mario Bondage A surrey moment. I'm waiting in the line at Safeway with one item (not condoms, but I wish it were). The express lanes are packed with people so I find it slightly faster to go through one of the regular lanes. It still takes awhile and the lady ahead of me makes some comment about the lady ahead of her taking too long. The lady at the front of the line (who had the comment made against her) took offense and started sassing backing. Things just escalated with shitty insults and snide remarks, and ultimately, a threat: one of the ladies said, "watch out walking to your car in the parking lot." The guy at the cash was taking forever, but was going as fast as his little immigrant hands can go while ignoring the situation brewing in front of them. "Have a nice day," he said, almost echoing one of the ladies who said the exact same phrase with a sarcastic and hateful tone. I just sort of stared at the floor the whole time, privately hoping that a fist fight would erupt so that I can break it up and look like an upstanding citizen and fan my ego with the knowledge that I have good in my heart. But the good in my heart is really evil because I still wanted to see them fight. After I left the supermarket I saw them yelling at each other, one from her car to the other as she went for her car. The first lady drove off and the second lady kicked her own car out of frustration when she finally got to it. A surrey moment. I was at VCon, Vancouver's oldest sci-fi, fantasy, and gaming convention, last week. I was supposed to be helping out on the radio show I volunteer with. The equipment was fucked up again this year so we couldn't broadcast live from the convention as we originally planned. Instead we recorded interviews with the intent of playing them at a further date. I stuck around and assisted for a few hours, but eventually got distracted and splintered away from the radio people. On the second day of the con I went to a dance party. That's when 3 furrys walked onto the dance floor. These weren't your typical budget furrys, these were hardcore, pimped out, professionally-made costumed furrys. They weren't wearing shorts, so no hidden genital modifications - their crotches were opening visible and lacking in junk. They were the child-hugging, fun-for-the-whole-family breed, and it looked like they wanted to dance. So I approached them, looked them in their cartoon eyes and said, "this here's a dance-off!" And I breakdanced against them. I saw another furry (there were alot of them there) in the hallway earlier, challenged him to a dance-off, and pwned him hard, so I figured these 3 would be easy as pie. They would have been, but I screwed up my power move. One of them took the advantage and did a fake, comedy breakdancing move (like sitting on the ground and pulling yourself in circles) and won the audiences favor. A fake move beats out a failed real move any day. So I lost a dance-off against a furry. I suppose I should shoot myself in the face now for being the epitome of fail, but instead I'll train harder, faster, better, stronger. And soon I'll have my revenge. A had a friend with me on the dance floor who asked to leave several times. I was too drawn into the dance and I dismissed her multiple times. Eventually she stormed out. The first time it was Scissor Sisters, and I couldn't leave then. Then it was Prince, and I couldn't abandon Prince. Then it was the Jackson Five, and there was no way I could leave. And then she was gone. When I was done dancing and looking around for her, a man dressed as an Star Wars Imperial Stormtrooper told me that he saw her get her stuff and leave, and that she looked mighty pissed. I ran everywhere looking for her. When I passed the stormtrooper again he told me I'd better have flowers for her. I was an ass for ignoring her, but the dance is too powerful. I've lost many potential dates to the dancefloor. I've had people I was dating picked up by other guys while I was busy dancing. I cannot resist the dance - the boogie is alive within me. How it courses through these veins, pulsating with the energy of the galactic funk. It is a power, an unstoppable force of the cosmos, which commands me and demands every ounce of my vitality. Yes I was a jerk. But I blame it on the boogie. There were a ton of furrys at the sci-fi convention. They were going around in fucking uniform. I think they had some kind of deal with convention security or something, or that they were the security. I saw them with walkie talkies and patrolling the hallways in groups. I told one not-ugly chick furry that I thought she was a nazi furry for a moment (due to the Hitler youth-looking uniforms) and she gave me a heil Hitler salute, which turned me on a little (not really. Okay, maybe a little.) I proceeded to hit on her a bit, but I probably scared her away after I started introducing her to strangers as “Maximillian, my production assistant on my amateur sci-fi porno videos.” I bumped into the one of the convention’s administrators. She was the one who lined up our interviews for the radio show. She remembered me from last year and I remembered her – she was quite the character. She told me some stuff that I was supposed to rely to the show’s producer, but never did. When I saw her, she was dressed in a corset and had a riding crop with her. I don’t remember what I said to her, but it ended with me sticking my butt out and her flogging my ass with her riding crop. I was dressed as Super Mario at the time and had an extra tight set of overalls that apparently makes my butt look good, so I hope the Mario flogging looked hot. I should have gave her one too, but she was late enough as it was. Speaking of flogging. I plan on going to Sin City this week. It’ll be my brother’s last chance to go before he heads out for New Zealand. I hope I get some dungeon time this time around – I’ve been real eager to get in there. Related to that first goal, I also plan to working on my chick-picking-up-skills, which I severely lack. Although, I feel that I now have the confidence I lacked. Current Music: Blame it on the Boogie by the Jackson Five (Comment on this)
Monday, September 29th, 2008
11:27 pm	Nair So I Naired my legs and ass today for the first time. I wondered what I would look like not as a werewolf. It's funny that I decided to do it just as I was coming to be comfortable with my hairyness. But I'm liking the results. My legs look so smooth and awesome, like Jean Claud Van Damn. I realized that I have pretty good legs. My upper body is not quite porn starish, but my legs fit the role. I like Nair. People warn me about the chemicals, but I looked at the ingredients and it's mostly sodium hydroxide. I spill NaOH on myself all day at work, so this isn't a big departure for me. The one qualm I have is in the application of the paste. It tends to go on uneven and leave splotches of hair that require multiple applications. It took me forver to get it. And it's still uneven on my ass - it is quite a challenge to apply paste evenly to one's own ass while twisted in front of the mirror. That's when it comes in handy to have a nair buddy that doesn't mind smearing the stuff all over your butt. I am also disappointed by the difficulty in applying the cream to my taint, which is a real trouble spot that needs a lot of work - it is the heart of darkness. When I was done I used a razor to pick off the last remaining tufts, and then I admired my new awesome legs in the mirror. Now I just hope other people will adore them as much as I do. Current Music: What's Up by 4 Non Blondes (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 28th, 2008
10:19 pm	Sin, dry suit, crappy motels I wanted to go to Sin City, Vancouver's fetish-themed club event, last night. But if I was going to go, I wanted my brother to come along. It was pirate night and he had a sea-farer's uniform from his work aboard cruise ships. He's technically not allowed to wear it to such events, but he does it anyways. He didn't want to go because he was observing Ramadan, which is a time of piety and withdrawl from worldy pleasures. I suppose going to a sexually charged club event wouldn't be compatible with devout Abrahamic religious cleansing. If it were a year ago I'd probably be in the same boat as him, but I've since taken a break from religion and most of its rules. So I went to the flea market today and got a dry suit for fifty bucks. Usually dry suits, as oppose to wet suits, are over two-hundred dollars - the zippers alone are like two-hundred dollars. It fit great and was in good condition. I asked the vendor where he got it and he told me: a police auction. I have to start going to police auctions. Finding places to have sex is difficult when you have a marginal income. Dave Chappelle said, "if a man can fuck in box he wouldn't buy a house." Fucking in a box is proving to be quite a challenge. Outdoors at parks or fields work in the summer, but things are getting chilly this time of year. At school during night works well too from time to time, but there's only so many times you can do that before getting caught. Home usually isn't an option due to interference by roommates or family members. The only options I can see is finding roommates who are okay with you fucking in the living room, or are even willing to join in; shell out the unreasonable amounts of money for your own place with no roommates, which probably can't be afforded; or go to festivals and events where people openly fuck in public, which is what I hope Burning Man will be like. I was looking around for a motel today and asking about rates. One place had an old white guy and an old punjabi guy at the front desk. I asked them about rooms and the punjabi guy was like, "Double bed, for man and woman who are married, or two single beds for two men." They seemed like real traditional types for their respective cultures, and they repeated their husband-and-wife-double-bed and two-men-single-beds mantra over and over as I tried to figure out how much it would cost for two people sharing a bed. I felt like fucking with them and saying, "How much for a double bed for two gay men who are married?" I had the feeling that they'd refuse me service if they knew I'd use their motel for gayishness. The words were just about to come out of mouth, but I couldn't - their rates were actually pretty good. Current Music: Spanish Hotel California possibly by the Gipsy Kings (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, September 6th, 2008
1:05 am	Son of a B Ug, so I bumped into someone I knew from highschool (the second of the three highschools I attended). I hated that school immensely and by extension hated everyone at that school (except for you – likely the only person who ever reads this LJ). It was a negative experience that emotionally colors any interactions I have with people from my past. For the majority of the time I basically had no friends – at times I may have had one or two, but no real friend network. My social skills were obviously very poor and I didn’t function properly within the environment, so my time in high school was pure emotional and social fail. So I bump into this guy who I don’t really hate, but sort of hate by association. He’s married, has an engineering degree (which he probably finished years ago), works at some huge company, dresses well, and probably makes four times as much as me. I only went out on my first date a few months ago, still haven’t finished my weak sauce biology degree, which has taken me twice as long as it should have; work at an entry-level position, and dress like an idiot child. It wasn’t so bad knowing that someone I marginally hated was doing so much better than me - what was bad was me imagining how much better the people I REALLY hated were doing. They’re probably CEOs and doctors by now. I was the bottom of the social rung back then and I’m not any better today. It makes me want to just fuck everything, take the disability money they’re offering me for being schizoaffective, and just be some street maniac scaring people for change. Oh yeah, I finally asked about what it was I’m being treated for and how often I should be expecting episodes. Apparently I can look forward to going totally insane at least once every five years. I think I should start buying guns – that’ll probably make things more interesting. So the guy from highschool filled me in on the fates of some of the other people. I suppose it should have been expected that the people I actually liked tended to die in tragic accidents. Current Music: Caravan by Dick Dale (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, August 30th, 2008
2:51 am	Well, my grandma died. She lasted longer than the doctors expected. She actually woke up from the injection that was supposed to put her away forever. She woke up with tears in her eyes and they gave her a second dose and that put her to sleep. I kissed someone for the first time in my life. And it was a girl. This is a distinct change from getting felt up by random gay guys, which seems to be more the sort of thing that happens to me. We started to make out in the skytrain while it was packed with people, but then moved to a more hidden location. It was very soft. I sort of wish I did this, like, ten years ago. I was sort of like a scared rabbit and didn't really know what I was doing - I clearly need more experience before I'll gain a level at making out. But it was really cool. Current Music: Sorairo Days (Gurren Lagann OST) (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 18th, 2008
3:50 pm	I finished the final exam for the last course of my undergraduate career. If I abandon coop I could graduate now. I’ll probably stick with coop because it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m really learning anything at all. I got a coop job for the next semester – I’ll be testing horse pee for performance-altering drugs. I applied for a cool cancer research, managed to get short listed for the job, but ultimately got dissed. It would have been more satisfying to get a job that involves developing therapeutic strategies for cancer than it is to have a job that only exists because of gambling. But that’s my punishment for years of being a mediocre student – I get to sit in my horse urine reeking lab and watch from afar everyone else make the discoveries that change the world and all that shit. My grandma is probably going to die some time tomorrow. She’s had cancer for quite awhile. My mom went to visit her in palliative care a couple weeks ago and showed her some dancing (my mom teaches dancing at a community center). (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, August 3rd, 2008
12:47 am	C-61, What Is It?, Hate shock v psychic love bomb A few weeks ago I was hanging out at a meeting of some group that was opposed to the canadian bill C-61 which would enact restrictive and draconian copyright laws which would make modifying, and in some cases even using, media illegal. I suppose it’s already illegal, but it would make it even more illegal and would result in huge fines and punishments for relatively benign behavior. I don’t like politics and I usually don’t hang out with crowds that actually care about stuff, but for some reason I was attending this meeting. I really just sort of swung by to check it out. They all welcomed me and urged me to stay and it would have felt weird to leave them so soon, so I sat there until the end of the meeting. One of the arguments that were made in favor of opposing the bill is that it would restrict artists’ ability to generate content that uses copyrighted media. I suppose that pastiche is one of the elements that in part defines the era of post-modern artistic thought, and remixes and music sampling remain the cornerstones of hip hop and electronica cultures, but part of that argument is asking me to believe that it’s possible to defend YouTube Poop as art. That would require a high opinion of YouTube Poop and/or a low opinion of art. I have a low opinion of both, so I can go either way on this. Speaking of art – awhile ago I watched Crispin Hellion Glover’s What Is It? The title pretty much sums up the movie because you’re left totally confused and raw by the experience. I liked the movie a lot. I don’t think I could do it justice by writing a review – all I can say is that if I were ever to make a movie, I wish it would be nearly as cool as What Is It? Nearly the entire cast had Down Syndrome. The movie features naked monkey women masturbating a guy in a clam shell. The whole thing was starkly absurd, yet it had enough structure to make it feel like an actual movie with a story. Anyways, the more I read about Crispin Glover, the more amazing he seems. I’m really glad I got the opportunity to see him live. So I finally asked what was written on my file: schizoaffective in remission. They didn’t want to tell me because they wanted to avoid labels, which was a good idea. Just before I hit the apex of my madness I had a million ideas go through my head, which were going too fast to write down. One of the things I believed was that there existed a hidden thought contagion that would orient any person toward love and peace. All that was required was someone to detonate a psychological information bomb that would spread the mind state to everyone on earth. It would engulf the world in the fires of bliss. Once the technique was revealed, everyone would assimilate it and use it against each other and it would initiate a global love war. I also believed in the existence of a secret society that moderated the use of this information. I saw it as my mission to infiltrate the society, learn the technique, and broadcast it on YouTube. And thus would begin the pandemic of love. Everyone was an ally, even if they weren’t aware of it. I was crazy – there is no love bomb, only hate contagion. The only thing with the power to transform minds with great efficiency is hate. It’s the toxic shock that floods the system and can level whole cities and swallows them up in flames. Hate shock. Love can’t build a city, but if it ever did, hate can destroy it. Enemies aren’t allies that haven’t been enlightened yet - enemies are enemies, and so are friends. But yet, only a tiny proportion of the world’s population is at any time engaged in violent conflict. Despite all the war cries we hear from our televisions and the blood-curdling loathing evident in the words fired at us by war-loving commentators, the majority of the planet doesn’t seem interested in fighting each other all the time. People fight, but we haven’t reached a pandemic state of everyone fighting at all times. Something is buffering the hate - hate is at a stable equilibrium. There is a peace mechanism, there has to be, or else we’d be mired in total global war forever. It may not be a psychic love bomb, but it’s something. Current Music: Total War by Boyd Rice (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 13th, 2008
9:41 pm	Camping, Turquoise water torture ritual, Gasmask maniac I just got back from a three-day camping trip to Garibaldi Park. I’ve been once before on a school trip and I had a good experience both times. We didn’t go all the way up Black Tusk as we originally planned, instead opting to hang around Garibaldi Lake for a day. The lake was nice and very blue, close to turquoise. I tried to swim but it was way to cold to stay in for long, at least for me. I swam to some rocks, hung around for awhile, and went back. Everyone took turns jumping into the water and climbing out almost immediately after going in. At first some of our group didn’t want to go it but we peer pressured everyone into taking the plunge. It was like some kind of ritual. Then some people started going in a second time and it turned into a contest to see who would go in the most. One guy just stayed in the water for so long. He said you get used to it eventually. That’s probably true but I didn’t want to leave my sun-warmed rock to find out. If I go again I’ll have to remember to bring a diving mask and maybe some fins so I can explore the lake a little more. On the way down the mountain I wore my gasmask and scared hikers. Some were amused, others were threatened and hate-filled, some thought I was gasmasking weed, and some wanted pictures with the crazy gasmask guy. I wore the gasmask on the entire hike from the campsite to the parking lot (something like 10 km, I think.) We saw a juvenile black bear on the drive to the park; we saw two deer (or maybe the same deer on two occasions); a bunch of what we think were Whiskey Jacks; and a ton of diptera (mostly mosquitos). There were also a bunch of plants and fungi, but they're not cool because they don't move and eat things. It didn't occur to me to take any water or soil samples so I can see what kind of microorganisms I can culture in my microbiology lab. Current Music: Rigor Mortis by Cameo (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 6th, 2008
5:36 pm	Goat Song at the Temple of Blood I am the bleating of the goat set for sacrifice. Some say tragedy is the song for the goat, but it is never considered to be the song of the goat. Hear my song and gaze upon the innocent eyes of a killer. A killer of men, a killer of goats, a killer of gods. You cut his throat and call to your god as his warm blood pools beneath your feet. You've given blood to your god yet he hungers for more. That is when you realize that you are the goat. But it's too late to run - someone has gripped you by the jaw, knife in hand. And there you die as you blood rains toward the earth and becomes one with those you have slain and the ones killed by the ones you have slain. For a moment you are atop a pyramid of blood. But you are soon forgotten - blood of your killer rains down on you. God's favor has passed and you are among the wicked. Hear my song for I am the Temple of Blood. Current Music: Music from DOS Doom (Comment on this)
Thursday, July 3rd, 2008
11:50 pm	Wrestler fireball, Poetry trade, Literati Last week I went to another ECCW show and it was pretty cool. Ice, a wrestler, shot a fireball at another wrestler. A fireball. FWOOSH! Ice was wearing a hood so I guess that gave him power over fire. I should go learn the mystic arts of the pro-wrestler one day. Canada day, I went out with some friends. I danced at Robson Square with all the b-boys for the first time. I wasn’t good or anything, but I did simple noob moves to avoid embarrassment. Later at the Cambie my friend’s boyfriend tossed a celery stick into her drink while she wasn’t looking. He then beckoned her to drink. She looked in the glass and found the celery stick. Then she tossed her beer at him and it mostly splashed all over me instead. Diss. Yesterday, I went to a book launch where a friend of mine was premiering his self-published first novel. It was a classy event with book readings, jazz vocal duos, and slam poetry. The poet was apparently a slam poetry champion and I got to chill with her on the bus ride back to the SkyTrain. We traded poems – I gave her a poem given to me by someone I met in the nut house, and in exchange she tore out a piece of her writing journal with the original copy of a poem on it. So now I have the original ink and paper of a poem of a champion slam poet. I also have an autographed first novel of an up and coming author. Now from one end of literary achievement to the other. After ten years of ignoring my urges I finally caved in and got an account at FanFiction.net. I was originally inspired after reading the masterpieces of Peter Chimaera and knew I had to jump into the fray and inflict sarcastic and unreadable fiction upon the world. Within minutes of looking around the site I was accosted by such horrible things as Boondocks incest slash. I’ve found something more banal than Garfield comics – Garfield fanfiction. But I think the find of the night is none other than RENT RPGs. Oh shit! You rolled a 1 – you die of AIDS. Actually, in all fairness, the RENT fics are probably the classiest thing on the site. If they were real serious they wouldn’t call them “fics” but “pastiches”. All in all, I am pleased. Current Music: Freaky Behavior by the Barklays (2 Comments |Comment on this)
1:45 am	Captain Planet I know there's tons of Captain Planet porn but this is more artistic than it is profane. Current Music: Underwater Rhymes by Digital Underground (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
10:10 pm	Self-Administered Clowning Lesson and the Essence of Orz Chance favors the prepared mind and gross misfortune favors the idiot. Chance gave me a clowning lesson today. I was running and feeling adventurous so I leaped over an obstacle in my way like I were running hurdles. I made it over the obstacle, and felt pumped, and maybe even impressed the teenagers who were sitting around nearby (my life is pathetic enough that I still care what teenagers think). On my second lap I tripped on the obstacle and landed right on my face in front of the teenagers. I kneeled on the ground and sat there for a bit soaking in the feeling of Orz (explanation later*). Then I got up, put my glasses back on, and kept on running. The kids waited until I ran off until they started laughing. I committed myself to run all my laps no matter how embarrassed I was going to be. Fortunately the kids had left by the time I passed again so I was spared the humiliating “walk of shame” where I slow down and carefully step over the obstacle. *The letters “Orz” are an emoticon signifying a person kneeling in anguish. The “O” is the head, the “r” is the arms, and the “z” is the legs. More info here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=li6v539bLAg In a desperate bid to try to be more optimistic I'm choosing to interpret this as me fulfilling the Jungian role of the clown-like trickster by bringing laughter and teachings to other people. What have I taught people? I don’t really know. Maybe it’s not to be a goof like me. Don’t jump obstacles unless you’re prepared to fall. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s better to fool myself into believing that I’ve come closer to the human experience than it is to feel bad about everything all the time. Yeah it’s flakey, but sometimes flakey is better than sad. Current Music: Earth Song by Micheal Jackson (Comment on this)
Monday, June 16th, 2008
12:10 am	more crazy Woah, I’m getting a double dose of crazy tonight. My feelings on crazy people, as I myself was becoming crazy, was that they were in tune to phenomena that was not perceived by regular people, but that the changes in their brain that made them sensitive to these hidden elements also made them unable to communicate their knowledge in a cognate manner. They themselves didn’t fully understand what it was that they perceived and they were unequipped to structure their experiences within their own mind let alone explain it to someone else. The example I used (when explaining it to myself) was the differences in the brain hemispheres with respect to local and global phenomena (“local” being small, fine details, or reductionist elements, and “global” referring to the “big picture” or holist elements.) I haven’t checked my facts but I think it’s the left hemisphere that has a tendency toward local elements like individual letters or numbers or parts of a drawing, and the right hemisphere is geared toward global elements like overarching patterns or scene analysis. The crazy people were able to exploit a super-right hemispheroid property of their brain and see patterns that were embedded into things that were simply too large for the normal brain to comprehend. I believed that these people were able to look at what appears to us as utter chaos and make holistic judgments about a pattern that they could perceive but not analyze. I guess it’s just another type of astrology or palm reading - believing that a person can tell fate by looking at a bunch of random stuff. I guess it’s always been nuts. I was just trying to rationalize it. (Comment on this)
Sunday, June 15th, 2008
11:34 pm	Crazy Train During the days leading up to my time in the nut house I was convinced that I stumbled onto some profound truth and that I was unlocking the secrets of the universe. I also felt that my mind wasn’t ready for everything, and that I wouldn’t be able to process or understand everything a lot of the stuff, and that which I would come to realize would vaporize from my head before I’d be able to write it down. My mind was moving faster than it ever did before and I forgot most of my insane ramblings mere moments after I rambled them. I was clinically insane so most of my sermons obviously didn’t make any sense, but I feel that some of it may have been insightful if structured properly. Every now and then I get lost in a train of thought that leads me back to these ideas I used to have. The antipsychotics tend to stop these wandering trains of thought, but sometimes at night, when the medication is starting to wear off a bit and before I take another dose, I get the chance to revisit some of these thought trains for short periods of time. So I’ve been riding the crazy train a bit and I figured I’d write some stuff down before the medication kicks in. My rationale, at the time, for not writing about these things because writing is for the holy ones and not for those of ignoble standing like myself. There’s a reason why the clergy were the literate ones – it is because they descended from a tradition in which the word was holy. Religious texts were words and it was the words that are worshipped. Even writing the name of god was an act of supreme divinity and was not taken lightly. That’s why they had the tetragrammaton as a worldly substitute for the name of god. That’s why they used to write “G_d” instead of actually writing “god” until people stopped caring. The word was all you had to go by – it was the only evidence the pious had to work with - and the texts themselves were considered the miracles. The eye at the top of the pyramid was the Eye of Thoth, the Rx at the bottom of prescriptions were derived from the symbol that denoted the Eye of Thoth. Okay sometimes it’s the Eye of Horus or the Eye of Ra, but for the purposes of this rap it’s the Eye of Thoth. Thoth was the one who wrote down all the stuff that the other gods did. His eye was important because he’d be the one to determine how everyone else was going to be remembered. He controlled the words and he determined who would be described in a good light and who would be in a bad light. Words can convey great irony and sarcasm - a hero can be made to look like a fool based on little more than the choice of words used to describe that person. Great and triumphant battles can be whittled down to ridiculous and lamentable tragedies with the stroke of the quill. That is the power of the one who writes. You can change history itself by choosing to record whatever you wish. The winners write the history books and that’s reason enough to fight in the first place. It’s meaningless to win a battle if you are forever recorded as the loser, your victory robbed from you by a lack of testament. Truth is an illusion - we live in a world where reality is judged as it is perceived and being right is nothing if everyone sees you as wrong. The facts are nothing if they cannot be seen by all and when all that’s left of them is one person’s account of them then that person controls reality itself. That’s a lot of power and I didn’t feel like I was smart enough to handle it - writing stuff down was exercising divine power, but was also a sin in the hands of the wicked and lowly. Current Music: The Mexican by Babe Ruth (Comment on this)