What’s with the smiley face at the top of Minesweeper? What is it with that guy? What’s he smirking at? Does he know I’m going to get that 1/10 chance of exploding on the first shot? Is he mocking me? Why is he so happy? Is it smugness or ignorance? Why won’t he leave me alone? Why won’t he DIE?! D:


He ran his fingers over the beautifully lacquered wood, caressing its inviting contour, brushing its gleaming surface lovingly. He eased up the lid, and with a flick of his wrist, removed the scarlet covering from the ivory keys. The cloth rippled through the air in slow motion, like a dragon, a kite, before fluttering to the floor; a ghost crumpling in the air. He lowered himself onto the piano stool reverently and calmly drew a razorblade from his breast pocket. Slashing first his left arm, then his right, he set the razor on the music stand and began to play.

It started slowly, his right hand teasing a melody out of the keys. It began to take shape, its contour ebbing and flowing smoothly, the crisp notes giving it life. His left hand joined, playing simple notes at first. The notes invited harmony, and one by one, chords began to form.

Blood trickled from his wrists, staining the white keys with his life force as great arpeggios rolled up the piano. His heart rate accelerated as the melody became intrinsically more complex and frenetic, like a spider’s last moments. His breath came in shorter gasps as his hands began to weaken, his wrists weeping crimson tears. Urgently now the music ploughed on, rising, faster, louder! It crescendos and peaks! For a moment it lingers on the edge of a precipice- and then! A great chord is struck by Olympian hammers as he collapses on the keyboard, his eyelids lacking the strength to open.

The blood drained into the space between the keys, a bloody mess that almost quenched the gigantic instrument. The seconds ticked by and the notes began to fade from sound, their glory dissipating into the air with its player, never to be heard again.


I went to church on Sunday, for the first time in about half a year. It seemed like a lot less, but I don’t remember the last time I went, and I don’t think I was very devout since I started Taekwondo. I guess I stopped going some time around Christmas. Anyway, this was the first time I didn’t have homework or any legit excuse so I thought maybe I’d go back and see if I could have my faith rekindled. I got one sentence out of the whole sermon that I’ll take with me. And you know? It was kinda worth going, just for that.
"No good can ever come to a person by rejecting them." Thus, assholedom is merely the instigator in a spiral of perpetual rejection. No, people are healed by loving, forgiving and accepting them.

After the mass, Dad was packing up his guitar for half an hour. Seriously, that’s pretty much what he did, for 30 minutes straight. I had a chat with Father Steve that went something like this.
Me: God planned everything, no?
Fr. Steve: Yes.
Me: Does that include the fall of Lucifer?
Steve was quick to correct himself.
Fr. Steve: God knows everything.

The conversation rambled on about choice for a bit- how God doesn’t intervene.
Me: Why didn’t God create humans to be perfect? (God was such a great architect, why would he design us with flaws?)
Fr. Steve: Because then we wouldn’t have a purpose. (We’d just be puppets.)
Me: So why did God create humans?
Fr. Steve: To love and worship him.
Me: Sounds to me like God got a little bit lonely and created people to love him.
Fr. Steve: God wasn’t lonely (Me: Of course not.). [Bit of a ramble…] Angels and humans were given choice.

Father Steve, like Mr Martinskis (last year’s religious education teacher), believes hell is the absence of God, for all eternity. The body withers, the soul lives. If our soul i s disconnected from all goodness, what kind of torture does eternity appear to be? Fair dinkum, sounds about right. Also, he personally doesn’t believe the devil exists. Lucifer, being one of God’s top dogs, would have known he wouldn’t stand a chance against the Big Man. Why would he try? (I thought back to Murder Mysteries- maybe Lucifer had to try, for justice’s sake.) Thus, "Satan" does not exist. Evil might exist (seeing as possession can generally be explained scientifically) but certainly not in the form of a red man with a pitchfork. Overall, the conversation wasn’t very reassuring. For example, now that God isn’t intervening (as we run ourselves to destruction- will he only step in at the last moment to send half of us to hell and bring half of us into his Kingdom?), what are miracles?

I haven’t stopped caring about the poor and hungry and suffering, but I can no longer pray for them. I cannot pray to a God who will not help or intervene in any way. I cannot devote myself to a God who will wait for people to die so he can tell them that he has always loved them, especially since they suffered piously.

Stevie also said the questions I were asking had very theological answers, and I’m almost ashamed to say I don’t know (nor care) what that means. What it meant was (and he said this) that there was no complete answer- everything he said would have holes in it. I guess religion is largely about taking a stab at what you think is right, then believing in it and hoping that when you die you get your reward.

Annoyingly, on the way home, Dad tried to give me the same talk, but he’s old and bigoted. He’s old, which means he clings to religion because it’s all he has left (call me a bastard if you must. I probably deserve it) and he preaches about it to everyone to gain God’s favour and spread his enlightenment. It infuriates me- he tells people what to believe, and that really bothers me. Overall, my opinion of Christianity is continuing to decline. I don’t think I’ll go back to church, but I’m not going to abandon religion entirely and become a derelict heathen, but I can’t continue to pray just yet. And also there’s the understanding of Jesus Christ- who was he really, and what was his message? He was important- a lot of people seem to think so. On that note, why is Jesus more famous than other prophets who also claim to be divine? Anyway,  once you ignore the bible’s bias (especially in the selection of the gospels) who was the real JC? Blake had some interesting ideas, I must develop my own.


The longer I think about it, the more I believe I’ve been well and truly (and forgive the term) mindfucked. No, it’s not a very pretty word, but it’s the only one that comes up when searching my databases for a way to describe this sensation.Murder Mysteries. I picked it up in the library today because I saw the words Neil Gaiman- the author Thanners recommended to me many months ago. Turned out to be a graphic novel of epic proportions- I’ve never really been a fan of GN’s. After reading the first few pages I decided to flick through it for words or pictures that could pique my interest. I found one.

Angels. Celestial beings of the holy order, the henchmen (if you will) of God. I didn’t used to think that- heavens, no- but now I have to wonder; it’s certainly one way of seeing them. Once I thought they were the embodiment of goodness and love- those who perform the will of God on earth. After reading Murder Mysteries, the Raguel (the Angel of Vengeance) raised a valid point. Why would God create the darkness, the voices in the dark, hatred, evil and death? God’s Kingdom in heaven is a glorious place (or so we must believe) without pain, unhappiness or malevolence. Why would Earth be different? Don’t tell me God (who plans everything before it comes into existence) wanted Eve to bite the apple and introduce sin into the world? When God made the animals, why did he put a snake in the Garden of Eden? Why would God want us to both fear and love Him? Maybe Lucifer had a point- maybe God’s injustice was worth challenging. I mean, all the church wants is that we devote our lives to worshiping the one true God without question or doubt.

Who is God, and what is His will? What is the function of the universe (assuming He created it, apparently for a purpose)? Why should we trust someone who never explains his actions (he didn’t even tell Lucifer, Captain of the Host, that the army He was building was for an insurrection)? Why must we have faith in something we will never understand? The followers of God can only hope that He knows better than they do. It’s an awful big gamble for someone who introduced evil into the world.

The Training Room

I’m going to sound like the biggest idiot, but I just have to tell someone and my blog is as good as any a means of communication.

I have been training as intensely as Vegeta in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, or more specifically, the Capsule Corps. Training Room. True, I can’t change the intensity of gravity in a limited space, but I can change the handicaps of my foes. No, I don’t have flying orbs to shock me with electricity, but I do have a number of opponents to face. No, I don’t have chi blasts, but I do have Falco’s blaster.

I tell you truly: It’s something awesome to pit yourself against any number of foes under whatever circumstances you choose. You can simulate being ganged up on, you can train close combat, you can practice integrating throws and distance attacks, and you can create an advantage with random items. You can set the boundaries of an arena, select the likely choices of the people you will engage in, and you can always push yourself to reach a victory just out of grasp.

I am Vegeta, and I will not fail. BRING IT ON!


This is just a rant. There is nothing outstandingly intelligent about this entry. I don’t care what you think, I’m writing it.

I find it hard not to hate my brother. Or do I confuse wrath for hate? Certainly he infuriates to the point of violence. If only he weren’t superior to me in every way imaginable I’m sure I’d openly retaliate. Nevertheless, before I went to bed last night, I told him to please keep it down. If I woke up during the night, I’d be screwed for today’s exam. He ignored me for about 10 seconds before looking up, nodding eagerly, and telling me to shut his door. I did, begrudgingly, and hoped he would keep to his word. I prayed for a good night’s sleep. No such luck.

I don’t know how many times I woke up, but it was more than four. Every single time, I woke up to the sounds of my brother’s open door- he can’t be bothered closing it after he leaves and re-enters his room for food. That really annoys me. He can’t close a door- what’s wrong with him? He spent all night (literally) on TeamSpeak, talking, yelling and laughing with his clanmates about God knows what. I specifically told the bastard to keep it down and he leaves his door open. His excuse? (and yes, this is a very blatant example of attempted reader position- you’re supposed to feel sorry for me. I despise myself for being so crude) Dad told him to keep his door open so the heat from the heater could get in more easily. Firstly, like hell Dad would wake up to tell him that. Secondly, why would he consider that one or two degrees difference of heat more important than my Literature Exam?

What’s more is that because he’s still awake, I can’t study. Yeah, great way to spend a 5am before an exam, sitting on your computer bitching about your brother. So I’m going to do the previously inconceivable and set up camp in the living room instead, out in the open and on the way to the kitchen, but for the moment away from my brother. I seriously wish he moved out. Go on, piss off, I don’t want you here. There I said it, but that’s not going to change an awful lot, is it? Rather selfish of me- and knowing Eugene, if he ever read this, he’d stay in the house a few more years (as much as he hates it) just to spite me. He’s the sort of person who slows down when they’re being tailgated. Anyway, better get studying. Need to let go of my emotion to make way for peace.

The Five Levels of Interaction

Do I really have time to be writing this? I’d like to think, No, not really. So why am I doing so? Because I can. That makes me smile. I often treasure acts of senseless stupidity, generally depending on the gravity of the consequence.

Anyway, briefly (because I don’t have time to be all philosophical or even remotely intelligent), Wildflame enlightened me further. There are not two states (asshole, nice guy) or responding to others. There are, apparently, five.
Soft empath, cares about everyone, makes others’ problems his own and intends to change the world for people. Has trouble enforcing any kind of boundaries, and is generally a pushover.
Hard empath, who cares, but will enforce boundaries. Exempli gratia, "I care about you and your problems, but if you’ve slept with three guys in the past month, I’m not going to compliment your stupidity by wasting my time on it."
Soft apathetic… Well I think the gist of it is that a soft apathetic is a fallacy, masking insecurities with insults, witty repartee and general snappiness.
Hard apathetic, or arsehole if you prefer. Is a jerk to everyone and lets them know it so they’re not surprised when it hits them. Has trouble developing intimate relationships and tends to be a sheep, following the pack leader.

The fifth is neutral, and focuses on adaptability. He can be a soft empath when his girlfriend is crying in his arms and a hard apathetic when someone insults her. Ideally, neutrality is probably the most useful (because as we learned in economics, adaptability increases efficiency, id est you click with more people) but the problem is that Neutrals tend to get bored with anyone who isn’t a fellow neutral. Or so Wildflame tells me.

While that’s all fine and dandy, I’m still stuck somewhere in between assholedom and the desire to be a "soft empath". Identity crisis, anyone? I seem to change daily. Talking to different people will either anger or please me. Looks like I can’t just fit into one category snugly, but neither can I adapt to a situation as opposed to a person. What I mean is that I’m either a jerk to someone, or a nice guy. This will not change, no matter what the circumstance. I hope this phase passes soon, because as a friend of mine astutely pointed out, when I’m tired of pushing everyone away, there’ll be no one left to take me back.

Night peeps!


It’s not over yet.

I’ve done an arguably unhealthy amount of thinking this morning, and it seems that my brief stint of generosity was essentially superficial. At heart, I’m still an asshole. Let me try and explain this.

When I talked to Annaliese (is that how you spell her name?), the school counsellor for putting "moribund" as my reason for being late to school, I asked her a question. Which is more important: Duty or personal happiness? Her answer was the wisest I’d heard and brought a smile to my face. She told me she thought that you needed personal happiness to keep you going, and without it, you could not fulfill your duties.

Nice guys always come last. It’s a general, but not necessarily universal truth. However, for the most part, Azrael’s right. All you get from being a nice guy is the satisfaction of helping people. Once that was enough to keep me going, but recently, and even now, I can say that I’m tired of it. Being a jerk to everyone gave me such enormous levels of gratification. I didn’t have to put up with people I didn’t want to talk to, I didn’t waste money on phone calls and SMS’s, I could basically ignore anything I didn’t want to do, drawing as much satisfaction from my life as possible. I admit it is not a complete life, and it’s nowhere near being fully human, but it feels so damn good to be a complete asswipe to everybody.

Azrael’s logic, which I don’t entirely agree with, is that assholes can at least get something out of life. A nice guy is generally screwed over in the grand scheme of things, doomed to an existence of having girls complain about their love lives to him when he’s an available boyfriend option. That’s the Friend Zone™ for you, right there. Assholes on the other hand generally score a lot more and don’t end up in the Friend Zone™ as often.
I’m not particularly interested in scoring right now, but my logic is that if my duty is to be a nice person, then I need to be a dick to everyone to keep me going. Paradoxical, isn’t it? I don’t know, assholedom probably isn’t the way to be happy, but it’s a whole lot better than being a nice guy. Now I am faced with the conscious and moral decision: Do I put myself in front of others? I dearly long to say no.