Below are the 15 most recent journal entries recorded in lcyndion's LiveJournal:

Friday, September 8th, 2006
9:59 am	Ready Set Go I feel like I haven't slept in two day which is more or less true, I finally finished writing the short stories for my Writing and Designing for the Web topic at 5:00 in the morning however when I get to uni to put them into my website I find that the computer lab that I can do this in is full of other people who had the same idea as me, Fuck. Cause I haven't slept I don't know if what I've written is good or crap. Either I've finally lost the plot or I'm a fucking creative geninus after all. Personaly I'd say safe bets are on the first option. These arn't just normal stories about normal stuff, they're bat-shit insane stories about bat-shit insane crap. To give you an idea of what I mean, this is a summury of them. The first is about a warrior with an eye for a head, who fights, in ritualistic combat, a creature that has a nose for a body. The second centers around a cat and snake debating about Existentialism and Nihilism and respective views of personal freedom. The cat believes he is intrisicly free while the snake believes that freedom can only be achieved by enslaving others. The cat wins the arguement but is eaten by the snake. The final is about an Elephant called Ishmael who once saved a zookeepers life but is soon negelted by the new Zookeeper. Its a commentry on how society creates a hero for today and then forgets about them. But Elephants never forget and neither does Ishmael even as his life goes to shit. Heres a line from it which should give you some idea of the vibe. "Ishmael the Elephant was a hero once. As kids pelt him with stones and he struggles to breathe Ishmael remembers the good times." Bear in mind that all the stories are condensed to 500 words and written as parodies of childrens stories. The thing is I know I'm not a good enough writer to try and do complicated shit like this but somewhere around 3:00 in the morning I convinced myself I could. Its like when your stoned and your sure that Hiku you wrote is awesome and says everything about the universe that needs to be said but the next day you read it and all it says is that there is no pizza left, and pizza is spelt with a T. But at this point I'm committed. I have to hand it up today and there is no way I could rewrite 2000 words of insane jibberish into something that even vaguely makes sense. I've just got to go with it and hope that my lecturer thinks its at least vaguely cool. Right rant over I'm done. Current Mood: Utterly Fucked (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 17th, 2006
12:56 pm	Feotus Rocks Yep listening to Feotus again. Jazzy industrial is fucking rad, music that makes you want to dance and punch people in the face is highly under-rated. Getting back into a uni swing after being sick. Read the lecture notes for the lectures I missed and I feeling a little less lost. The last few weeks were a haze of booze, ciggarettes and flu meds. I haven't written anything in far too long but I just haven't felt the need. Instead I've been playing guitar and singing along. My computer games topic is fucking rad. I'd got completely bored with film theory cause, well, once you've read one article on the spacial transendance of Ozu's late films you've read them all. But computer game theory is new and kinda interesting, what with the differances between the ludogists and the narratologists. I don't know why but I find it interesting to think about the ways rules create systems and those systems are passed on and added too, changed, multiplied and we interact with them and they have affects on us. I'm starting to think about how we as a generation are the fist to be 'plugged into' this massively elaborate system of users creating and sharing, and how this defines us as a generation as opposed to the Generation Xers. I never liked Generation Y cause it didn't seem to say anything about us except that we were after X. I read recently the term The Bit Generation and I'm starting to really like it. I mean even if your not into computers that much you'd still most likely use mobile phones which in themselves are quite complicated. I've also been thinking about the whole Emo subculture as something more then just a bunch of whinging kids. They're more a sort of a bunch of whingy kids who find justification in thier whinging by sharing it with others, its a kind of self-indulgent punk as opposed to the original punks who were rebeling against the self indulgence of music like Yes. Where as prog is self indulgent in style the Emo culture is self-indulgent in its emotions. I also used to always think of the Emo's as a upper-middle-class movement but drunk one night at Shots Magnus and I started talking to some and they were all high school drop outs doing apprentiships. White collar workers. Fucking strange man, I'd just presumed the kinds of kids that would have been goths in my day would now be Emo. Not so, it really is the kids who would have listened to rap metal and beaten up the Goths. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, April 6th, 2006
10:46 am	See The Little Bird in the Sky... It's a good, good day today. Gonna skip my Lecture, wait for money to materialize in my bank account and then eat some food, drink a few beers and if time allows buy a shiny copy of the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album. Yep things are looking up. Its the kind of day that can only get better and for lack of anything better to do I'm gonna talk about my music routine in the mornings. It begins with something quiet and nice things like Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Marcy Playground, Lou Reed, The Cure, Radiohead ect. I listen to this as I have a shower and make my toast or whatever. Then we move to more rocking tracks Pearl Jam, Muse, Smashing Pumpkins, Old Flaming Lips ect I listen to this while I drink my coffee and get my shit together. Finaly its what I'd call the heavy shit (heavy is a relative term, also music that while not very heavy but very fast and crazy is counted here) Opeth, Skinny Puppy, KMFDM, NIN, TOOL, The Mars Volta, Feotus ect I need this kind of music for catching the bus, cause on the bus there's to much background noise to listen to anything that isn't blasting out you ear drums. Well that concludes that. (Comment on this)
Monday, March 27th, 2006
2:40 pm	Jeremiah Eyrebourne I've had this draft kicking around for a while. I need to improve the grammer and sexy-up the fight scenes a little but at any rate here it is the first (of hopefully many) adventure of Jeremiah Eyrebourne. Rohan if you'd be so nice to do some illusrations for it that'd be cool then I can fix it up and send it into ET. Jeremiah Eyrebourne and the Sky Pirates of the Sahara The sky was quiet and the sun was setting over the deserts of the Sahara. A thin wisp of cloud floated over the uninhabited ground below. This was a popular trade route for commercial airships travelling between the colonies of North and South Africa and it was just such an airship that Elric Blackhorn was looking for. Elric sat sipping an iced tea and whisky in the shade of his own airship a p3-20 Sky-Viper. It was small and nimble, as far as airships went, carried a crew of six and was a favourite of pirates, smugglers and general vagabonds the world over. Elric didn’t like to think of himself as a regular pirate, his ancestors had been Norse warriors and so he felt he was more of a latter day viking. Raping and pillaging were in his blood, in his soul, it would be wrong of him to deny that. It was as he was polishing off his second iced tea with whisky that the sun dipped down past the horizon and he saw the blinking lights of a tradeship. Jeremiah Eyrebourne was enjoying make-and-mend time in his customary fashion, with a bottle of Pinot Noir, a scratchy Debussy record playing on the phonograph, and a whittling blade in his hand. Today he was carving a lion. He’d never seen a real lion, lions had died about hundreds of years ago but he had a book with pictures of them. The lion carving would probably be part of a chess set Jeremiah was building. Each piece was a different exotic and extinct animal, elephants for rooks, kangaroos for knights, penguins for pawns. The lion would be the king piece. There was a dull thudding noise somewhere. Jeremiah smiled, put down his carving and took up his gun. It was now full night, which made boarding harder, but it did mean they had a better chance of doing so undetected. Elric would be last to slide down the grappling hook that stretched between the sky-viper and the tradeship below. From there they’d enter through the top hatch, over power any guards, tie up the crew, steal everything of value, kidnap anyone likely to catch a fair price at the slave markets, then torch the ship and watch it sail into the sands below. Elric’s heart sung in anticipation as he took the rope in hand, leapt of his ship and fell upon his prey like a leopard. As he hit the roof he drew out his mechanised pistol. It resembled an oversized revolver but where the chamber should have been was a clockwork mechanism that drew rounds from an ammo belt leading from his backpack. He checked the pistol cause these things were notorious for jamming if you weren’t careful. Elric’s first mate scuttled over to him ‘Top hatch is open we’re ready to board on your order’ Elric nodded and moved slowly and carefully to the open hatch. The air was whipping around with mute frenzy and one small slip could mean a very far fall down. Elric looked through the hatch. It was dark and empty, just like he’d expected, there wasn’t much call for anyone to be in the balloon section of an airship. With a sick smile he dropped down into the dark below. Smithy was pounding away in one of the engine rooms with a hydrospanner when he heard talking. It was muffled and barely audible over the hiss of steam and the grind of gears but it was there. Carefully he raised his hydrospanner like a club, walked to the door and pressed his ear against it’s cool metal. Nothing. He decided that he had finally gone mad and walked to the corner for a sit down and a cigarette. Suddenly the door blew in off its hinges and Smithy was confronted by a bearded man in scruffy clothes wielding an overly large, overly complicated firearm. ‘Make no movements, make no sounds, and we won’t have to kill you’ At that moment Smithy was only happy to oblige. Jeremiah was hiding in the rafters of the cargo hold. Two of the intruders were routinely checking the few packing crates that were spread out in the nearly empty room. One of the men carried a crowbar and wore a red scarf tied round his head the other carried a Mauser and sported an eye patch. The one with the crowbar broke open a crate. ‘It’s empty just like the last’ ‘What kind of cargo ship is this?’ Suddenly Jeremiah leapt down, his boot smacking the skull of the first man, the other raised his pistol but got a standard issue Calvary sabre in the stomach for his troubles. Jeremiah looked the man sternly in the face. ‘Nice eye patch did it come with a parrot?’ With that Jeremiah wrenched the blade from the man’s body and blood gushed out onto the metal floor. Elric was happy, he was in the Ships Bridge with two of his men flanking his sides, and the crew we’re tied and gagged. Everything was going fine, he hadn’t even had to fire a shot, he mused tonight is going to be good. Stalking over to the observation window, the night sky was black and beautiful, Elric couldn’t help but imagine the whores and booze he’d buy with tonight’s plunder. Yes tonight is going to be good indeed. Behind him Elric heard a man cough, he turned around and saw his first mate with a worried expression on his face. A man in an old dusty serviceman’s great coat, wielding a bloody sabre stood behind the first mate with a pistol pointed at his head. ‘You picked the wrong ship to plunder Elric’ Elric didn’t bother to wonder how this stranger knew his name he just raised his pistol at the man and opened fire. Boom-Chunk-Boom-Chunk-Boom-Chunk The mechanised pistol exploded, splattered and vomited bullets across the room. Most of them stuck the first mate as the stranger used him as a shield. With a flash the stranger had put a bullet in the skull of one of Elric’s men then whipped round and swept the other’s legs from under him. With orgiastic rage he plunged the blade into the helpless pirate’s chest. Boom-Chunk-Boom-Chunk-Boom-Chunk Elric’s pistol still filled the air with heavy brutal lead but they harmlessly impacted into metal walls, glass windows or navigation controls. None hit the lithe and deadly stranger. The man dived rolled towards Elric and sliced through his pistol’s ammo belt with a deft stroke. The pistol soon ran dry and Elric was filled horror. The man gave him a swift upper cut with the hilt of his sabre, stood above his defeated foe and spoke. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, Jeremiah Eyrebourne is the name, bounty hunting’s the game. It may please you to know that you’ve acquired quite a price on your head.’ Just then the mechanic from the engine room plodded into the room. Jeremiah addressed him with out taking his eyes of Elric. ‘Smithy free Dawn and Michael, then tie up our friend here, Michael check to see if there are any other people lurking around on board and if you find some kill them. Dawn set a course for the nearest port so we can get paid.’ Then Jeremiah stared at Elric and thought for a moment. ‘Oh and Michael… polish up the silverware we’re having steak for dinner.’ Current Mood: Doc (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 14th, 2006
1:15 pm	Spiral out keep going. Got to talk about seeing Tool live in my tute today. Apparently it was an example of the Holy theatre. But there was another dude who saw them so that was cool. The middle age lecturer is a champ he said he had a similar experiance watching Iggy Pop. He described it as Iggy being the shaman in a bizzarre tribal orgy. Developed the idea for the serial some more. Basicaly I've combined my ideas into a weird post-apocalyptic retro future steam punk dealy. It's set a few hundred years after a nuclear war and the survivors have managed to rebuild their technology to a post industrial revolution level. The hero is a bounty hunter who flies an airship and hunts down pirates, runaway daughters of noblemen, communist mutant guerrillas, anarchist terrorists, and I'm thinking of even having an episode with dinosaurs. This is is just the tip of the iceberg of something that may turn epic indeed if all goes well. I've done a draft of the first piece titled 'Jeremiah Eyrebourne and the Sky Pirates of the Sahara.' hopefully I can get it printed in the next ET. I need a catch phrase for the hero at the moment I've got 'Polish the silverware, we're having steak for dinner' it'll do for now but I've got to come up with something better. finally Let Love In is one of my favourite albums and Lay Me Low is definatly my favourite track of it. If you want to be my friend and you wanna repent and you want it all to end and you want to know when well do it know don't care how take your final bow make a stand take my hand and blow it all to hell Current Mood: hopefull (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 9th, 2006
1:02 pm	New Year and stuff Yep just got an hour to kill before meeting up with Rohan for beers in the Tav. Uni's back and I'm doing nothing. The new ET is so terrible I'm propably going to start writing for it. I'm thinking of doing some shitty pulp serial dealy. Each story would feature the same hero but there wouldn't be a continuos story line or even any chronalogical order. Basicaly the hero would be in a situation and then he'd kill some people. I'm also toying with having the hero speak in rhyming couplets while every one else just talks normaly. This will probably be abandoned when I remember how hard rhyming couplets are to write. Still, it'd give him a cool biblical epicness to him. I also don't know if it's going to be a western a pirate thing or post-apocalyptic. After reading the Brick Testament I totaly want to make a film version of the Book of Joshua mainly because it contains an insane amount of destruction and death. Plus the Israeliets slaughtering their neigbors and resetting their land gives for some cool hamfisted social commentery about the current middle east situation. I wouldn't make it pro or anti religous, hopefully that way fundermentalists could watch it and say 'oh my, what an accurate and beautiful interpitation' and the rest of us can be horrified by the pointless destruction brought on relgious fanatisism. Peace out my Hommes. Current Mood: Waiting (Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 26th, 2005
2:23 pm	sdfhssfdh Fuck yeah The Proposition rocked. I'm not going to say much else cause everyone has got to see it and I don't want to spoil anything. But it's got bush rangers and a script and score written by Nick Cave so if you don't want to see it you're a tool. I have a new cowboy hat that I'm quite pleased with but I'm sure anyone reading this already knows that but I still had to point it out again. Yep thats all for now. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 11th, 2005
3:44 pm	cough... Yep, been getting a throat thing I thought it was part of withdrawls but I'm starting to reconsider. Other then that I'm feeling somewhat better then yesterday which for some reason was a pit of despair. I don't know why, the withdrawls keep coming in waves at the moment I'm fine but tomorrow I might be curled up in a little ball. I feel no desire to talk to people anymore. this is fine when I'm involved in group conversation. Then I summon enough willpower to say something occasionally but the second I have to talk to someone one on one I'm completely incapable of conversation. It's starting to get on my nerves I've been in far too many awkward silences for the last two days. I figured out that my method for writing short stories and film script are completely differant. With scripts I tend to have a concept that I try to force a plot line to fit. With short stories I normaly just start with a character and first scene then see where it goes. The fact that I'm much better at writing short stories then scripts has led me to think I should try and write scripts how I write stories. I experimented with the idea last night and wrote the first two scenes of a film about a guy who kills his girlfriends father. It's a comedy. I don't know if I like it, I might post it later but it feels too australian for some reason. I don't know why but the whole thing smacks of the Australian film industry. I have realized two things recently, 1) Bring it on by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds is a fucking awesome song. (Previously I was indifferant to it) 2) The Greater Wrong of the Right by Skinny Puppy is the most inspiring political statement to come out in years. Most other anti-neoconservatist crap sound whingy and pathetic (I'm looking at you Green Day and Tim Robbins). We have to remember that we (I mean in very loose terms the political left) are right and to not become disallusioned. By all rights we should be kicking their arses in the court of public opinion but we're not and thats something we have to think about and address (Comment on this)
Monday, October 10th, 2005
11:11 am	Ends in a M begins with a K Quitting sucks. It really really does. I have a constant tension that won't go away about the only thing that can ease it is fucking heavy music. That and the more seedy fucked up Nick Cave numbers. I tried to write a story last night but it was terrible. I like the character though. A while ago I posted a story about a cowboy. This is the contiuation of that. The cowboy is meant to be a reformed satanist with a grudge against the devil. His opponents are three marshalls who are like the hammer of god or something. I keep coming up with cool characters for it but no story line to give it purpose. Hopefully that will change because I really like the concept. Bloodstained had a re-shoot last weekend that I only just found out about. Apparently it sucked as much as I thought it would. What a surprise. (Comment on this)
Friday, September 23rd, 2005
2:55 pm	Well Thats a Wrap. Filming finised today. As with every time I've ever gone out and filmed something I've learnt alot. This is a good thing, if only I could do it more often I might actually get good at all this shit. Lessons Learnt 1. When gaffering for a three day shoot don't bother cleaning gaffer tape off of power cables till the last day. This way on the final days shoot while everyone else is lifting heavy shit and breaking down sets you can sit down in a chair and strip old tape of cables. This sounds like a tedious and shit job but it has a Zen like charm to it. 2. If your going to give a shit about 'the line' then you better fucking know what your talking about. As Gaffer it wasn't really my place to comment on 'the line', this is something to be discussed between the DOP, continuity and the director, however it was hard to keep my trap shut while they had several small arguments about it. We even cut shots because they would have crossed 'the line'. Some of my favourites were "we can't shoot on the left hand side of the bed because that would cross 'the line'" The actress is looking at the window, the line is between the actress and the window the bed has nothing to do with it. "You have to stay on the right hand side of the swing or else you'll be crossing the line." This was the first shot of a new scene. It is completely impossible to cross the line in one static shot. There were more but screen direction is a crazy zany world of abstract geography that no one really cares about. However, if your going to be a tool and demand that you shoot by 'the rules' then you better fucking know what the rules are. 3. Be good at what you do. If people like your work then they'll put up with a lot of shit from you. My mad lighting skills meant that I could be a myself (in other words a cockhole) and nobody got annoyed at me. At one point I went and had a nap in a corner and told my lighting assistant to wake me up when I had to do something. I felt like House or something it was great. Sorry but I've had three days of people complimenting my work so my ego is fucking bloated at the moment. If you are incompetent then people snap at you. It's quite simple really. 4. No direction is so much better then half arsed direction. Day one was tops the director never spoke to me and did what I felt like. Sadly the lecture gave her a big spiel about how she wasn't directing properly so for the next two days I had to put up with someone who didn't really know what they wanted telling me "could you raise that chinese lantern a little" me doing it and then "Oh no put it back". If your the director then have some fucking vision. If you have no vision then may I recomend you a more administrative carrer path. 5. Having an assistant RULES! They follow you and do all the shit that you either forgot about or couldn't be arsed doing. I barely ever had to tape down cables. I wish I had an assistant for my day to day life. If I had that then I reckon I might just function as a human being. Plus, cause every one liked my lighting, my assistant never annoyed me by making small suggestions. I said jump and they asked how high with a faint air of hero worship in their eyes (or maybe that was just the eye lights from the chinese lantern.) 6. This was the most relaxed and organized film shoot I've ever been a part of. Nothing went wrong, there were no screaming matches, saftly proccedures were followed, time codes were taken, continuity notes were clean and efficant. Our lecture loved our set and was so proud of us all for doing such a great job. This was also the least artisticly inspired set I've ever worked on. Every shot was bland the coverage was sufficant with out being geniunely usefully to an editor and the final scene where the little girl was meant to get covered in blood was pathetic. Should have throw the fucking bucket at the little bint. What annoyed me was that every one was so happy and proud at what we were doing but it wasn't 'oh man this shot's fucking cool' or 'dude that sound was heaps cool' it was all 'wow we're so organized, we were an hour behind schedual but now we've caught up with minutes to spare before lunch'. Everyone thinks that the film is going to be great because the set was run smoothly. This is not the case. I think this film is going to be shit. I may of being the most surly, disorganized person on set but at least I gave a fuck about what was important. All of this just reminds me of a thing Bill Hick's once said or rather screamed "PLAY WITH YOUR FUCKING HEART" All through this shoot I felt like yelling this at people. When ever a petty fight over 'the line' came up. When ever we dropped a shot because it would free up the schedule. When ever the director opened her mouth to mutter a non-commital direction. But at the end I just sat back, cleaned gaffer table off the power cables and hummed The Mercy Seat to myself. Current Mood: Cleansed (Comment on this)
Friday, September 16th, 2005
1:23 pm	A few small thoughts 1. I wish I was in a band. We'd play the blues but it'd be dirty and sweaty and heavy. Plus there'd be looks of swearing and the band would get drunk on stage. We'd start the set with mellow songs but by the end it would disintergrate into feedback, noise and howling wails of pain. In the climax the lead singer would strangle the bass player with the mic lead and then the guitarist (me) would throw their guitar at the drummer. The crowd would be to horrified to make any noise and the band would stumble off stage. 2. They're digging up shit in the plaza again. The old planter boxes round the trees are gone and now the rats have no where to live. This makes me sad. 3. This film for production gets worse and worse. Today's test shoot didn't really happen and Cole the lecturer treats me with disdain. That's cool though cause he wears a sex pistol's t-shirt so I have little if any respect for him left. that's all. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, September 15th, 2005
3:32 pm	Fuck Themes You know when you write an essay about a book, a play, a painting or a film and you have to bullshit about the themes that the author is trying to communicate. I have to do that but for a short film I've written. Worst thing EVER. I didn't write it with anything in mind because let's face it I'm shallow.I have no insights about the human condition worth communicating. I wrote a part where the hero get's his eye pocked out because I thought it'd be cool and then he could walk around the rest of the film wearing an eye patch which would rock. I didn't put it in because I thought that the characters blindness could be a metaphor for something. A long while ago I decided to say fuck symbolism. Symbolism is too subjective to be of any real use in art and as such I completely ignore it. Now I'm saying pretty much the same about themes. Personaly, I think it's intensely arrogant to think that an artist in a moment of inspired brilliance can create something which communicates something blindingly worth while and we should bow down like they're a prophet come down from the mountain bearing the word of god or some such. This isn't to say that art is pointless. That road just leads to the kind of post-modern bullshit that makes my stomach crawl. What I'm saying is that art should be a completely aestetic endevour. Like the old classical sculptures who make the perfect images of the beautiful man. Leonardo's David doesn't mean shit it's just one man's analytical vision of the perfect male body. This is probably why I like action films. Hot women, beautifuly constucted fight scenes. Who cares about what they're about. At their best they look, sound and feel amazing and that's what matters. If you want meaning look in life. Watch the news, talk to people, thats where you will learn about life and what it is to be human. If on the other hand you want to engage your senses and have your emotions manipulated in a way that real life can't then enjoy some art. The mission for any artist should be to leave their audiance weeping in a pool of their own fluids not sitting having coffee politely discussing the theme's of a set work. Current Mood: Uninspired and hungry (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, September 8th, 2005
9:24 pm	Well that was weird I was outside on the plaza just then, smoking a ciggarette, when this guy walked up and said hello. Of course I asumed he was after a lighter (this being a fairly regular occurance when smoking on the plaza). Instead he sat down and asked me if I was taking a break from study. For some reason I lied. I feel bad about it now, but at the time I didn't feel like confessing to a stranger that I had stupidly thought that tonight was the battle of the bands when in fact it is tomorrow. I told him I was taking a break from study. He told me that he was doing the same. I asked him what he was working on. He told me that he was doing an assignment on real estate law. He was only a couple of sentances from finishing it but he just couldn't do it. I smiled and said that's how it goes I guess. I was nervous and didn't know what to say. I think he could tell. He asked me what I was doing My response was at least a half truth, while in the tavern enjoying a beer I had scribbled down some hasty diagrams about lighting sets-ups. I said I was working out lighting set-ups for a short film I'm working on. He said that he wished he could do that sort of thing but his parents had forced him to do law. He told me that it doesn't inspire him, he hates it and what he really wants to do is quit and become a pastry chef. But his mother would kill him. so instead he's studying a law-commerce degree. I didn't know what to say. I just shrugged my shoulders and tried to look sympathic. I'm not a very empathetic kinda guy so I'm guessing this didn't really work. There was silence, I rolled another cigarrete. Out of the blue he said have you ever had the experiance where you ask a girl out, she says sure, then later you send a message and she doesn't reply? The conversation had become serious. Not lying now, I said that I had had a similar experiance. He sighed and said that he didn't know what to do. He just wanted to ring her and confront her about the lack of response. I told him that I'm really not one to be giving advice (who is really) but that that would be a stupid idea. I told him that in my experiance I had done that and fucked it quite convincingly. I also told him I was drunk when I did it. He laughed (a geniune laugh of joy, the kind of laugh that can only come from other peoples misfortunes) Still chucking he said that he better not drunk any time soon. I said that'd be a wise investment. There was more silence. I thought about offering this sad man a ciggarette but I didn't know if he smoked or not and in his depressed state he propably would have taken one even if he didn't. I said that he just had wait it out and see what comes. Immediatly after I said I realized how stupid it was. He did too, but he didn't mind. There is nothing to say really, he knows it, I know it, the cat in a hat knows it too. For a while longer we chatted about crap. New Silent Hill movie, The Doom books (of which he has them all!) other general nerd shit (we are a special people with a culture all to our own). He left but he told me that he didn't want to go home, or stay here or go anywhere. I told him he's just restless. He sighed and said no shit. Then he left. I hope he's alright. and I hope that I was able to help him he clearly needed to talk to someone. Man I really hope he's okay he was putting out some really fatalistic vibes. I'm going to look out for him at uni in the next few weeks and if I see him I'll ask him how it's all going. Now I'm going home to drink alone. Heres to you, you great big depressed law student with the soul of a pastry chef. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 27th, 2005
11:24 am	Some crap for reading. Yep finaly gonna update. Heaps to say. I'm trying to quit smoking again and I spent the last week of the holidays having a creative enima. So I figured I'd post the best two pieces from that. The first is a script I'm gonna pitch for production and the second is a story I'm gonna continue as a serial ala Glyn and Rohan. I suggest you copy them to word as they are fucking big. Enjoy *********************************************************************************************************** SCENE 1 INT AN APARTMENT Jeremiah types furiously at a computer drinking coke. He gets up to the kitchen and starts making a microwave cheeseburger. While it cooks he swallows a pill, has a glass of water, and washes his face. Jeremiah (voice over) I haven’t slept in 56 hours. Some one once told me that if you go with out sleep for three days straight it alters your brain chemistry permanently. Jeremiah pauses and fights back bile rising in his throat. Jeremiah I guess I’ll find out soon. The microwave starts beeping and Jeremiah retrieves his cheeseburger and sits back at his computer. There is a message flashing on the screen. 0tygrl669 Hey there space cowboy you got time for some fun? ;) Jeremiah types his response Jeremiah How do I know you’re who you say you are? 0tygrl669 lol, you ask me that every time. Come on pilgrim lets play. Jeremiah (voice over) That’s all the reassurance I need. I whip my dick out and start stroking it with my left hand while my right types all the things I wish I could do to this heavenly vixen. Least I hope it’s a vixen. Christ I hope it’s a girl not some depraved 40 year homo with man boobs and sweaty back hair. With that image in my head I blow my load. Jeremiah looks tired and is breathing softly. He takes a sip of coke. Jeremiah (voice over) I might be done but she isn’t so I go through the motions and pretend that I’m still into it. I’m a kind and considerate lover after all. Afterwards we chat about pointless crap and I try to disengage myself in the nicest possible way. There’s a knock at the door. Jeremiah looks up he’s irritated. Jeremiah (voice over) Fucking bible bashers you talk to them once and they pester you till the grave. Maybe if I just wait here they’ll go away. The knocking continues harder this time. Jeremiah (voice over) Damn it Jesus freaks would have given up by now. Who the hell is it? Jeremiah gets up and walks to the door. He opens it and a large man knocks him out cold. [b]SCENE 2 INT JEREMIAH’S BATHROOM.[/b] Jeremiah wakes up tied to a chair blood trickling out of his mouth. Two goons stand around him and a man in a suit is in the background. Jeremiah (voice over) Damn it. I must have lost conciseness back there. And I was so close to finding out if that three day sleep deprecation thing was true. Jeremiah laughs a sick chuckle Goon 1 What are you laughing at? Murdoc Ah it seems he’s awake. Excellent! Jeremiah The two heavies are playing with weapons but I’ve got the sick feeling that the suit is the more dangerous of the trio. Murdoc Now we can begin the questioning. Murdoc lifts Jeremiahs head and looks him in the eye. Murdoc Firstly what is it you do here Jeremiah? Jeremiah I make cookies Murdoc slaps Jeremiah. Jeremiah’s head drops to his side. Jeremiah (voice over) I hate people with out a sense of humour. Murdoc Don’t try being smart with us. We know what you do here Jeremiah. Jeremiah (voice over) Then why ask me numb nuts? Murdoc We know and we aren’t happy. Can you guess why? Jeremiah (voice over) I could guess but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway. Murdoc comes closer and puts his face right up to Jeremiah’s. Murdoc Well can you? Jeremiah No. Murdoc looks pleased and walks back a few paces. Murdoc Your little virus has cost us a lot of money. But it’s not that that really annoys me Jeremiah. It’s that you decided to betray us after we had secured your skills to hamper our competition. Jeremiah (voice over) Note to self never ever get involved in corporate industry again. Ever. Murdoc So clearly I’d quite happily kill you right now except that you’ve also stolen some very important data from us and we would like to get it back. Jermiah (voice over) Ah the penny drops. Well they won’t find it not where I’ve hid it. Murdoc We’re torn this place apart and all we have found so far is this. Murdoc holds up a few pornographic magazines. Jeremiah (voice over) Ah crap they’ve found my porn. Murdoc Tell me… are you right or left handed. Murdoc grabs Jeremiah’s arm and snaps his wrist. Jeremiah collapses to the ground and starts weeping. Jeremiah (voice over) Jokes on them. I beat off with my left hand. Murdoc Now… are you going to tell us where the data is? Jeremiah Die Murdoc looks disappointed. He leaves the room. Murdoc (to goons) Beat him till he bleeds and then a little more. But make sure he can still talk. The goons start pummelling him. SCENE 3 INT JEREMIAH’S BATHROOM Jeremiah is lying one the floor. A goon is smashing his head against the tiles. Jeremiah can’t move. Murdoc That’s enough The goon keeps pummelling Jeremiah Murdoc I said that’s enough The goon stops hitting Jeremiah and backs away. Jeremiah vomits blood. Murdoc comes up to Jeremiah, pulls out a handkerchief and starts wiping blood of Jeremiah’s face while talking. Murdoc God look at you your a mess. Murdoc’s handkerchief is red with blood so he discards it. Murdoc Now… I think I can guess what you’re thinking. (Beat) You think that if you tell us where the data is we’ll just kill you. We’ll that’s correct. We will. But if you tell us now we’ll just shoot you. If you don’t then we’ll hurt you until you do. Murdoc runs his hand up Jeremiahs face putting a thumb over one of Jeremiah’s eyes. Murdoc Jeremiah where is the data? Jeremiah shivers but says nothing. Murdoc sighs and pokes Jeremiah’s eye out with his thumb. Jeremiah screams and thrashes about. Murdoc keeps his finger inside Jeremiah’s skull. Murdoc I wonder… Murdoc twists his thumb around. Murdoc Ah yes here it is. You know Jeremiah I think I can feel your skull. Jeremiah alternates between screaming and hyperventilating. Jeremiah (screaming in agony) Stop please god stop. Murdoc Will you tell us everything? Jeremiah (Screaming and weeping) Yes just stop. Murdoc removes his thumb from Jeremiah’s face. Jeremiah’s head drops into the pool of his own blood and cries. Murdoc flicks his hand trying to get the thick goo of his thumb. Murdoc Okay then where is the data. SCENE 4 INT JEREMIAH’S LOUNGE ROOM Murdoc is leading Jeremiah to the computer with a pistol at his shoulder. The goons trail at a small distance. Jeremiah sits down at the computer and starts to look for the file. With a broken wrist it’s hard and he winces with pain near constantly. After a while Murdoc turns to the goons Murdoc I’d told you he’d come arou… Jeremiah takes the opportunity to grab a pen and stab Murdoc in the armpit. As the two goons run at him, he grabs Murdoc’s pistol and shots them both. Then he empties the clip into one of them. The other starts to move so Jeremiah leaps onto him and smashes the butt of the pistol into his head. Blood flies up in vibrant streaks. Jeremiah (voice over) It’s at this point that I wonder if a lifetime of playing gory video games has desensitised me to violence. Jeremiah lands one more strike then throws the pistol away and howls in rage. Murdoc is limping away. Jeremiah grabs the goons belt knife and proceeds over to Murdoc. He puts the knife against Murdoc’s throat. Jeremiah (bulging with rage) Now I’ve got some questions. Murdoc I’ll tell you. Anything you want to know. Jeremiah How did you find me? Murdoc The girl the one on the Internet. She works for us always has. Jeremiah looks hurt. Jeremiah Who is she? Where does she live? Murdoc I don’t know honest I don’t. Jeremiah’s blade starts to draw blood. Murdoc You could try head office they might know. Jeremiah And where’s that? Murdoc San Fransico. Jeremiah Okay then what’s your name? Murdoc What? Jeremiah I want to know the name of the man I’m about to kill. Murdoc looks defeated. Murdoc Murdoc Jeremiah slits Murdoc’s throat. *********************************************************************************************************** Jeremiah lay on the sand and tried to dream. Despite the shade of his hat the day’s sun had dried his lips to a crackled mess. It was night now. The wind blew the desert sands in a viperish dance. Some of the red grains fell into Jeremiah’s mouth and he coughed to spit them out, his throat croaking with pain as he did so. The breeze was cold and his low burning campfire failed to warm his flesh. If he lay here for another day he knew he’d die. Maybe that would be better than the alternative. In another hour the animal came, a mangy coyote that hobbled along on a broken paw. Despite it’s injury it still looked vicious and mean. The diseased teeth it showed were infected and raw. Any creature bitten by them wouldn’t survive more then two days. The creature came up to Jeremiah’s camp and sat next to the dieing cowboy. Jeremiah looked into its eyes and saw only the reflection of the campfire. If this creature had a soul then it didn’t dwell in those black pools. ‘Do you want something thing animal?’ The creature just looked at him. Jeremiah sat up, pulled out his hip flask, and cupping his hand he poured some of the rough whisky into his palm. The coyote sniffed it, looked at Jeremiah and began to lap up the brown swill. When it had finished, it trotted away into the night. Jeremiah chuckled, lay down and tried to dream. For a second there he had thought that maybe his spirit guide had come after all. He looked up at the stars and tried to remember the constellations his father had taught him. It was comforting. He had dozed off when the coyote nudged him awake. It’s muzzled was bloody from a fresh kill. Jeremiah looked around and saw a dead rabbit dropped at his feet. The coyote motioned too it but Jeremiah couldn’t make himself sit up. It was then that the visions began. He saw his birth. His mother’s screams were the first sound his ears had heard. He emerged into the world covered in blood and he knew he would leave it the same way. In the next vision Jeremiah saw his father teaching him to shoot a gun. They shot pigeons and the birds spiralled out off the sky hitting the ground with a sad little thud. A woman lay in the sand, her blood mingling with the dust. Jeremiah saw many more things, some of his past and some of his future. He could not understand most of it but when it over he knew what he must do. He woke to the sun, the Coyote had gone and his vision quest was complete. Jeremiah cooked the rabbit over the smouldering coals and as he bit into it’s half cooked flesh it’s greasy fluids dripped down his chin. The meat was tough and possible rancid but to Jeremiah it tasted like heaven. With his meal finished he took a swig of whisky and smoked a cigarette. First off he had to find water. He was sure he’d seen a well a mile to the south. From there he had to head to Jerusalem and there his destiny would make itself known. *** Jerusalem was alive with traffic. The carts and horses making their journeys, the shopkeepers and whores selling their wares. This was a bustling metropolis, at least as close to one as you could find this far west. Miranda was sitting in the back of her caravan listening to the noise and smelling the smells. Outside her father was selling flasks of ‘medicine’. Most of it would give a man energy for a few hours but little more. It didn’t kill them. They’d be gone before anyone complained though. With a sigh Miranda got back to her chores. She mixed the mercury and opium in her little flask. They’d call it the oil of some rare cactus. One eaten by Indian’s for hundreds of years. Miranda hated her fathers business but it wasn’t her place to complain. They had to make a living, the bandit’s had made sure of that. With her work done she settled back and decided to have some fun. With a flash, her hand through a pinch of phosphorous into the air, creating a ball of blue flame in her hand. She felt like an old time sorcerer and smiled. Despite all her pleas her father refused to let her do a magic show. No money in it apparently, but it’d be better then cheating the sick and needy. Despite this, she still practised. Father wouldn’t live for ever and she wasn’t gonna be a snake-oil trader the rest of her life. She grabbed her throwing knives and began to throw them at the wall. She was getting pretty good, but she never got the chance to practise against targets more then five feet away. A fly buzzed onto her target. With a smile she flung a knife at it slicing the insect in two. As she settled back in proud satisfaction she heard the gunshots. *** Jeremiah was buttoning up his shirt and the whore was dead. She lay on the bed bloody and naked. Jeremiah hated the mess but they made too much noise if you strangled them. Feeling tired he threw his duster over his shoulders. He took a moment to examine himself in the mirror. The sleeves of the coat failed to hide the arcane symbols tattooed to the back of his hands. Jeremiah didn’t want to cover up those marks. They told him who he was and what he had become. They’d tell anyone else who knew what they meant too. He threw his holster round his waist and slung his six-shooter there. From the bedside table he retrieved his cut-down Winchester rifle. The modification made it easier to handle but shortened the weapons range considerably. Jeremiah didn’t mind though. If you couldn’t see the whites in a man’s eyes then what was the point. Slowly he began loading the rifle a bullet at a time. His time was over and soon someone would be coming to see what was taking so long. With the rifle loaded he gave it one final check. Everything was fine. With a slight swagger he grabbed his hat of the bedpost. He threw it on and got a final look in the mirror. He needed a shave. Going to the washbasin he leant down and began the rough work of cutting down his stubble. The blade was blunt so it was hard work. He was halfway finished when someone began knocking on the door. Jeremiah gave his face a final splash of water then dried it with a small towel. The knocking was getting louder. Jeremiah bent down and brushed the hair of the dead whore’s face and kissed her cheek. The man was yelling now. Jeremiah stood back up and walked to the door just as the men forced the door on its hinges. The man stood and stared at the scene with disbelief. It was then that Jeremiah put three bullets in him and he fell back blood pumping through the holes in his chest. Jeremiah stepped over the body. The man spluttered and wretched but Jeremiah wasn’t going to waste a bullet to finish him off. He’d die soon enough. As Jeremiah walked through the bordello more and more men ran out and Jeremiah killed then all. As he reached the end off the hallway his rifle was out of ammo. Calmly he reloaded his rifle, behind him bodies and blood littered the corridor. Red slashes decorated the cream coloured walls and shrieking women were beginning to gather round. The rifle was reloaded and Jeremiah stepped out of the corridor to the stair well. A bullet near took his ear off as it splintered the chalk wall round his head. Jeremiah gunned the man down with a single loud cracking boom. The poor sod just fell back and rolled down the stairs. Jeremiah kept walking down and entered the main room. Three men were waiting for him. They fired their bullets and Jeremiah fell down. His back hurt. The three men slowly approached him. As they stood over him and begun to gloat he drew his six-shooter and placed a round in each of their bellies. They just stood there surprised and frozen. Then one by one they fell down and Jeremiah stood up. The Madam was near frightened to death but she’d tried to look as timid as possible. Jeremiah was heading for the exit when his heard the rustling of skirts. He spun round to see the Madam pulling a derringer from a garter belt but it was no use. Jeremiah just raised his rifle and blew the old woman to hell. She flew backwards and crashed into a table snapping it under her weight. Jeremiah then strode out into the sun. (Comment on this)
Monday, July 11th, 2005
9:49 am	What do you know another fucking blog I blame Tristone for this. If he was awake right now we'd be finishing Gunpoint III and I wouldn't have my own blog. But I guess I do now and theres no turning back. I'll propably use this thing to post up half finished scripts and stories I'm working on. Maybe this will give me the incentive to actually work harder at my writing. I doubt it but we can dream. so on that note story time ***************************************************************** Jonas stood and smoked a cigarette. The trail had gone cold. He'd been waiting outside the dry cleaner for four hours but no movement just some bored looking housewives picking up their husbands suits. Nothing to say his target was here. Maybe his info was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time. Maybe it was time to just say fuck it and go eat some food. He'd seen a five and dime down the road and at this moment he could murder a tuna fish sandwich. His cigarette had burned down so Jonas contemplated lighting another. His mouth tasted like an ash tray but he was so bored he figured why not. It was while lighting the next cancer stick that Jonas saw his target enter the Dry Cleaner. Throwing aside the nearly full cigarette Jonas moved with dangerous intent and cursed himself for the wasted smoke. He only had five left and then he'd have to buy more. Pity cause he was broke but if all went well today that'd soon change. At least for a while before he pissed it all away in disconnected benders round the city. The inside of the dry cleaners was dirty and cheap. If Jonas had of owned anything that required dry cleaning he sure as fuck wouldn't take it here. His target was flirting away at the counter, all smiles and flourish. Jonas paused cause he figured he should let the man finish his anectdote, wouldn't do to interupt him. The targets story was bland and unfunny but the girl still cracked a smile. Love (or at least lust) could do that sort of thing mused Jonas. With the story told the girl went out back to get the mans clothes. The target turned around and smiled at Jonas. "Hey man you look familiar" Jonas pulled out his silenced pistol and rammed it into the guys stomach. Three little muffed snaps and the man was down his blood pouring out of his belly. Jonas walked off pleased with a job well done. Hopefully the mans wife would think the same thing. ****************************************************************** Okay theres my first hopefully Tristone will wake up soon. Current Mood: nerdy (Comment on this)