editorial without an editor

At times my mind explodes, like the cosmic orgasm that brought about the conception of our universe, like Jihadi crusaders strapped and ready to cash in on 72 virgins. Boom.

It's just a little over half way through the year. Perfect. This means I can once again ruminate on my many short comings and hail the glorious dawn of a paradigm changing epoch, culminating no less in a future where I and my misfits rule the world for a thousand years with blood, horror and golden statues of Michael Jackson. Grim times indeed, but exciting, interesting ones even. Us Anglo's would have you believe that interesting times are the well wishes from some old Chinese proverb. It was more likely a curse (according to the most reliable source on earth: Wikipedia). I like the ambiguity, being in two minds is better than one.

Presently I'm extremely angry for no good reason. Is it that time of the month already? This bipolar thing is highly overrated. Can we pause for a moment? Will we allow sanity to prevail for a fleeting... no. Insanity it's your time now. "Chaos Reigns."

So I'm walking down the road, which never happens because I'm usually either in a catatonic state or busting my balls trying to reclaim my ever diminishing manhood. Walking's for pussies. But there I was against all odds, leisurely strolling to the backing track of the hustle and bustle of everyday noises: Cars, people, kids, birds, the world turning on its axis, idiots. It's a lot to deal with unless you've got nads of steel. Mine were at the repair shop, so I was feeling a little deflated.

Then it happened the clouds parted and the eyes of my understanding were opened. A vision of unparalleled awkwardness unfolded before me. My fly was down. I couldn't believe it, even alpha males like me fuck up? But not like this, not like this. First walking, then a game of peek-a-boo with my junk. Unprecedented shemanery in this context. Incase you're wondering I have been known to go commando from time to time (in honor of Arnold Schwarzenegger's greatest movie: Junior).

I've really let myself go. Now I'm angry. This shall never, for all days that I shall live, ever happen again.

{ interlude: current injuries... wrist, arse, hamstring, pelvis, nose, possible hernia. Current non-injuries... everything else. This almost makes me smile}

Here I go in the ever evolving list of my aspirations:

Create the best of all possible worlds

Keep your word

Use the bird when appropriate

& Enjoy it all godamit.

you are here

I need to write something, it really doesn't matter what. This has been like hell week, but unfortunately it's going to be more like hell month, or even more likely, hell half year once the suffering wraps. I did not anticipate how unbelievably draining training everyday would be. I'm sitting here half man half zombie and all I can think of is brains, brains, damn do my brains hurt. I've gotten off at this stop before. It started out as a six month affair with insomnia and morphed into a year and a half or so of me getting nice and intimate with chronic fatigue syndrome. Now no one knows exactly what the latter condition entails especially not doctors, it's just a handy label for we don't know what the fuck is wrong with you. I was burnt out. I was barely able to break into a light jog without feeling absolutely devastated. That's where I'm at right about now. I can run for a little longer, but I'll be damned if I don't feel like I was Jesus in Passion of Christ by the end of everyday.

The rational thing to do would be to stop. Or maybe go to bed at a reasonable hour. Or eat good. Or get a life or something suitably drastic. No, no, no my friend, those aren't options, they're the evil machinations of a softcock mentality. Rationality reached it's apex at the end of the Enlightenment and we're still dealing with the fall out today, trying to make sense of reality TV and Matthew McConaughey's regenerating hair-line. "Chaos Reigns", that's what a little fox that was eating itself told me on Lars Von Triers AntiChrist -- whatever you do, don't watch this movie -- so the only irrational response is to recreate reality in my own image (not really, I mean the logic is a bit faulty, just roll with me on this one OK). Sure, I have an unhealthy fascination with Heath Ledger's Joker (mentioning this doesn't really make sense either), but there's an order to things, all these cosmological constants floating around just waiting for an agent of chaos to rearrange them. How good would I look in a nurses outfit?

There now I fell better. Bye.