I have liberty, fie on, Death!

It is good to be alive. I’ve been enjoying most every breath I’ve taken since yesterday afternoon. I cannot recall a single negative thought or moment. Oh yes, life is good. I’m on one continuous roller coast ride that goes up and up and up to the stars. No, not a roller coaster, a swan. Yes, I’m riding on the back of a beautiful silver swan, who’s taking me to the moon, or the skies and showing me the world again.

True, I may not have reclaimed my self identity like Wildflame, but I am most happy to live. My dreams linger, my memories are seen before my eyes. My grace is blessed by Grace herself, my hand, my heart is free for all. My friends, I tell you truly. Life is good.

[Note: I am suspicious of my gaiety. Shouldn’t I be at least the slightest bit worried about my essay and human biology today? Nah, life is too good to be lived worryingly.]

PS: Watch V for Vendetta. Make it a priority. To those of you who have ever met, heard, or argued with Mr Mueller… God, I’d give my sword to see him argue with V. The language would melt everything in a ten light year vacinity.

Consternation, Be Thine Dust


I think so much I never do. I spend so much of my time
wondering and thinking and writing down my thoughts so I don’t forget them. It’s
paralyzing me.

I had a good long talk with Ala about why Mum is so protective. Why she nags and tends to be a social killjoy and the likes. Why she presses Eugene and why she pushes me. It’s
because any mother can see her child’s potential, and if they are not reaching
that potential, they are wasting their life. What parent would want to see
their son or daughter waste away when they could be on top of the pyramid?

If I was a father and my son wasn’t working, I would find
out why and I would try to change his mind. I would find the spark to make him
realise what I realise now- that it’s important to get somewhere. I need to get
somewhere. Where isn’t important right now, but I shouldn’t let indecision stop
me from doing well at school. I can’t just say “I won’t need chemistry so it doesn’t
matter if I don’t do well in it.” I should achieve my potential in everything I
do- that’s what it means to live life to the fullest. I can stop philosophizing
about the simple life being the best- the man enjoying the sunshine may be
happy, but he’s certainly not going anywhere or living life to the fullest. I
have to work hard, both to please my parents, and to earn my life. I can’t rationalize
being slack, lazy or justify my procrastination.

With this realisation, I leave you. I have things to study,
work to do, stories to write, places to be, life to live. I think it’s about
time I got started.



PS: Liam, you belong to the same class of intelligentsia as
Lex Luthor from Superman. Your potential was enormous from youth and the sky’s
the limit for you. No, not even. The furthest reaches of space are in your
grasp. Solomon, Derrick, although I don’t know you well, I think that goes for
you too. Ivy, you’re ahead of the pack. Anyone else I missed, don’t take it to
heart. You know your own potential- it’s a notch higher than you’re currently

Fire and Brimstone

Forget homework. I just saved the house from being burnt
down. Eugene’s
had a pretty bad day (definitely sounds like me, taken up a notch) and he put
on two-minute noodles in a saucepan, before retreating to his room to play

I sat in my room for a while, and just as I was going to
bed, I could smell burnt toast. I shrugged it off as paranoia, but it got
stronger over a few minutes. I hoped it wasn’t demonic and figured it wouldn’t hurt to check before going to bed. Nothing out the window, didn’t smell like it was coming from outside. But hang on, that would mean… So yeah, now it’s
actually hard to see through the smoke haze. Glass doors (but not mesh doors) are open, so anyone can just stroll right on in tonight and things are gradually clearing up, but as soon as Dad gets home things will get ugly.

I summon Eugene who takes a look at the loungeroom and walks out again, saying,
"I’m not dealing with this."
We all have our bad days, and I can respect that. For some reason I felt it was my job to clean it up. Don’t know why, but I guess it was my problem too seeing at it affected everyone in the vacinity. Yarr.
I don’t know why the fire alarm
didn’t go off, or why I’m the only one that noticed, but yeah go me. My family
owes me a house.

Learning Performance

Okay. Classic stress scenario. I’m supposed to know how to deal with these- Dr Happs trained me for this.

Scenario: I’m a high school student, Year 11, night before a big test. One big test and one regular test, actually. I have to study diligently for both, but this denies me the time to write a 2000 word essay that’s also due. Five chemistry assignments are overdue, and I have 14 hours til school, at least 5 of which should be spent sleeping.

Problem: Studying for the tests will take up the same time it would to write the essay, even one of poor quality. In fact, that’s all I have time for. Some half arsed piece of crap on paper.
Problem: I may need Eugene to study for Chem because I don’t learn anything from Shackleton.

Option A: Seppuku.
Option B: Organise myself, and my time, so that I can work most productively and get as much study in as possible. The focus of the night is economics, worth more than Chemistry and English put together. No use worrying about any of the six assignments- they take time and aren’t worth as much. Although I’ll lose progressive marks… No, nevermind, too late for that. I must away.

Serious question, before I go.

What makes us happy? Think about it and let me know.

Gotta Catch ’em All

Good morning.

Please look at the time of this entry.

I have serious concerns about my brother. Who the hell sings Pokémon at the top of his lungs at 5am without closing his door? I wondered, at first, why he was doing it. He cycled through some South Park songs and a bunch of random things, singing along to all of them for no discernable reason. I called out for him to shut his door a few times but he was ignorant to my pleas until I got up myself and closed it for him.
"Shit! It’s daytime!" he said to his computer.
"Yeah, Lordy’s been on for seven hours," someone said back.

Mr Allanson mentioned someone who stayed up all night playing video games and then slept to 2pm. That kid had no sort of discipline or lifestyle and, well, was a complete and total social reject. I don’t want my brother to end up like that, but every night he stays up until 3am playing RuneScape and he doesn’t go to uni in the morning. He downloads the lectures and watches them- occassionally. I don’t know how he’s passing at all, but he’s managing it. And he manages his job at Coles, too.

But seriously, who the hell sings Pokémon at 5am? Why is he being such a poser and going out of his way to make himself weird for his computer? Hm… Sounds like me taken up a notch. That had better not be my future. Anyway, the sun is shining (welcome to Summerlands) so I’m just going to go finish waking up and do some homework or summat. Eugene, you scare me buddy.


The Final Pongflict

You want to know the greatest quote ever? It was in the glossary section of Bumageddon: The Final Pongflict- third book of the Day My Bum Went Psycho trilogy, and one of my favourite books for the last few chapters alone- by Andy Griffiths. My friend, few mortal men could hope to be greater legends than he. Anyway, the very first word in the glossary is one of the greatest things I have ever read.

Accident: Another word for fate.

Czerny- I like that word.

Hey, just thought I’d let you know that it wasn’t such a bad night afterall. In fact it was almost enjoyable. Time flew. Nobody really noticed me in the corner- too busy chatting and oohing and aahing so it worked out all right. I was actually a little late because I stayed back to play for a few minutes longer than I should have.

For the first time in my life, Speech Night has gone smoothly. I have been everywhere I have supposed to have been. I have done everything I was supposed to have. And what’s cooler is that nobody told me how to do it, I just walked around freely, going here and coming from there. I improvised and joined in a Year 11 line (that I was too short for, but it worked), I made my way to the green room, I made rehearsal and performance on time (unlike Year 8, where I sat in the rafters and watched the chorale sing without me) and I made my way back onto the higher balconies to watch the rest of the night! It was really actually quite fun.

So yeah. Good yesterday. I’ve still got a whole heap of stuff to do today though, so I’m going to get off and do it. Peace!


You will die in 47 minutes…

So Doc’s like, Yo Johnny, you wanna play at the art
exhibition tonight? And I’m like, Hell no sir, but you da man. And he’s like,
Yeah I reckon. Don’t worry Johnny, we’ll find you a nice, piano-sized coffin to
dump you in.

For those of you who don’t know me, I don’t get stressed. I
get hysterical. Now is one of those moments where I might say things I’ll later

It would be so, so easy to just break down and cry. Yeah, I
could do it, but that wouldn’t serve anyone, least of all me. I have the
following 1h 51m and 31s to learn 45 minutes worth of songs so everyone can
browse the artwork and ooh and aah. Okay, well in hindsight that’s not so
terrible, is it? Might even be enjoyable. That’s the spirit Johnno- the
chocolate’s kicking in. Maybe if I eat enough I’ll explode and die. Or just
throw up.

Why didn’t I die this morning when it felt like my heart had
teamed up with my appendix to gangbash me? Sure it would have sucked, but at
least I wouldn’t be… No, focus, snap yourself out of it boyo. There are worse
things in life. But this is pretty dodgy, let me tell you. What’s worse is Eugene’s still in bed,
and if he gets up before he wants to, shit hits the fan and everyone gets a
faceful. Especially me. So I’ll just chillax and pull myself together before I
start practicing. Ah well. It had to happen sooner or later, I guess. I’ll be


Completely new topic, just before I forget. I’ve been
getting strange calls from a human female who identified herself as “giggle
girl”, or more formerly, “Triton”. She knows my full name (even my dreaded
middle name) and has denied several guesses about her identity. My list of
possibilities is growing thin. This is what I know about her.

Triton was the Greek god of the sea, or something or rather.
Who do I know would be in to Greek mythology? A few names come to mind.
She knows me. I’ve met her. I cannot place her voice.
Her school has two names. “The Prison” and the other is “a
secret” – just like her name.
When she calls, there are giggles in the background. Upon my
request, I spoke to another girl who humoured me for a moment.
She says “Goodbye. 4, 3, 2, 1,” and then hangs up. She does
this at random intervals.

Triton, if you’re reading, do consider letting me know who
you are some day.

Unlikely to be related, one girl did call me once and ask if
Mr Wall was there. I apologised and said she was likely to have the wrong
number. She persisted, and I said Mr Wall was currently unavailable for talk,
because I was staring at him and he seemed mighty grumpy. She asked for Mrs
Wall, Susie wall and Peter Wall. None of them were available, unfortunately. “So
who’s holding your roof up?” *beep beep beep*


Anyway, 3:05, roughly one and a half hours later. Eugene got up and helped
me select my repertoire, which should last a grand total of 20 minutes. Some of
it’s really dodgy and I should be practicing right now, but Eugene is helping Perry with his TEE
composition and he needs both the piano and phone. I’m running out of time
(leaving in 22 minutes or so). It’s going to be a long night, but not a bad
one, I don’t think. I don’t know, we’ll find out when we get there.

Peace out, brothers, sisters and distant cousins of my aunt’s
wife, twice divorced bastard children.



There is little I appreciate more than the ability to breathe. Needless to say, if that gift was taken away from me, not only would I die, I would be very upset about it, too.

It’s good to breathe. I’d panic if my lungs weren’t strong enough to do it for me. God rest the victims of CF. May they find a cure, while I continue to suck in breaths of oxygen and nitrogen, simply to enjoy breathing.

PS: The pied piper of Hamelin was actually a bad guy. Once he got rid of the rats, the townsfolk didn’t pay him, so he stole all their children with his magical piping. The endings vary, but the bottom line is that he sealed them all in a cave. Whether or not they were returned once he was paid his 999 999 shillings is debatable.