If You Don't Already Like Me, Don't Read This; It Won't Endear You To Me In Any Way.

So I'm going to just talk a little bit now. And because I'm a white boy in the suburbs of one of the wealthiest countries in the world, I may start to complain. As always with my blog, feel free to leave any time. It is my blog after all. I can write what ever the hell I like on it. And you can read it, or you can not.

Well, I haven't painted anything for nearly seven days now. My fingers are starting to twitch, and my brain has started its 'caption building' with no outlet. Currently my latest idea is a chimp looking sad, the caption being,

"Don't swing your arms like an ape!

Real men stab each other."

Anyway, we'll see how it pans out. I do a lot of caption paintings and I really love them. And that idea has the right balance of uncomplicated image and amusing tagline.

The second thing on my mind just now is that my list of "the number of people in the world who I'm positive would genuinely care if I ate a shotgun shell" has just gone up by one. And if you are reading this person, your degenerate friend thanks you. :p

The third thing is private, but concerns the previous post. And if you know me well enough to listen to the bizarre reasoning behind some of my paranoid behavior, you'll know I don't like people, even people I really like and care about, knowing certain things. If you have the brainpower higher than that of a cuttlefish you can probably guess what it entails, but in-case you don't get it, let us simply say that my heart may be black and shriveled, but it exists.

As always, dogging my footsteps are my eternal companions The Black Dog and his friend The Yellow Monkey. Also ever present is the irritating little trouble of there being the above recommended level of voices in my head (the recommended being one, or perhaps zero if you are a freshie), though I am still dictator of the mind of Joel, we haven't become a democracy or, a God-let-me-die-first anarchist nation. However I've dealt with that for long enough to not be particularly worried.

In a separate but related issue, my strange visions of inescapable horror continue with monotonous regularity. I've yet to discover anyone who has a similar problem, but I haven't been trying very hard to find such a person yet.

Well that isn't entirely true. I have discovered people from history who have had such a problem, namely Joan of Arc, Nostradamus, Elijah ect. But the idea that I'm some kind of prophet predicting such the future has both occurred to me, and been dismissed by me for being too annoying an answer. Also it would be dumb an egotistical for me to think that.

There's another thing. People think I have a big ego. I don't. I really don't. They think I'm egotistical for the same reason that they think I'm a pessimist. I'm not. I'm a realist. My intelligence quotient is one hundred and forty, so if you are just a random from the internet, statistically speaking, I am probably smarter than you. I'm sorry if you are offended, but thats just the way the world works. Okay, yes, sometimes I flaunt my abilities at people, but thats just because I'm immature and I'm working on it. I have grown some humility, I promise.

The truth is I hate myself. And I think that is better than being obsessed with myself anyway. Not ideal, no, but its just too hard to get the proper balance.

I should probably finish on a positive note, so I'll just say that I am on my break and I am enjoying the free time and already have some activities planned with the people who find my company tolerable.

So cheerio for now, and just a small piece of advice,

If you are happy and you like it, keep doing what you are doing, and if you aren't and you want to be, change something.

You Are My Cure.

It isn't long after we arrive in this world that we discover that our ticket is return.

And it isn't long after we start to read that we know there's things we'll never learn.

And soon enough we know that some things we want so bad,

And after that we know some of those things will never be had.

But I'll tell you one thing I know for sure,

I want you, you are my cure, you are my cure.

Our world is full of fear and blindness, nothing is certain,

The only thing that is always true is the final curtain,

But I'll tell you now that right here in my mind, I can see your eyes,

And what has value, its our friends and the people with who we have ties.

I don't know if you see me, but I know for sure,

I want you, you are my cure, you are my cure.

This isn't about me, its not about whats wrong, The world is too full of things to know

Maybe, for a bit I can just shut up, stop going on about how everything moves too slow,

Because there are so many things in the universe, not one of them is worth the bet.

And if there is something better than you in this great big place, I haven't found it yet.

I don't know much, but I know for sure,

I need you, you are my cure, you are my cure.

Whipy-Chipper.

Ribity-pipity-chapp-clap-snap-whap-whan-tan-tran-plan-canity-whamity-shamity-bam.

Sookery-pookery-snookery-snoolit-bootle-shootil-shoozle-woozle-floozle-flith-lity-s-s-s-snun.

Knacker-racker-whacker-whanter-banter-canter-slanter-slunter-funter-fuldel-juh-nce.

Brrrrrriiiing!

Blasphemy.

God requires that we do not blaspheme, that is, disrespect Him because it is wrong to disrespect something that deserves respect. In a human, I would call that egotistical. However, God truly is all powerful, all knowing and all good.

God requires that we use our gifts that he has given us. There is one parable where a Master gives each of his servants some money to use while he is gone. He returns to find one servant has invested his money in a bank and earned more money for his master, one has made some clever business decisions and earned even more. The third servant in his fear of failure has done nothing with what his master has given him, and is:

".. thrown out into the darkness, where there is fire and burning and gnashing of teeth"

I personally am indifferent to being punished. I would however like to do the right thing. The meaning of all this is of course that you must use the talents and gifts you have been given by God, and it is blasphemous not to.

God has given me the ability to think, to question reality and ponder the universe. If I do not challenge authority, wonder about the nature of being and so on, I am not utilizing my abilities to their full.

So here's the thing.

If by doing my pondering I come across the idea that God is not perfect in some small way, thus making Him a liar, or that God simply does not exist at all, I am thinking a blasphemous thought.

However, If I do not eventually stray across this possibility with the, if I do say so myself, not inconsiderable abilities at my disposal, because I am afraid of being blasphemous this is also blasphemous as I am not using my skills to their full deliberately.

So, it is either impossible for me to commit blasphemy or it is impossible for me not to commit blasphemy. Catch 22.

So really, I can either

a) Come to another conclusion

b) Think what I like

c) Do not think the "wrong" thoughts

Obviously I have already thought these thoughts, or I wouldn't be able to talk about them.

But what I'm really curious about is whether because of this, all creativity is in fact, sin. God doesn't have creativity. He knows everything there is to know, He doesn't come up with things, they are already there to Him. Creativity is for lesser creatures such as we.

Truth is uncreative, lies require creativity.

hmm...

Knick Trick Flick Stick Slick.

How would you feel if in a single night I had aged 70 years, and was now 87 years old?

I had a dream last night, a huge blind white worm was eating my face.

Imagine gliding above the world in space, around and around and around. Taking in messages from France and sending them to Afghanistan. Beaming all sorts of things to all sorts of people.

Or living under a leaf. Eating soil and doing nothing.

I can't even think about bicycles right now. It would be too difficult.

Red metal bicycles. Nice black tires. Bells that go "Ding!"

I'm a puffer fish. I inhale water for a defensive mechanism and one in every sixty dishes made from my flesh are fatal.

Breathing is good. I'm doing it right now. I'm probably doing it as you read this.

Unless I'm holding my breath or I'm dead or something.

I feel slightly better about myself when I wiggle my feet.

Its good.

Re: "Why this world isn't illusion." Jason Drake

Original post here:

http://jasiondrake.blogspot.com/2010/11/why-this-world-isnt-illusion.html

I know that this wasn't your major point (It being that sensation and emotion justifies reality's existence on a personal level) but I thought I'd mention it.

You say that you are, at least in the physical sense, your brain.

I would argue that our body is as much ourselves as our brain is. Flesh has memory. My hands have learned how to sculpt clay, manipulate paint brushes, type on a key board, press the frets of a guitar and all manner of other things quite independently of my brain, or at least mostly independently.

If you cut of my hands and replaced them with the hands of, for random example, a female travel agent or your hands with those of a robot or suchlike you and I would be diminished as people.

I would go so far to say that if one placed my brain in the body of the female travel agent, I would no longer be Joel and that if one placed your brain in the body of a robot, you would no longer be Jason. Rather an amalgamation of Joel-and-woman or Jason-and-robot.

Natural Is Not Synonymous With Good.

Just because something is "Natural" does not mean it is good. Natural is sitting in a tree in the rain, naked, covered in fecal matter eating a live rat. Very natural. Very disgusting.

Of course I'm not saying that everything from "nature" is bad. Much of it is very good. Plants, fruit, air, cows, rivers ect. are very good. But just saying that something is natural does not mean that is is good for you and therefore isn't a drug and you can smoke it without feeling guilty.

Not everything "unnatural" (that is made by man, and not by nature) is bad either. Intravenous fluid transfusions are unnatural. But if they didn't exist, I would be dead when I was four years old through critical dehydration due to a sever stomach bug I contracted at that age (ask me to tell you that story sometime). Vitamin supplementations, organ donation, swiss army knives, clothing, shoes, bridges, snorkel masks, mobile phones, assisted childbirth and watches are all unnatural. And in my humble opinion, none of them are bad. Very good in fact.

I Get A Feeling

Sometimes I get this feeling.

I don't think it has a name, Its so hard to describe, but I'll do my best.

Its like the entire universe is being smooshed through my brain to a place just behind it.

And everything that ever happened or is happening and all the people and things and places and animals and events everything that exists or ever did or ever will is being pushed through my head, like honey through a flour sifter but phenomenally fast.

And I get little tiny images and sounds and things for the briefest moments in perfect detail, things like a little boy eating dog crap for a dare and a woman crying as she is lined up to be shot by Nazis and an old couple kissing on a park bench and a tree being chopped down with a red axe and a car crusher crushing a yellow volkswagen beetle and a frog exploding in a microwave oven and a drugged junkie girl scratching her arm where she inserts the needle and a policeman polishing his helmet and a gentleman asking for a dance from a woman in an emerald green ball gown and an alarm clock going off loudly and a businessman putting down his briefcase to adjust his tie and a packet of chips falling off a bench and a bored woollies worker packing shelves and a middle aged tradesman's funeral service and a girl complaining on her pink plastic mobile phone to her friend that her boyfriend is no good in bed and a family marveling at their first ever colour television and...

But there is more to it than that. Its like all the instruments in an orchestra playing at once make a totally different sound, but you can still hear the individual sounds.

Because behind all those little flecks of things happening in my head there is a running theme, like a long drawn out scream of a feeling. Its a little like nausea but really all I can think of when I feel it is horror.

Not fear that makes you want to run, but a deep set inescapable horror that makes you want to sit down and do nothing. But that is just the feeling that accompanies it. The thing itself is utterly, utterly impossible to describe.

I can feel it now. Pressed against my head like a face on a window. Breathing on my brain.

I wonder if there is anyone else who feels like this. I'd like to talk to them about it.

I'm Not Happy About That.

I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that.

I'm not happy about that.

Thank You For Your Prejudice.

Your a hypocritical moron and you sound stupid when you growl like that. You don't sound evil, you just sound like a retard. I laughed when I first heard it.

Cry For Me And I'll Believe You

All we've bought,

Is what we've bought,

We've nothing more,

And yet, Nothing less.

What we've forgot,

Is what we've forgot,

Remembering's a chore,

But we do our best.

And now its missing and lost,

And now its all gone,

Here comes the dark frost,

And you're just a pawn.

I'd hope when you see me,

You forget who I am

That past all that debris,

I'm as lost as a lamb.

Then we'll dance,

we'll dance,

We'll trip all around.

And not touch the ground.

And it will be fun.

And not just for one.

Cast Away This Mortal Skin.

In my deepest reaches, there is a hunger.

Down inside, the sadness is held off, ever longer.

Clawing within, like a raging fire in my soul,

I'm never sated, because in me, there is a hole.

The wicked wind scours, my skin grows rough,

And something in me has had enough.

I can barely think, through all this pain,

And ethereal voices call out my name.

My limbs are heavy and my speech is course,

Never will I find my disease's source,

I will live always in this wretched, blighted form,

Never to know the tender touch so warm.

Piss Off.

I could have gone away,

But then I'd still have to see the next day.

I really miss you, I never knew you,

All you did was make me blue.

I can't stand you, you make me sick,

I really want to hit you with a brick.

You think your just so great,

But you're just a pretty face.

You little prick, you tiny moron.

Go drink a pint of molten boron.

Ship's Last Log.

'But tell me this people of the future, Does man, that marvel of the universe, that glorious paradox who sent me to the stars still make war on his brother? Keep his neighbor's children starving?'

We Are The Light In The Darkness Of Mere Being.

Weary and desperate,

Struggling through an endless desert.

resigned to this fate.

Lay down and rest on the dry dirt.

But hope arrives like a rising sun.

On the dark night of the soul.

We are what we are, every one.

And we have to live, even un-whole.

Before we had mind, we fought for this life,

With a million siblings we raced.

The chances were as thin as the edge of a knife.

And nine months on, sweet air to taste.

So struggle on through the trackless strange land,

We must exist, just to know that we could,

Deny the devil, and accept help's hand.

And perhaps in the end it will be as it should.

A strange child king over this world we reign

We are so rare, so cruel, so wise,

Battered down over and over again,

Yet still from the ashes we always rise.

'As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.'

- Carl Jung

Really, I Should Be Thankful, But I Just Can't Find It In Me...

I can speak to someone, tell them the absolute truth of my feelings and know that they will not understand what I am saying. But in what way is that different from lying or saying nothing?

It isn't even the half truth. I'm telling the whole truth. Its just that no one understands me. Not one single person understands it. Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking another language.

I can't decide if it is imprisoning to freeing.

Oh but the very concept of that is stupid. Anything can feel imprisoning, anything can feel freeing. Even now, as I write this, I'm struggling to stay apathetic as my mind tries to turn all these sensations positive or negative. Its just dumb. Dumb dumb dumb.

But humans are wired for dumb. We try to unravel the secrets of the universe with a language that was originally developed so we could tell each other where the fresh fruit is. All our behavior has a root in survival or some kind, even if that behavior is now vestigial and useless in modern society. Men like large breasts because in the past it would mean that that mate would be able to feed his children effectively. The relevance of that nowadays is almost nil, due to advances in technology in terms of childcare and medicine. Yet to tell a man this will have no effect on his impulses.

Fat people gorge themselves on food because their impulses tell them to make fat stores for a famine that will never, ever arrive. They then die young because the fat deposits build up and clog their organs function.

Rich people horde and horde wealth that they will not be able to spend in a life time, while people around them starve and freeze to death. All because of deep set, unconquerable impulses.

The human brain is ill adapted for thought. No one who reads this will understand what I really mean by it. And it isn't freeing or imprisoning.

It just is.

Last And Greatest Creation Of God.

I walked past a dog in a cage. It was old, most of its hair was gone, its skin was speckled with sores. Its eyes, rheumy and jaundiced, stared into my own. Brown into green. I knew what it wanted from me.

I walked away.

The trees along my path home towered over me whispering secrets. They think I can't hear them, but I can. I can always hear them.

A bird jumped down from the branches, a magpie. I screamed at me, it swooped me. It hated me. I screamed back. It flew away.

A cat slunk out of a hole in a fence, hissed at me, stuck up its fur, then disappeared back through its gap in the wooden planks.

As I walked across the grass of my lawn, I heard each blade screaming as it was crushed. A hundred tiny little voices crying out in pain with each step.

In my mind's eye I can feel the jaws of a great whale, a sperm whale perhaps, emerging from the depths and sinking into my delicate flesh. Big white teeth from the abyssal plains of the ocean.

God forgive me, if he feels it right to do so.

The Truth.

They are no good people, only different types of bad people. A great rolling sea of evil, shallow in some places, yes, but so, so deep in others.

All actions made by man are either self serving or made because of empathy, that is, imagining one's self in the situation of the other, effectively a selfish action anyway.

Eternal dignity does not exist. Sooner or later bodies break down and die for whatever reason. And no matter what, it is ugly and disgusting.

But on the plus side.

....

I've got nothing. Have fun.

Stop Calling Me.

Joel...

Is someone calling me?

Joel...

Who is calling, that I can't see?

Joel...

My mistake, no one is there.

Joel...

A voice lingering in the air.

Joel...

What is it that says my name?

Joel...

Surely nothing, but all the same,

Joel...

What is it!? Where are you!?

Joel...

Answer me, who are you, who?!

Joel...

SHOW YOURSELF!

Joel...

Someone... help.

Joel...

And as I rest my aching head,

And fervently wish the hurt were dead,

The word echoes long and cold,

The call down deep into my soul,

Joel...

Joel...

Joel...

WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

Find someone else to haunt.

Not I.

I'm not afraid of what people will think, or standing up in front of people. I'm not afraid of people's acceptance, because I demand attention and receive it. I'm not afraid of having no money. I know that as long as I have a decent brain, white skin and an Australian passport I won't starve.

No, it seems that while I am unusually free from the majority of the fears that plague most, I am yet still adorned with fears of a different kind. Internal difficulties and nightly terrors are the things I am afraid of. Things that can't be seen or felt by other people and all the more frightening for that.

My problems and fears are no greater or worse than anyones. They are just different.

Homo Sapiens, more like Homo Puerilis.

The devil is in all of us.

Zooben Cool and Other Words

Ye gods I hate myself. So I'm just going to say zooben cool all the time. I made the word Zooben. Its a great word. And it means nothing. That's what is so great about it. Not everything has to mean stuff. Sometimes it can just be nonsense.

Because as soon as words have meaning, people decide that the agree with them, or they don't, and words that are just words become powerful, and cruel and make people cry.

Zooben doesn't do any of those things. At most, it makes people smile.

Joel, You Handsome Man.

If you haven't seen me for a while or you are just a random for the internet, this is what I look like.

But don't stop imagining me the way you always have!

Also, its raining. Rain is loverly.

Her Lord Smackieness

I'm pretty sure my face is smoothed down enough there Jackie.

Extraneous Stupid Wonderment.

Crafted, it seems, for the problems it possesses.

What is the point of such a thing?

To build such a device is beyond all reasonable sense.

Why would a thing have deliberately placed operational problems that it is totally capable of dealing with?

The bizarre mechanics of this thing are both a waste and a wonder.

Shame.

Who's ever heard of an evil painter? What would one even do? Paint mean things? Its stupid.

It seems I'm just not cut out for badassery.

But No-One Would Believe Me.

To build and change, would it not be better to maintain and preserve?

To make anew, or to work with other creation?

I feel small.

Dancer girl, hold me.

Actor boy, love me.

Painter girl, kiss me.

Writer girl, know me.

You aren't a painter. You can only paint hate.

Icarus fly, fly away.

I'm not God tiny creature.

I'm sure I'm insane.

Recreational Thinking Tips.

To begin thinking all you require is some kind of medium for your brain to think through. For example, words or images. These are the starting tools that one uses. But as one Diggs deeper and deeper and gets through the original crust of thought and traditional ideas and questions are considered, one encounters what we would call 'paradoxes' and better tools are required.

THE PARADOX:

This statement is false.

The above statement is a fine example, though not a particularly invasive paradox.

Explained: If the sentence is true, it is false because that is what it says. But then, because it is false, it is then true and the pattern repeats. Thus the sentence is what we would call paradoxical.

Some people when encountering a paradox for the first time may feel confused, unhappy or even ill. This is due to to 'Cognitive Dissonance' a feeling had, that is unpleasant, when two contradictory facts are held simultaneously.

This can be enough to turn some off thinking as a hobby (Adversely, this can be the catalyst that encourages others to think even more) . This unpleasant sensation can however be easily removed with a the help of one or two things.

1) Creative thought handling. Unfortunately unteachable, this method involves taking detours and thinking in curves rather than straight lines. It is difficult to explain, but involves instead of bending the subject around your thoughts, bending your thoughts around the subject.

2) Desensitize one's self to cognitive dissonance. After continued exposure to this unpleasant sensation you will eventually no longer feel bad and it shall simply be normal to you.

There are further deeper layers far below simple paradoxes and personal tools will be required to be created to deal with such things, however the results are rewarding. Naturally thoughts do change attitudes and feelings. Maintain your emotional anchors or you may be swept into unpleasant personality changes.

Mortal People.

Imagine it,

Old and weak and wise,

The fire of youth burned away,

A lifetime of experiences of new things,

Of love and loss and creation.

Of obsessions and desperate acts,

All blow away as if they don't matter.

because, really,

They don't.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind.

We are the other people,

Invisible to the day,

We are the other people,

Trickling away.

You think not of us,

Though we live beneath your feet.

Out of sight,

Out of mind.

Out of life,

Out of time.

The creepers and snatchers,

The diggers and watchers,

The lost folk,

The desperate folk,

The cunning despicable ones.

Not a single curious face,

Peers down from the heavens.

Not one eye breaks through the clouds,

To see the world below.

Think not of us as evil.

Only as the different ones.

The skulking ones,

That you may not know of,

And if you did,

Made to forget us,

For the sight of us would send you mad.

"I just can't live without it, I don't want to think about it." Alice Cooper

Highschool.

These are the best years of our lives. And they SUCK!

For you. lol.