It’s been a while since I mentioned Ave Imperator, or wrote a blog post for that matter. So to keep my readers (consisting primarily of my alternate personalities) happy (and because I’d a weird and clearly portentous dream about it) I’ve decided to post an update on this. Also I complain about stuff (so a usual blog post then) Continue reading…
Awoken by a dog barking outside and a fly buzzing in my ear. Not the worst way I’ve ever been woken up but fairly up there. Staggered out of the early morning oven my room had become and headed downstairs. Managed to get half a glass of water into me before I was roped into more agricultural work. Which a lifetime of living in the country has led me to despise. Slapped on some sunblock (rich with second hand sand) and spent an hour or so cutting down a few trees. Then it was time to sacrifice this morning’s and yesterday’s spoils to the every hungry god of the recycling plant. The first load (ooh err matron) wasn’t too bad, despite the car being so full that a sudden stop would have led to a fairly rough decapitation, it was mostly just one big tree. Back home and a bit more cutting followed by the second trip to the recycling centre. Here is where disaster struck.
Due to our victories in the war against the green the boot was packed too full to close. Science was the answer, science in the form of a few bungee cords to hold it closed. It truly is a new millennium. Anyhow, we got to the recycling centre and pulled up ready to unload (saucy). I was standing at the side of the car, pulling on my gloves, minding my own business, when something hard and travelling at a velocity that I can only describe as “unfortunate” collided with my delicate man-meats. As I doubled over in pain my mother doubled over in laughter. It seems that when she was disconnecting the bungee cords one had flown off and collided with her best chance of a perfect grandchild. I tried not to puke as she tried and failed to apologise through the laughter.
After that the third and final load was something of a blur. I had been planning to whinge about how I managed to get bitten on the head again (despite never taking off my fucking hat) but that pales in comparison to the testicular trauma mentioned above. But I’ve mentioned it anyway because I wanted to compare my twin mounds to Ms Eleniak’s (the only reason anyone watched Under Siege) and I couldn’t live with myself if I let a sweet 90’s reference like that go to waste. It was still stinging when after the third load we ventured into the metropolis of Dundalk. Dundalk is actually surprisingly even more depressing in the sun, full of the scantily clad and shittily tanned sporting even shittier tattoos. It is not a place for the beautiful people. Nipping into Dunnes for some supplies was even more depressing, some stellar child rearing on display.
I was still feeling rather sorry for myself as we headed down the Quay to trade custard creams and a wonky fan for a cylinder of gas. As I slowly cooked in the car and my mother chatted to hers I heard the siren call of the ice cream man. Not just any old ice cream man at that, no sir, Charlie’s ice cream van. I’m not shitting you, and I use no exaggeration, when I say that Charlie’s homemade ice cream is the nicest ice cream I’ve ever eaten. Went the whole hog, flake and a bit of the auld red sauce. Finally felt myself returning to something akin to human. Now I’m finally home, with the feet up and sipping a capri-sun (orange of course, I’m a gentleman). I’ve come to terms.
No real insight here, just something that I’ve thought for a while that got shook lose earlier in the week. Someone asked me was I still in love with someone. I answered in the affirmative but thinking about it afterwards I think they misunderstood my answer or at least interpreted it in a way I didnt intend. I suppose its semantics or possibly just me being contrary. But I think theres an important difference between the question “Are you love with X?” and “Are you still in love with X?” The first question is explicitly asking how you feel about someone at the present and in the present. The latter question however is less clear. I think most people, fairly enough I suppose, interpret the answers as being the same. Actually I’m going to change my mind a little here. I think the answers are the same, its just the latter question gives me a little wiggle room to be a cunt. I shouldnt have answered yes, I should have said “It’s complicated” and explained myself. Which is what I’m doing now. This is probably going to be a deliciously adolescent mixture of wanky and whiny. You have been warned. Continue reading…
The joke was a lie. Sucker. I have a tendency, and by tendency I mean bad habit, of avoiding giving people a clear answer by saying “I’ll think about it”. I don’t want to do that anymore. So when I told someone earlier tonight that I’d think about I meant it. And here’s where I show my work. So, pride, much like football, is a funny old game. I think pride is often pointless, certainly the petty things people ascribe to pride (not going to lie, I think growing up in Dundalk may have skewed my view on this – pride in nothing at all was/is far too often the nominaml cause of meaningless conflict). But pointless or not I think pride is a sin in which I often unconsciously wallow, entirely unfounded and unsupported pride at that. Generally it doesnt really bother me, my unearned egomania is well entrenched and an old friend. It can become a problem though.
I think existence is pointless. I think mortality and an understanding of scale renders human endeavour meaningless. I think humanity is a bunch of delusional animals obsessed with distracting themselves from the fact that we’re living lives that dont matter in a universe that doesnt care. I’m a lazy, nihilistic coward. On a good day. Unsurprisingly this is not a cocktail which helps generate a lot of motivation. I have started a million different things, but eight hours later when I wake up they never happen. I have not and cannot catch up to tomorrow’s Michael. Who isn’t obsessed and terrified by his own morality and the grim meaningless of it all. Even the false immortality offered by atrocity is tempting at times only I’m a) lazy and b) why should I inflict my misery on others? Anyway even that would pass in time, “Nothing beside remains”. Then on other days I don’t think and I’m not those things. Continue reading…
The kickstarter for Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th Anniversary Edition is live. Also weridly expensive, even for the pdf. This game is more or less the platonic ideal of a “cool game but the players need to read the book” and we all know that players never read the fucking book. If I was rich I’d be tempted to pledge at the level where I get the cover made of metal, but Im not, so I wont. If I recall correctly in the only long term game of W:tA I ever ran the PC’s killed a vampiric Dermot Ahern before breaking into the high security secret base beneath the town hall. I clearly didnt realise how visionary I was at the time – http://kck.st/P8aP0E
Weird. If I hadnt bought that printer (so I can print out class notes for my vile students as well as my erotic Monk fanfic) I would almost certainly have purhcased the hardcopy version of the new Werewolf the Apocalypse. I have more or less two fullsize bookshelves full of rpg’s I largely only read. But not anymore apparently. Growing up? What a pile of bollocks.