Thursday, July 27, 2006

Big Brother PCC Style

Ok they have finally taken the biscuit. Following links from Scaryduck about his 2002 success I decide to peruse some of the runners up as mentioned. I attempt to look at Greenfairy. Now I am use to the damn Council filter software not allowing me to see any of the usual gaming site discussions that I frequent (or used to frequent) giving me the The Websense category “Gaming” is filtered crap, just in case any of the naughty council pixies were playing games online or downloading games (twats, just disable bloody admin rights on the pc). But this tops the tree.

I reserve the right to decide if I think something is “Tasteless” not the fascists at the PCC. If it wasn’t for the reason that I’m doing this during work time I would complain.

Yours incensed

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PS. PCC = Portsmouth City Council aka Kafka’s Castle. (for those of you who read this and are not shackled to a desk here).

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Just One More Inch (The true legacy of the capitalist system)

Me, me, me. The true legacy of the Thatcher led capitalist yuppy era is the complete and utter disregard of any form of manners.
Now don’t get me wrong this is not a diatribe against the post Thatcherite malaise (surprisingly).
This is actually a diatribe against those car-owning fascists who, being stuck in a traffic jam, cannot give even an inch to let some poor sod of a pedestrian cross the road. There they sit there, stewing in their own juices, winding themselves up about how they could be doing so-and-so, or such-and-such. All of such high importance that they don’t even notice, they squeeze forward into every space only to sit there any way only to have to wait there for ten minutes not moving, where as if they had given way, no one would have slipped into that miserly inch and they would have made someone else’s life that little bit more endurable. They have no concept of the good karma they could credit their karma account with. I hate watching them bitch, scream, and sound their horns at one another. Just for that one little inch. Whilst I just stand there and wait for someone to have the good manners just to let me past.
All just for one dammed inch.

Its actually too hot to rant for too long I'll just molotov a few cars on the way home tonight.

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Monday, July 10, 2006

Tears Before Bedtime.

I have not written for a little while now (days, a week probably) because I have had a piece (of writing) that has been nagging at me to be written, but it has proved somewhat difficult to produce.
Crying is something that, as a grown man, I find difficult to talk about to anyone. Which in itself I think exasperates the problem. I have, in the past, actually cried in public, usually in some disreputable drinking establishment. But that’s usually about some trivial thing like the break-up of, yet again, another relationship (big soft twat that I am).
As you can see I am even having problems writing about what I need to say here.
Having passed through a long bought of clinical depression, taken the medication, stopped taking the medication, come through the other side and returned to work (finally, though not in the work I was doing). I still find myself defining my life in the terms of a line from a song (those of you who have read any of my writing may notice a certain music orientated obsession, many quotes from songs etc). The particular line is “I have good days, and I have bad days, and a good day ain't got no rain!”
I’m not sure if it is still the “after shock” of the depression, I realise it may take me quiet a long time to properly “get well” again. Or the fact that I have totally failed to re-establish myself in the work that I was doing. Or even the fact that I have managed to let a certainty of a job go by, without taking it up, and failed to get any of the other jobs I have tried to obtain. Also the impending court appearance to try and stop my mortgage company repossessing my house.
What ever the reason I find myself more and more predisposed to end up in tears for the most ridiculous reasons. Usually during the evening. I’ll be watching television, and some stupid comedy, or film will have a single phrase that just reduces me to a blubbering wreck. It’s happening more and more often at the moment. Luckily it’s not in public, just in my front room, in front of the television. Things have got so bad that I even started watching “Paul McKenna will make you thin” (or whatever that’s called) and found even that had me in tears (though this could be understandable). I now try and avoid anything that is likely to have deep dark depressing themes, anything that may have “life affirming” statements in it, even bloody children’s cartoons (case in point was a dammed episode of Yu-Gi-Oh the other week). I am more and more pushed towards reading books again. But even they are problematic. I start identifying with the lead characters and then suffer their fates and fears. I am becoming an emotional wreck. I’m going to have to start wearing a bag over my head to go out in public. I wont be able to risk seeing a child drop an ice cream and me bursting into tears.

I have been living my life on the edge of an abyss for the last two years and occasionally the very motivation to even leave the house is so hard to muster, I nearly turn round and just go back to the sofa. I know this is no good, I know this will undo everything I have achieved, but some times, some days, you will find me just standing behind my front door, hand on the door handle, just trying to build up the courage to step outside.

The abyss calls, the abyss widens, the abyss pulls at me, always there, always dark always waiting for the moment when I am not concentrating, when that little thing has just pushed me too far. Just waiting.

Maybe I should just turn all the lights off and sit in the dark! In the fridge perhaps!

Well its bloody raining here in Portsmouth today. So think of me this evening, as you prepare for bed, sitting there with tears bursting forth in my little front room, not really knowing why.

Yours with a tear in my eye.


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