понедельник, августа 13, 2007
пятница, августа 10, 2007
среда, июля 25, 2007
The Imp of the Perverse vs. the French
I asked the Frogs who run the ground floor cafe what kind of muffins they had.
'Zey are choc-berry,' one of em said, and I gave the nod for him to put one in a paper bag for me.
The other one scarfed a mouthful while cookin up me coffee, and said: 'Zey are not choc-berry. Zere iz no berry. Zey are zhust choc.'
'Just CHOC!' I roared. 'No berry! What a FUCKING GYP!'
And they both stopped what they were doing and stood there staring at me.
'Half price! Half price!' I bellowed, and whirled around and pointed at the poor old mum waiting behind me. 'You heard em! They said choc-berry, and now there's no BERRY! I'm not paying for berry when there ain't none! Half price!'
The coffee-cooker kept staring at me blankly, but the muffin-readier snatched up a muffin from the bottom of the pile.
'ZIS one has a berry!' he announced triumphantly, so I was obliged to give it close inspection.
There was indeed a berry perched on top.
'So it does,' I admitted. 'I'll take it. Half price?'
'Non,' he replied.
'Zey are choc-berry,' one of em said, and I gave the nod for him to put one in a paper bag for me.
The other one scarfed a mouthful while cookin up me coffee, and said: 'Zey are not choc-berry. Zere iz no berry. Zey are zhust choc.'
'Just CHOC!' I roared. 'No berry! What a FUCKING GYP!'
And they both stopped what they were doing and stood there staring at me.
'Half price! Half price!' I bellowed, and whirled around and pointed at the poor old mum waiting behind me. 'You heard em! They said choc-berry, and now there's no BERRY! I'm not paying for berry when there ain't none! Half price!'
The coffee-cooker kept staring at me blankly, but the muffin-readier snatched up a muffin from the bottom of the pile.
'ZIS one has a berry!' he announced triumphantly, so I was obliged to give it close inspection.
There was indeed a berry perched on top.
'So it does,' I admitted. 'I'll take it. Half price?'
'Non,' he replied.
The Bushman's Farewell to Queensland (anon)
Queensland thou art a land of pest!
From flies and fleas one never rests
Even now mosquitoes round me revel
In fact, they are the very devil
Sandflies and hornets just as bad,
They nearly drive a fellow mad
The scorpion and the centipede
With stinging ants of every breed
Fever and ague with the shakes
Triantelope and poisonous snakes
Goannas, lizards and cockatoos
Bushrangers, lags and jackaroos
Bandicoots and swarms of rats
Bull dog ants and swarms of cats
Stunted timber, thirsty plains
Parched up deserts, scanty rains
There's rivers here you sail ships on
There's nigger women without skirts on
There's humpies, huts and wooden houses
There's nigger men who don't wear trousers
There's Barcoo rot and sandy blight
There's dingoes howling half the night
There's curlews' wails and croaking frogs
There's savage blacks and native dogs
There's centralists, flowers and stinging trees
There's poisoned grass and Darling peas
Which drive the horses and cattle mad
And make the sheep just as bad
And then it never rains in reason
There's droughts one year and floods next season
Which wash the squatter's sheep away
And then there is the devil to pay
To stay in Queensland, Oh land of mutton
I would not give a single button
But bid thee now a long farewell
Thou scorching land of sunburnt hell!
From flies and fleas one never rests
Even now mosquitoes round me revel
In fact, they are the very devil
Sandflies and hornets just as bad,
They nearly drive a fellow mad
The scorpion and the centipede
With stinging ants of every breed
Fever and ague with the shakes
Triantelope and poisonous snakes
Goannas, lizards and cockatoos
Bushrangers, lags and jackaroos
Bandicoots and swarms of rats
Bull dog ants and swarms of cats
Stunted timber, thirsty plains
Parched up deserts, scanty rains
There's rivers here you sail ships on
There's nigger women without skirts on
There's humpies, huts and wooden houses
There's nigger men who don't wear trousers
There's Barcoo rot and sandy blight
There's dingoes howling half the night
There's curlews' wails and croaking frogs
There's savage blacks and native dogs
There's centralists, flowers and stinging trees
There's poisoned grass and Darling peas
Which drive the horses and cattle mad
And make the sheep just as bad
And then it never rains in reason
There's droughts one year and floods next season
Which wash the squatter's sheep away
And then there is the devil to pay
To stay in Queensland, Oh land of mutton
I would not give a single button
But bid thee now a long farewell
Thou scorching land of sunburnt hell!
понедельник, июля 16, 2007
real advice for an interview
i think buddy just forgot a bit about to behave for real, so i guess i feel a need to remind him for his own sake:
1) be polite and respectful, as all persons are deserving of respect
2) try to the best of your abilities to answer any questions put to you with due respect and politness
3) be polite should your thoat dry up and out
4) should the interview ask you the same question more than once, tactfully tell them so, taking into account that they might be embarrassed, a feeling no one enjoys
5) remember, you need this job, not them, and if you dont need this job what are you doing there - wasting their time, which is not polite nor respectful
6) enjoy yourself, get to know your interviewer, you never know, maybe you can learn something from them, or teach them something, thus leading to your mutual benefit
1) be polite and respectful, as all persons are deserving of respect
2) try to the best of your abilities to answer any questions put to you with due respect and politness
3) be polite should your thoat dry up and out
4) should the interview ask you the same question more than once, tactfully tell them so, taking into account that they might be embarrassed, a feeling no one enjoys
5) remember, you need this job, not them, and if you dont need this job what are you doing there - wasting their time, which is not polite nor respectful
6) enjoy yourself, get to know your interviewer, you never know, maybe you can learn something from them, or teach them something, thus leading to your mutual benefit
среда, июля 11, 2007
среда, июля 04, 2007
How to fuck up a job interview
1. Before the interview has commenced, insist that while the chairs provided might be suitable for the interviewers, you yourself need something 'high, plush, and resembling a throne'.
2. Stand by with a vaguely bored expression on your face while the Head of the Publications Div. drags in a throne-like chair from another room down the hall.
3. Tell the Head of the HR Dept. not to 'be stingy with the water', and indeed to 'keep it coming' because you've 'got your parch on'.
4. Inform the interviewers that for simplicity's sake, it would be best if everybody referred to the ostensible recipient of the role as 'Seth'.
5. When asked for the second time to explain your capabilities with Excel, raise your eyebrows and ask the Head of the Publications Div. whether she would like the same comprehensive answer you gave last time, or an entirely new comprehensive answer.
6. Laugh when she is embarrassed at having asked the same question twice.
7. Berate the Head of the HR Dept. for not keeping up with the Shit Cricket Against Nuffies website and for not following the fortunes of Shit Cricket Against Nuffies during the regular season.
8. Get caught with your feet up on the table reading 'Rumpole of the Bailey' after you've been left alone for 10 minutes to complete a proof-reading test.
9. Inform the interviewers that proof-reading tests are 'sh*t boring' and that you don't like 'childish tasks' and far prefer to 'get down with Rumpole'.
10. Inform the Head of the Publications Div. that she 'hasn't the faintest clue' about where you 'are coming from, man', and that it might help if she'd 'learn to listen for longer than 2 seconds'.
11. Inform the Head of the Publications Div. that if she wishes to 'continue asking leading questions', she will end up with a conception of yourself 'more obscured' than her 'own face is by the layers of make-up' she has 'slapped on'.
12. Ask for a payrise before you even receive the position.
13. When accused of arrogance and presumptuousness for asking for a payrise, inform the Head of the Publications Div. that it is in no way arrogant or presumptuous to ask for a payrise when you're 'as fucking good at the job' as you will be.
2. Stand by with a vaguely bored expression on your face while the Head of the Publications Div. drags in a throne-like chair from another room down the hall.
3. Tell the Head of the HR Dept. not to 'be stingy with the water', and indeed to 'keep it coming' because you've 'got your parch on'.
4. Inform the interviewers that for simplicity's sake, it would be best if everybody referred to the ostensible recipient of the role as 'Seth'.
5. When asked for the second time to explain your capabilities with Excel, raise your eyebrows and ask the Head of the Publications Div. whether she would like the same comprehensive answer you gave last time, or an entirely new comprehensive answer.
6. Laugh when she is embarrassed at having asked the same question twice.
7. Berate the Head of the HR Dept. for not keeping up with the Shit Cricket Against Nuffies website and for not following the fortunes of Shit Cricket Against Nuffies during the regular season.
8. Get caught with your feet up on the table reading 'Rumpole of the Bailey' after you've been left alone for 10 minutes to complete a proof-reading test.
9. Inform the interviewers that proof-reading tests are 'sh*t boring' and that you don't like 'childish tasks' and far prefer to 'get down with Rumpole'.
10. Inform the Head of the Publications Div. that she 'hasn't the faintest clue' about where you 'are coming from, man', and that it might help if she'd 'learn to listen for longer than 2 seconds'.
11. Inform the Head of the Publications Div. that if she wishes to 'continue asking leading questions', she will end up with a conception of yourself 'more obscured' than her 'own face is by the layers of make-up' she has 'slapped on'.
12. Ask for a payrise before you even receive the position.
13. When accused of arrogance and presumptuousness for asking for a payrise, inform the Head of the Publications Div. that it is in no way arrogant or presumptuous to ask for a payrise when you're 'as fucking good at the job' as you will be.
понедельник, июля 02, 2007
Mariette and Erna
I sat watching translucent pink liquid seep into the cracks between cobblestones. The half brick lay several metres away, but I couldn't see Mariette. I rubbed a hand over my head. I felt like death.
Earlier, we had struggled briefly in the alleyway, I pushing her slowly into a gaggle of bins, she rolling over the top of them, the rubbish spilling across the cobblestones, a fishy stink. Mariette picked up the half brick as she stood up, and I advanced.
She said: 'Not anymore'.
Earlier, she had accosted me as I came out of work, on the way home. I was surprised to see her. She had always been the diffident type.
I said: 'What do you want?'
Her face was nearly expressionless - perhaps a trace of fear.
'I want to speak with you,' she said. 'I want to tell you what I'm going to do. I want to see what you think about it.'
In truth, I was fearful myself, and very tired - I wanted all this to end, to be forgotten.
So I followed her across the tram tracks and into the alleyway, where a light misty rain was filtering between the buildings and falling upon black cobblestones. Mariette told me what she was going to do, and I backhanded her. She fought back, and we struggled briefly in the alleyway, at the back of the Golden Dragon Restaurant, on slippery cobblestones, and I pushed her slowly into a gaggle of bins.
Earlier, we had met for coffee in Block Place, amongst the lunchtime throng. I sat at a table on the cobblestones, watching her as she threaded her way between the crowd towards me. She looked nervous. I half-rose to greet her; she smiled briefly and kissed me on the cheek.
'Hello,' she said. 'How are you?'
I felt a little nauseous, to tell the truth, but we ordered coffee and she told me what she knew about Erna. She said it was everything she knew, but how could I be sure?
'What are you going to do?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she replied. 'What do you think?'
I rubbed a hand over my head. I felt like death. We looked at each other. I told her what I thought she should do, but she disagreed and we argued.
'I don't want to end this in anger,' she said, 'but I will if you force it.'
'Leave me alone,' I replied. 'If you try to hold me down, I will fight back. I don't want to see you again. I better not hear about this again.'
And I left her sitting there, drinking coffee amongst the lunchtime throng.
Earlier, I had held her down while she fought back. She fought back more and more these days - not an aggressive, violent backlash (she was too diffident for that) but an increasing stubbornness, a refusal to submit - and not just while I fucked her: it was an obstinacy of character.
'One day I'll kill myself,' she sometimes said, 'and then you'll be sorry.'
I jeered at her when she said this.
But this time, after I had finished fucking her and she had finished fighting back, she said: 'One day I'll tell Mariette, and then you'll be sorry.'
I stared at her when she said this.
'You wouldn't dare,' I said.
She stared belligerently back at me, so I backhanded her and put my finger in her face.
'You wouldn't dare,' I repeated. 'If you force this, it will end in anger.'
'Will you hold Mariette down?' she asked. 'She will fight back.'
I rubbed a hand over my head. I felt like death.
*****
Earlier, we had struggled briefly in the alleyway, I pushing her slowly into a gaggle of bins, she rolling over the top of them, the rubbish spilling across the cobblestones, a fishy stink. Mariette picked up the half brick as she stood up, and I advanced.
She said: 'Not anymore'.
*****
Earlier, she had accosted me as I came out of work, on the way home. I was surprised to see her. She had always been the diffident type.
I said: 'What do you want?'
Her face was nearly expressionless - perhaps a trace of fear.
'I want to speak with you,' she said. 'I want to tell you what I'm going to do. I want to see what you think about it.'
In truth, I was fearful myself, and very tired - I wanted all this to end, to be forgotten.
So I followed her across the tram tracks and into the alleyway, where a light misty rain was filtering between the buildings and falling upon black cobblestones. Mariette told me what she was going to do, and I backhanded her. She fought back, and we struggled briefly in the alleyway, at the back of the Golden Dragon Restaurant, on slippery cobblestones, and I pushed her slowly into a gaggle of bins.
*****
Earlier, we had met for coffee in Block Place, amongst the lunchtime throng. I sat at a table on the cobblestones, watching her as she threaded her way between the crowd towards me. She looked nervous. I half-rose to greet her; she smiled briefly and kissed me on the cheek.
'Hello,' she said. 'How are you?'
I felt a little nauseous, to tell the truth, but we ordered coffee and she told me what she knew about Erna. She said it was everything she knew, but how could I be sure?
'What are you going to do?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she replied. 'What do you think?'
I rubbed a hand over my head. I felt like death. We looked at each other. I told her what I thought she should do, but she disagreed and we argued.
'I don't want to end this in anger,' she said, 'but I will if you force it.'
'Leave me alone,' I replied. 'If you try to hold me down, I will fight back. I don't want to see you again. I better not hear about this again.'
And I left her sitting there, drinking coffee amongst the lunchtime throng.
*****
Earlier, I had held her down while she fought back. She fought back more and more these days - not an aggressive, violent backlash (she was too diffident for that) but an increasing stubbornness, a refusal to submit - and not just while I fucked her: it was an obstinacy of character.
'One day I'll kill myself,' she sometimes said, 'and then you'll be sorry.'
I jeered at her when she said this.
But this time, after I had finished fucking her and she had finished fighting back, she said: 'One day I'll tell Mariette, and then you'll be sorry.'
I stared at her when she said this.
'You wouldn't dare,' I said.
She stared belligerently back at me, so I backhanded her and put my finger in her face.
'You wouldn't dare,' I repeated. 'If you force this, it will end in anger.'
'Will you hold Mariette down?' she asked. 'She will fight back.'
I rubbed a hand over my head. I felt like death.
воскресенье, июля 01, 2007
` il est facile, 'il dit, s'emparant de mon bras gauche. Quelqu'un d'autre s'empare de l'autre bras. le ` le bourdon médical fait l'opération. Nous stabilisons.'
Je recherche. La carcasse argentée brillante sur le compteur s'élève dans l'air, et se propulse lentement à travers la salle vers moi.
bourdon médical de `? J'ai pensé que c'était une machine de café!'
Corbett semble d'excuse.
` c'est également une machine de café.'
` I ne le veulent plus. Je ne m'inquiète pas de la rétine. Laissez-moi vers le haut!'
J'essaye de me lever, mais ils me maintiennent.
le ` obtiennent outre de moi ! Je dois me concentrer ! Ils seront ici n'importe quelle seconde!'
Je lutte contre eux. Il y a un trop grand nombre !
le ` ne sont pas stupide, Corbett!'
Le segment fonctionne furieusement. L'inspiration me frappe.
` c'est la machine de café ! Je l'obtiens maintenant ! Vous pouvez me laisser vers le haut ! Je l'obtiens ! La machine de café est mon adversaire!'
J'entends la voix de Karri parlant tranquillement dans le fond.
la personnalité basse de `... a été totalement consommée par personnalité artificielle. Période d'inconnu de consommation... '
le ` I dit m'a laissé vers le haut, vous des bâtards!'
Le seau, il est dans le seau ! Qu'est-il ? ! ?
le `... après la consolidation, personnalité artificielle a replié une deuxième personnalité artificielle. Période d'inconnu de réplique. Les phénomènes unsighted précédemment... '
Je sens un champ d'énergie à mes jambes, et lutte pour rechercher, mais quelqu'un qui tient ma tête contre le dessus de table.
Trop fort dans ma tête le segment exige : le seau, le seau, le seau ! Qu'est-ce que c'est ? Dites-moi ! Quel est le seau??
`I ne savent pas!' Je crie.
la rangée de sonde de `... prouve que la personnalité repliée essaye de consommer son ancêtre... '
La masse grossière des manches de machine de café aériens, et moi jugent que c'est champ de force paralysant mes membres.
réponse de grenouille et de seau de `... : négatif. Le sujet a mis en évidence un besoin de passer un essai, mais n'a pas isolé la nature et les conditions du déclenchement mnémonique... '
`No, non, non, 'je chuchote à plusieurs reprises encore. le No. de `, non, aucun...
пятница, июня 29, 2007
Je regarde la grenouille. À mon horreur, étant extrait à partir du mica n'a pas soulagé sa douleur. Est-ce que j'ai cassé les cuisses de la grenouille quand je la remettais dans le seau? J'inspecte le reste des grenouilles pour n'assurer aucun autre suis pareillement affligé, mais je suis horrifié me rends compte que maintenant plusieurs des grenouilles ont leurs deux jambes arrières cassées, et lutte pitoyablement autour dans le mica. Ils doivent éprouver la agonie intense, essayant de se dégager du fatras, capable extraire seulement la douleur esprit-engourdissante à partir de leurs membres cassés et ont déchiré des muscles. Leur peau est tordue, comme le caoutchouc mince de feuille. Je commence à les enlever, rempli de tristesse et de fureur terribles pour la douleur qu'ils sont forcés de supporter, appalled par la agonie ils sont dedans.
La sainteté du seau est primordiale ; le segment exige fort que je maintiens la commande de la situation. Rendez-vous compte. Soyez calme. Ne soyez pas accablé.
Mon nettoyage désespéré est interrompu par une présence. Je décale légèrement. Dans la périphérie de ma vision, je peux faire dehors une figure se tapissant à côté de moi. Je devrais pouvoir voir qui il est.
` vont comment vos yeux?' Corbett demande.
Je ne dis rien. Le segment approuve. Les yeux sont très bien.
` pas aussi bon, huh?' il observe.
le ` a détaché le point sept six du côté gauche, 'je dis.
` vous voulez faire quelque chose à son sujet?'
Je regarde directement lui. Il gesticule.
` nous avons le champ-meds.'
Je ne suis pas sûr. Le seau. Que diriez-vous du seau?
le ` est là temps?' Je demande.
Corbett regarde en arrière Karri. Elle incline la tête. Je me tiens. Quelqu'un je n'identifie pas des foodscraps de champs de la table, et je m'élève sur elle et me couche sur mon dos.
le ` vous ont a fait faire ceci avant?' Corbett demande.
J'incline la tête.
` dans le domaine?'
Je fais une pause. Je ne suis pas sûr.
Le segment est pressant. Il n'importe pas. Concentré sur le seau.
вторник, июня 26, 2007
Je marche plus d'au mur, dépense des revêtements d'un moment il, et puis me tapis vers le bas, regardant fixement le seau. Je ne me dépêcherai pas. Je resterai calme. Je suis dans la commande.
Je me penche en avant pour examiner le contenu du seau. Il est trois quarts complètement de mica et de petites grenouilles. Les grenouilles sont petites et exquises ; beaux brun et vert se cache, avec de petites taches noires parfaites. Il tortille par le mica, rampant plus d'un un autre, et sautant sur les côtés du récipient. Leurs efforts semblent pathétiques, mais plusieurs grenouilles sautent à cloche-pied autour au fond du récipient.
Mon estomac bat. Je prends un souffle profond, regarde hors des fenêtres. Je ne peux pas faire dehors le survivre à. Ces l'oculi détériorent ; la rétine gauche est 76% détaché. Pourquoi est-ce que je n'ai pas implanté des neufs plus tôt ?
Le segment publie un avertissement doux ; Je regarde rapidement en arrière le seau.
Il... inquiétudes je. Je dois comprendre sa fonction. Je ne sais pas elle fonctionne. Je suis confondu par le mica et les grenouilles.
Je n'aime pas ce sentiment.
Je regarde vers le haut Corbett ; il m'observe. Il est nerveux ; il ne peut pas se calmer. Il regarde comme si il est sous l'effort.
Le segment est élogieux. Je traite la situation bien dans la comparaison.
Le seau. Concentré.
Les grenouilles sautant contre le côté du seau rendent me la sensation plus mauvaise. Elles sont si profondes : sûrement elles ne devraient pas sauter à cloche-pied autour de la salle ? Les gens se dépêchent environ : passionnant ; maladroit ; ignorant. Dans l'oeil de mon esprit je vois une grenouille minuscule, entrailles collées à travers le plancher de laminex par quelqu'un initialisation. Je place le mon remet le dessus pour empêcher tous les autres de sauter à la liberté.
Karri s'approche et se tapit à côté de moi, regardant fixement le seau. Elle ne fait aucun effort d'aider.
` comment allez vous le sentiment?' elle demande.
Gêné, je fronce les sourcils, me concentre plus dur.
Les ricanements de segment. Question stupide. Ignorez-la. Détendez. Essayez de comprendre la situation. Ne concentrez pas sur les détails.
Mais je ne peux pas laisser les grenouilles échappées en danger de l'pression. Elles doivent être retournées dans le seau. Je les sélectionne soigneusement vers le haut, un, et les laisse tomber dedans avec leurs frères et soeurs, une fois de plus pour lutter par le mica collant. Je me sens meilleur une fois que toutes les grenouilles ont été remplacées.
Je peux sentir le regard fixe de Karri sur mon visage, ainsi je me transforme et regarde fixement en elle des yeux. Des profondeurs de ses pupilles ma réflexion regarde fixement en arrière moi. Je me sens comme la mort et glace, et je la jugerai jusqu'à ce qu'elle se casse. Elle ne devrait pas être venue. Incapable de tenir mon regard fixe, elle se tient et revient à la table de Corbett. Il regarde dessus, concerné. Il est trop tard maintenant.
Je peux sentir la force sinistre palpiter du seau dans mes mains, par mon corps. Je dois inspecter lui et son contenu encore. Rien ne doit changer.
Tout semble très bien. Le mica, les grenouilles. Mais une grenouille a la difficulté particulière patauger sa voie par le fatras. Le mica s'accroche à son corps. Il faiblement lutte contre les efforts de ses frères et sistren. Pourquoi est-il si pathétique?
Toutes les deux ses jambes arrières sont cassées; cassé comme des brindilles, la peau a étiré l'os fini serré. Consterné, je plume la grenouille dehors et la moule sur le carrelage de laminex.
Le seau doit rester pur !
воскресенье, июня 24, 2007
La salle est comme un cafétéria, avec un bon nombre de tables jointives ensemble, et les sièges en plastique bon marché dispersés autour. Quelques uns ont été frappés plus de. Le grade d'odeurs d'endroit ; comme tous les cafétérias, une combinaison de nourriture graduellement de décomposition et d'air éventé. Une douleur de mécontentement me frappe : J'identifie Corbett se reposant à une table avec plusieurs autres. En fait, je semble savoir chacun dans le cafétéria, excepté une femme derrière un compteur là-bas.
Le segment émet un soupir abstrait. Importe-t-il ? Démuni I contraint par connaissance pendant un certain temps maintenant. Peut-être c'est une coïncidence.
Corbett et les autres remplissent hors des formes, accomplissant la préparation officielle. Je considère leur busyness avec mépris : certains sont heureux de la distraction inhérente à mondain chargent.
La salle mérite davantage d'observation. Grands perchs argentés d'une machine brillant sur le compteur. Il ne ressemble pas à une machine normale de café - il est trop grand, trop profilé, trop cher. Que pourrait-il être ? C'a pu être un bourdon - une nouvelle recrue. Il n'a aucune rangée de sonde, mais puis, je semble rappeler les modèles plus nouveaux pour cacher leur diagnostic intérieurement. Moins de chance d'enfonçer quelqu'un dans l'oeil avec une antenne par radio. Si vous me demandez, elle est trop damnée dur pour faire la différence entre une machine de café et un bourdon de nos jours. Je n'aime pas ne pas savoir ce qu'est il - de telles choses devraient être explicites. Particulièrement pour moi. Spécialement maintenant. Chacun sait que je dois me concentrer.
Un couple des personnes aligne devant lui. Assez sûr, il distribue des projectiles de café dans des tasses de fibro. Je présume que la femme est des rafraîchissements de portion. Je me demande si elle sait ce qui est préparé autour d'elle. Probablement pas.
Il semble que mon adversaire n'est pas encore arrivé.
Je n'essaye pas d'identifier n'importe qui autrement. Corbett semble pâle. Je l'observe jusqu'à ce qu'il me note. Il incline la tête une fois et regarde plus de l'autre côté de la salle. Il y a un petit, opaque seau se tenant innocuously contre le mur lointain.
Je n'aime pas le regard de ceci.
Le segment émet un soupir abstrait. Importe-t-il ? Démuni I contraint par connaissance pendant un certain temps maintenant. Peut-être c'est une coïncidence.
Corbett et les autres remplissent hors des formes, accomplissant la préparation officielle. Je considère leur busyness avec mépris : certains sont heureux de la distraction inhérente à mondain chargent.
La salle mérite davantage d'observation. Grands perchs argentés d'une machine brillant sur le compteur. Il ne ressemble pas à une machine normale de café - il est trop grand, trop profilé, trop cher. Que pourrait-il être ? C'a pu être un bourdon - une nouvelle recrue. Il n'a aucune rangée de sonde, mais puis, je semble rappeler les modèles plus nouveaux pour cacher leur diagnostic intérieurement. Moins de chance d'enfonçer quelqu'un dans l'oeil avec une antenne par radio. Si vous me demandez, elle est trop damnée dur pour faire la différence entre une machine de café et un bourdon de nos jours. Je n'aime pas ne pas savoir ce qu'est il - de telles choses devraient être explicites. Particulièrement pour moi. Spécialement maintenant. Chacun sait que je dois me concentrer.
Un couple des personnes aligne devant lui. Assez sûr, il distribue des projectiles de café dans des tasses de fibro. Je présume que la femme est des rafraîchissements de portion. Je me demande si elle sait ce qui est préparé autour d'elle. Probablement pas.
Il semble que mon adversaire n'est pas encore arrivé.
Je n'essaye pas d'identifier n'importe qui autrement. Corbett semble pâle. Je l'observe jusqu'à ce qu'il me note. Il incline la tête une fois et regarde plus de l'autre côté de la salle. Il y a un petit, opaque seau se tenant innocuously contre le mur lointain.
Je n'aime pas le regard de ceci.
суббота, июня 09, 2007
Grenouille et seau
Que beaucoup-a aimé le segment de mes peaux de conscience loin, des bancs à dossier dans sa cachette, languidly étire son cynisme, et commence à observer par derrière l'embrouillement frénétique de l'entrée, du processus et de l'interprétation. Non un de ceux damnés genomorphed les amis pseudo-conscients de ` que les compagnies de bio-technologie avaient poussés récemment. Je n'ai pas besoin de schizophrénie artificielle maintenant, même si mon nouveau compagnon chercherait toutes mes névroses et me protégerait d'elles. J'ai besoin de mes névroses - elles me maintiendront alerte. Le non, mon segment est purement organique, purement art de l'auto-portrait-induced, purement imaginaire.
Mais j'aime l'avoir autour ; il offre une perspective différente à mes propres.
Je vais avoir besoin de toute la perspective que je peux obtenir.
Environnement physique assez simple : règnes de désolation. Les nuages sont pluie lourde, foncée, menaçante. Chickenwire clôturant des roulements après ; mises en cage en dedans, les usines tristes se tiennent dans le défilé et la putréfaction militaires. Un streetscape abandonné ; sur le côté lointain du bitume pourtant sur des bâtiments plus en détresse blottissez-vous dans leurs stylos, regardant fixement à travers leurs frères de mort. Leur temps jeûnent des approches. Jusqu'ici les bâtiments restent secs ; pas pour long, il semblerait. Ne fait pas beaucoup de différence.
Je souris au morne entoure - j'apprécie un paysage de clichéd le mauvais augure.
Le segment sourit - il a plaisir à m'observer adoptent une certaine Person.
Le détachement, celui est ce qui est il. Mon segment est détachement, pur et simple. Je s'observant, alors que j'observe mon environnement.
En accord avec me, je continue à prendre dans entoure. Le choix de l'endroit curieux, mais moi ne suis pas contrarié. Je fais une pause, dans l'étape et la pensée, et la prise de prise de la barrière. Je ne suis pas quelque chose vers le monde extérieur. Je dois me rappeler cela. Le monde extérieur est un détail insignifiant. Encore, le segment convient : la première priorité doit être moi-même. Le monde extérieur est imprévisible ; il change. Je peux ancrer mes pensées dans me. Je suspecte que ce soit la seule manière d'émerger de ceci indemne.
Un nouveau véhicule modèle - je ne suis pas bon avec eux, ainsi je ne sais pas quelle sorte - tire vers le haut étroitement près avec un fredonnement tranquille. Il est vert-foncé, ou bleu-foncé, je ne suis pas sûr ; Je ne regarde pas directement lui. Je ne veux pas savoir si je suis familier avec les passagers. Avec la chance, un affichage ferme de la négligence découragera n'importe qui d'interrompre mes pensées.
La voiture roule lentement à côté de moi, et cette partie maudite de moi qui ne peut s'empêcher de vouloir savoir que qui il est succède. Je jette un coup d'oeil sur la figure dévisageant dehors à moi. C'est Karri, avec son père. Je ne l'ai pas vue pendant un certain temps, et je voudrais lui parler. Je ne peux pas me permettre d'être distrait, cependant.
Les offres de segment c'est version d'un sourire tordu. Félicitations sur le art de l'auto-portrait-discipline.
Je continue la marche. Karri peut faire sa manière là toute seule.
J'entends mon nom appelé, ainsi je fais une pause, regarde en arrière. Karri pulsant vers moi, sac au-dessus de son épaule. Son père attend dans la voiture, nous observant. Je ne sais pas pourquoi instinctivement, je lui donne une vague effrontée. Je considère flâner plus de pour lui demander comment sa recherche va. Comment mon frère fait. J'ai noté que récemment le type avait montré une strie indépendante. Le segment n'est pas aussi aimable. Plus aiment une habitude d'être contraires et raisonnés. Il est changé. Peut-être Cliffo a observé quelque chose de semblable.
Je peux sentir le segment attendre patiemment. Est-ce que j'aller suis l'approcher, puis ?
Naturellement pas.
Karri et moi le laissent dans sa voiture. Je suis tenté pour me réprimander - j'ai été trop facilement distrait par la présence inattendue de Cliffo's.
Le segment demeure compatissant silencieux ; Je sais que je sais qu'il s'est produit trop facilement.
Je ne laisserai pas Karri me distraire. Elle ne dit rien ; nous restons silencieux.
Le carpark est vide, et répandu avec l'herbe jaune qui jette un coup d'oeil par l'ashphalt criqué. Nous faisons notre manière à travers elle vers la station-service. Le bâtiment dilapidé semble exempt de la vie, ils sont dedans là.
Karri fait une pause à la porte et demande : le ` sont vous bien?'
Je dis : No. de `.'
Puis : ` ce qui vous pensent?'
Karri me regarde pendant un long moment. Je pousse la porte ouverte, et entre.
Mais j'aime l'avoir autour ; il offre une perspective différente à mes propres.
Je vais avoir besoin de toute la perspective que je peux obtenir.
Environnement physique assez simple : règnes de désolation. Les nuages sont pluie lourde, foncée, menaçante. Chickenwire clôturant des roulements après ; mises en cage en dedans, les usines tristes se tiennent dans le défilé et la putréfaction militaires. Un streetscape abandonné ; sur le côté lointain du bitume pourtant sur des bâtiments plus en détresse blottissez-vous dans leurs stylos, regardant fixement à travers leurs frères de mort. Leur temps jeûnent des approches. Jusqu'ici les bâtiments restent secs ; pas pour long, il semblerait. Ne fait pas beaucoup de différence.
Je souris au morne entoure - j'apprécie un paysage de clichéd le mauvais augure.
Le segment sourit - il a plaisir à m'observer adoptent une certaine Person.
Le détachement, celui est ce qui est il. Mon segment est détachement, pur et simple. Je s'observant, alors que j'observe mon environnement.
En accord avec me, je continue à prendre dans entoure. Le choix de l'endroit curieux, mais moi ne suis pas contrarié. Je fais une pause, dans l'étape et la pensée, et la prise de prise de la barrière. Je ne suis pas quelque chose vers le monde extérieur. Je dois me rappeler cela. Le monde extérieur est un détail insignifiant. Encore, le segment convient : la première priorité doit être moi-même. Le monde extérieur est imprévisible ; il change. Je peux ancrer mes pensées dans me. Je suspecte que ce soit la seule manière d'émerger de ceci indemne.
Un nouveau véhicule modèle - je ne suis pas bon avec eux, ainsi je ne sais pas quelle sorte - tire vers le haut étroitement près avec un fredonnement tranquille. Il est vert-foncé, ou bleu-foncé, je ne suis pas sûr ; Je ne regarde pas directement lui. Je ne veux pas savoir si je suis familier avec les passagers. Avec la chance, un affichage ferme de la négligence découragera n'importe qui d'interrompre mes pensées.
La voiture roule lentement à côté de moi, et cette partie maudite de moi qui ne peut s'empêcher de vouloir savoir que qui il est succède. Je jette un coup d'oeil sur la figure dévisageant dehors à moi. C'est Karri, avec son père. Je ne l'ai pas vue pendant un certain temps, et je voudrais lui parler. Je ne peux pas me permettre d'être distrait, cependant.
Les offres de segment c'est version d'un sourire tordu. Félicitations sur le art de l'auto-portrait-discipline.
Je continue la marche. Karri peut faire sa manière là toute seule.
J'entends mon nom appelé, ainsi je fais une pause, regarde en arrière. Karri pulsant vers moi, sac au-dessus de son épaule. Son père attend dans la voiture, nous observant. Je ne sais pas pourquoi instinctivement, je lui donne une vague effrontée. Je considère flâner plus de pour lui demander comment sa recherche va. Comment mon frère fait. J'ai noté que récemment le type avait montré une strie indépendante. Le segment n'est pas aussi aimable. Plus aiment une habitude d'être contraires et raisonnés. Il est changé. Peut-être Cliffo a observé quelque chose de semblable.
Je peux sentir le segment attendre patiemment. Est-ce que j'aller suis l'approcher, puis ?
Naturellement pas.
Karri et moi le laissent dans sa voiture. Je suis tenté pour me réprimander - j'ai été trop facilement distrait par la présence inattendue de Cliffo's.
Le segment demeure compatissant silencieux ; Je sais que je sais qu'il s'est produit trop facilement.
Je ne laisserai pas Karri me distraire. Elle ne dit rien ; nous restons silencieux.
Le carpark est vide, et répandu avec l'herbe jaune qui jette un coup d'oeil par l'ashphalt criqué. Nous faisons notre manière à travers elle vers la station-service. Le bâtiment dilapidé semble exempt de la vie, ils sont dedans là.
Karri fait une pause à la porte et demande : le ` sont vous bien?'
Je dis : No. de `.'
Puis : ` ce qui vous pensent?'
Karri me regarde pendant un long moment. Je pousse la porte ouverte, et entre.
понедельник, июня 04, 2007
среда, мая 23, 2007
The Wise Old Man
It was with some relief that the heroes spied a tavern set up above an old tannery just off the main street. The road had been hard, and they were in need of a revitalising meal. Ori the Dwarf was demanding a tankard of ale, Lieren the Elf wanted to comb his hair, and Jogmoth the Barbarian needed to polish her armour.
The rain was pouring now, so they climbed the stairs with some haste, and were delighted to see a cosy room within: largely empty, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a smiling barman.
'What'll it be?' he said, and Ori ordered a round of ale.
And old man was propped against the wall near the fire, observing the heroes and stroking his beard. He was immensely tall and painfully skinny, and he rested himself on a worn wooden staff.
'Who is that?' Ori whispered to the barman.
'Wise Old Man,' the barman replied. 'Best not to mess with him.'
And Jogmoth bellowed with laughter and said: 'A wise old man, eh? Well, come on then, wise old man - let's have some of your wisdom'.
She tossed him a coin and the heroes arranged themselves around the table with their ale and took their ease.
And the wise old man stepped in front of the fire and drew himself up even higher - so high they couldn't possibly have thought a man could be so tall - and so skinny he looked as if he'd snap in half with the blink of an eyelid.
And the Wise Old Man said:
'Ah geez. Another day, another seven hours gone and three hours to go in this shit tavern doing a shit job in a shit town with shithouse weather and full of dickheads, when my footy team's 0-8 and I don't get to see me woman for another couple of days and there's idiots on the roads and pedophiles everywhere and Evil Lord J-Ho's STILL running the place for god's sake and I can't even complain about the winter fucken blues cos it's not even fucken winter yet and I'm bored shitless and the only thing I can do to console myself is drink YET ANOTHER cup of fucken tea and I'm sick of all the taverns in this town and the fact that I don't have enough time to write my own manuscripts let alone read all the shit manuscripts that other dickheads write and don't even know what I'm gonna eat for tea tonight and I don't wanna do nothing this weekend but I can't be fucked do anything this weekend and I'd get a new job but they're all shit and if this was another city far away I'd get me a drink and smoke a cigarette but this is Here, yay good old rockin Here so I guess I'll just drink YET ANOTHER cup of fucken tea.'
And he said:
'And why can't I just be paid to research and write history all day? Why do people insist that I do stupid boring shit that's vaguely useful - unlike history which is fascinating but totally useless - and how exactly did that come about? Why wasn't I born fascinated by boring but useful shit like maths? And why is everyone such a pig ignorant fool, going round talking up Evil Lord J-Ho like he was the man when clearly he's far far from it? And how did this whole world get all fucked up in the first place? How tiresome that I should have to go round fixing everyone else's mistakes. I don't mind if I LIKE the people, but what about all those idiots who supported Evil Lord J-Ho, screwed everything up, and now run around going "wah wah wah, I don't like Evil Lord J-Ho anymore and I'm not content with being fabulously wealthy, and I don't know what to do about it except to support Evil Lord J-Ho Mk II, ie. the Krudd Monster". Idiots. These are the people who stop me from researching and writing history all day - let alone making important decisions like NO BIG FIRES AROUND HERE, der! Der der der! How tricky can it be: BIG FIRES BAD, WIND POWER GOOD. But no. Oh no, that'd be too easy wouldn't it, you sons and daughters of bitches?'
And he said:
'And it's not like it's better anywhere else anyway - it's just as bad far away, in fact it's far far worse, it's just doesn't feel so bad cos I'm not from there so it's not my fault and it's not my responsibility and besides public drunkenness is slightly more acceptable over there. It's just one fucken soul-shattering day after another round here, each hour that passes is one more hour in which we've earned money to buy some petty piece of useless crap to distract ourselves from the fact we're doing NOTHING USEFUL and NOTHING FUN just sleeping, eating and breeding, and it may all be far more worthwhile, this whole caper, if we lived on boats, BUT NO. No, nobody's going to try that, are they? Instead we'll all go live in this town or the next one or the one after that and indulge our depravities on one another when we should really just KEEP THEM TO OURSELVES. It wouldn't be that hard.'
And he said:
'Remember all them poor bastards living in prison camps in the middle of the desert? We bunged em in there a couple of years ago cos they weren't from Here and had the temerity to come from Somewhere Else when we were busy bombing the fuck outta the place and so had to look for a new place to live so we generously threw them into prison camps Here in our very own desert and they didn't like the fact that the guards in these camps sexually abused them, so they sewed their lips together to protest and tried to break out and committed suicide? Remember these people? Where are they now? What happened to them? That's what gets my goat - it's rubbish to the horizon around Here, but at least most of us arent being ritually abused or feeling the need to sew our lips together. I mean, come on - why would we perpetrate that shit on people? Why would choose to put anyone through that, when enough of us go through it without our say-so?'
And he said:
'It's the weather, man - that's what's gettin to me. I cannot comprehend the fact that for the next five months it's going to be overcast and grey with a chance of showers, at least far away it fucken snows and I'm not from there so I don't have to actually LIVE there, I can run around in the snow thinking it's wonderful and pristine and so forth, but here it's one grinding day after the next: drag the old bones home and throw them into bed, just to drag them back to work again in the morning, and all FOR WHAT? To buy a house? I will NEVER have enough for that, and even if I did, I'd do what all the pricks who came before us have done after buying a house - buy another one, then another one, then another one, and all FOR WHAT? To have a zillion houses? Yay, it's a houseathon! I'll get to end of my dreary whimper of a life and look back and say: 'See what I did? I owned houses - not just one, mind, but SOME'. Get that shit engraved on my tombstone: 'Wise Old Man - Worked His Whole Life in a Shit Job So He Could Own More Than One House (But Failed)'.
And he said:
'Where has all the god damned COMPASSION gone? This is what happens when ya listen to too much news: ya start thinking "Why is everyone such a god damned prick? What kind of a bastard runs somebody over in their horse and cart then drives off to leave em lying at the roadside for four hours before somebody else finds em and they die anyway? What kind of animals surge like a pack out of a tavern down the docks and converge on some lonesome bloke going home and kick his skull in? What kind of pervert can't comprehend "no" as an answer? What sort of jackal hangs around in the hope that he'll get a whiff of stale pussy and finally, after all these years, can make his move, shoot his seed, then disappear? What's the point? Where's the victory? How hollow an existence is that, and why bother desecrating somebody else's? Have you seen these crazies in the refugee camp in the forest over the way? By day they fight the army, by night they shoot RPGs into the next forest - and for what? So that when the army and the people from the next forest inevitably retaliate, a few sick kids in the camp get killed by stray volleys? Who wins? Then they shoot at healers going into the camp - for what? What the hell happened to their compassion?"'
And he said:
'Right, I'm off to find some compassion, or failing that, a cup of tea.'
And he turned decisively on his heel and stormed out of the tavern, leaving the heroes speechless behind him.
The rain was pouring now, so they climbed the stairs with some haste, and were delighted to see a cosy room within: largely empty, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a smiling barman.
'What'll it be?' he said, and Ori ordered a round of ale.
And old man was propped against the wall near the fire, observing the heroes and stroking his beard. He was immensely tall and painfully skinny, and he rested himself on a worn wooden staff.
'Who is that?' Ori whispered to the barman.
'Wise Old Man,' the barman replied. 'Best not to mess with him.'
And Jogmoth bellowed with laughter and said: 'A wise old man, eh? Well, come on then, wise old man - let's have some of your wisdom'.
She tossed him a coin and the heroes arranged themselves around the table with their ale and took their ease.
And the wise old man stepped in front of the fire and drew himself up even higher - so high they couldn't possibly have thought a man could be so tall - and so skinny he looked as if he'd snap in half with the blink of an eyelid.
And the Wise Old Man said:
'Ah geez. Another day, another seven hours gone and three hours to go in this shit tavern doing a shit job in a shit town with shithouse weather and full of dickheads, when my footy team's 0-8 and I don't get to see me woman for another couple of days and there's idiots on the roads and pedophiles everywhere and Evil Lord J-Ho's STILL running the place for god's sake and I can't even complain about the winter fucken blues cos it's not even fucken winter yet and I'm bored shitless and the only thing I can do to console myself is drink YET ANOTHER cup of fucken tea and I'm sick of all the taverns in this town and the fact that I don't have enough time to write my own manuscripts let alone read all the shit manuscripts that other dickheads write and don't even know what I'm gonna eat for tea tonight and I don't wanna do nothing this weekend but I can't be fucked do anything this weekend and I'd get a new job but they're all shit and if this was another city far away I'd get me a drink and smoke a cigarette but this is Here, yay good old rockin Here so I guess I'll just drink YET ANOTHER cup of fucken tea.'
And he said:
'And why can't I just be paid to research and write history all day? Why do people insist that I do stupid boring shit that's vaguely useful - unlike history which is fascinating but totally useless - and how exactly did that come about? Why wasn't I born fascinated by boring but useful shit like maths? And why is everyone such a pig ignorant fool, going round talking up Evil Lord J-Ho like he was the man when clearly he's far far from it? And how did this whole world get all fucked up in the first place? How tiresome that I should have to go round fixing everyone else's mistakes. I don't mind if I LIKE the people, but what about all those idiots who supported Evil Lord J-Ho, screwed everything up, and now run around going "wah wah wah, I don't like Evil Lord J-Ho anymore and I'm not content with being fabulously wealthy, and I don't know what to do about it except to support Evil Lord J-Ho Mk II, ie. the Krudd Monster". Idiots. These are the people who stop me from researching and writing history all day - let alone making important decisions like NO BIG FIRES AROUND HERE, der! Der der der! How tricky can it be: BIG FIRES BAD, WIND POWER GOOD. But no. Oh no, that'd be too easy wouldn't it, you sons and daughters of bitches?'
And he said:
'And it's not like it's better anywhere else anyway - it's just as bad far away, in fact it's far far worse, it's just doesn't feel so bad cos I'm not from there so it's not my fault and it's not my responsibility and besides public drunkenness is slightly more acceptable over there. It's just one fucken soul-shattering day after another round here, each hour that passes is one more hour in which we've earned money to buy some petty piece of useless crap to distract ourselves from the fact we're doing NOTHING USEFUL and NOTHING FUN just sleeping, eating and breeding, and it may all be far more worthwhile, this whole caper, if we lived on boats, BUT NO. No, nobody's going to try that, are they? Instead we'll all go live in this town or the next one or the one after that and indulge our depravities on one another when we should really just KEEP THEM TO OURSELVES. It wouldn't be that hard.'
And he said:
'Remember all them poor bastards living in prison camps in the middle of the desert? We bunged em in there a couple of years ago cos they weren't from Here and had the temerity to come from Somewhere Else when we were busy bombing the fuck outta the place and so had to look for a new place to live so we generously threw them into prison camps Here in our very own desert and they didn't like the fact that the guards in these camps sexually abused them, so they sewed their lips together to protest and tried to break out and committed suicide? Remember these people? Where are they now? What happened to them? That's what gets my goat - it's rubbish to the horizon around Here, but at least most of us arent being ritually abused or feeling the need to sew our lips together. I mean, come on - why would we perpetrate that shit on people? Why would choose to put anyone through that, when enough of us go through it without our say-so?'
And he said:
'It's the weather, man - that's what's gettin to me. I cannot comprehend the fact that for the next five months it's going to be overcast and grey with a chance of showers, at least far away it fucken snows and I'm not from there so I don't have to actually LIVE there, I can run around in the snow thinking it's wonderful and pristine and so forth, but here it's one grinding day after the next: drag the old bones home and throw them into bed, just to drag them back to work again in the morning, and all FOR WHAT? To buy a house? I will NEVER have enough for that, and even if I did, I'd do what all the pricks who came before us have done after buying a house - buy another one, then another one, then another one, and all FOR WHAT? To have a zillion houses? Yay, it's a houseathon! I'll get to end of my dreary whimper of a life and look back and say: 'See what I did? I owned houses - not just one, mind, but SOME'. Get that shit engraved on my tombstone: 'Wise Old Man - Worked His Whole Life in a Shit Job So He Could Own More Than One House (But Failed)'.
And he said:
'Where has all the god damned COMPASSION gone? This is what happens when ya listen to too much news: ya start thinking "Why is everyone such a god damned prick? What kind of a bastard runs somebody over in their horse and cart then drives off to leave em lying at the roadside for four hours before somebody else finds em and they die anyway? What kind of animals surge like a pack out of a tavern down the docks and converge on some lonesome bloke going home and kick his skull in? What kind of pervert can't comprehend "no" as an answer? What sort of jackal hangs around in the hope that he'll get a whiff of stale pussy and finally, after all these years, can make his move, shoot his seed, then disappear? What's the point? Where's the victory? How hollow an existence is that, and why bother desecrating somebody else's? Have you seen these crazies in the refugee camp in the forest over the way? By day they fight the army, by night they shoot RPGs into the next forest - and for what? So that when the army and the people from the next forest inevitably retaliate, a few sick kids in the camp get killed by stray volleys? Who wins? Then they shoot at healers going into the camp - for what? What the hell happened to their compassion?"'
And he said:
'Right, I'm off to find some compassion, or failing that, a cup of tea.'
And he turned decisively on his heel and stormed out of the tavern, leaving the heroes speechless behind him.
четверг, мая 17, 2007
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