| (no subject) |
[Sep. 24th, 2006|10:59 pm] |
Two months ago I read a newspaper article about an artist who "Took her own life". A wave of relief crackled through my body. I knew what I wanted to do. I've had enough. I wanted to die.
For about a month afterwards I battled with the idea of suicide. I thought about it all the time. I reseached it on the net and in Euthanasia books. The idea frightened me. I took to making long lists of methods. At night I dreamt of death.
I began to lose my fear. I selected a method. A heroin overdose.One rainy miserable afternoon, I went and scored a "half" $100 of heroin. I left it in my kitchen drawer for a few days.
One day I decided was "the day". I was scared. I began writing a suicide note. I wrote a damn fine one, with some degree of wit and no morbid sentimentality. I felt more cheerful. I decided to reward myself with a third of the heroin. I mucked up the transfer. perhaps subconsiously I spilt it all. Went to bed feeling glum.
A week or so later I decided to try again. This time I bought a gram of smack. $200. A few years ago when I was using every other day I would never take more than $50. I would get very out of it on that. This would definatly kill me.
Once again I left it in my kitchen drawer till the moment was right.
On Friday I decided today was the day. The theme from the start of Bugts bunny kept running through my head.
I made more of an occasion of it this time. I got a hotel room looking over the sea. Went for a surf. Got rid of a jealousy of a more sucsesful friend whilst in the sea.
Then I spent, what I thought would be my last few hours, sitting on the balcony of my hotel room.Sipping a beer, watching the dusk gather over the Pacific.
I was scared. I only lasted until 7 oclock when I knew I had to do it now, or I would chicken out. I went back into my room. And, vagually aware that this was my last action in the world, injected myself with the whole amount.
I woke up three hours later. My first thought was relief" I am alive". Than I began to get pissed off. I wasn't even that out of it. How could this have happenned? I don't think I was ripped off.
I was sort of ambigously pleased I was still alive. By the time dawn came my mood had soured.
There is no more alienating experience than walking out into the world after an unnoticed and unsucseful suicide attempt. Particulaly if the world you are walking out into is a sunny beachside scene. IT was full of frolically families, teenage surfers. everyone having a good time.
Since then I've spent the past few days trapped in my flat. I really cant communicate with any one at the moment.
I don't know if there will be a third attempt. At the moment I am drained of all emotion. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|09:04 pm] |
Several times during the week I am woken up at 4am by one of my neighbours coming home. I always hear the door bang twice.
The question is:What is the sequence of events?
Are there three bangs ie: "door bang. I wake up. Then, two more door bangs."
Or only two door bangs: "first bang. I wake up upon hearing door bang. Followed by one more door bang."
It's interesting trying to work out how the brain works.
I have been forced into discussing the minuets of life. Ever since the operation, and then my miserable 40th birthday, I have been very depressed.
I have been more fiercely depressed before. But those times it was because of something. The fault was something outside me.Or it was something about me that could be changed. ie Drugs.
But now the fault seems to be in me, and of me. And is me.
I feel old. And an Utter Failure. |
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| WONDER OF WONDERS |
[Jul. 22nd, 2006|10:44 pm] |
I was in the bathroom about to wash my mouth out with soap when the soap slipped from my nerveless grasp.
This is how it landed....
"Remorseless Fate." Is the working title
It stayed upright for a few minuets.
It is the most positive thing that has happened this week. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|04:03 pm] |
Got out of hospital yesterday.My stay was more pleasant than I expected.
All the nurses were Irish or English. And there cheerful foreign accents helped me distance myself from the surroundings and my body.
I had no qualms about unveiling myself every few hours to their ministrations.
The food was good in an overly sweetened airline way.There was cable on the TV.
Does this sound like paradise to you?
Back at home. Slouching around. Feeling miserable. I should do something with this time I've got off. Learn how to use the computer, or something. At the moment I am too bored and miserable. This is the best I can muster |
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| DON'T THIGH FOR ME |
[Jul. 9th, 2006|09:29 pm] |
A change in mood from a trough of despondency to a minor ebullience has enabled me to update.
YOU:Why the trough?
ME:The trough has two sides.
Side One:On Tuesday I am having surgery on my left thigh. I will be in hospital for two nights. I don't know what condition I will be in afterwards, or how long the recovery will be. I have been told that I will not be able to go for a swim for six weeks.
The injury is entirely self inflicted. And rather sordid. I hope my mother doesn't find out about it.
Side two:Next Wednesday I turn 40.
That is so very, very, old. Homer Simpson is 38. I cannot write any more about it as I will begin to get depressed again. One of the reasons I readily accepted that diagnosis of schizophrenia was that it means I do not have to take responsibilty for the fuck up, that is my life.
A molehill of ebullience;caused by watching two great shows on telly. First was "Planet Earth".Narrated as ever by David Attenbough. They play around with these new cameras, and cranes. The effect is exhilarating. Nature is at its best on Telly.
Afterwards "Bleak House." was on. High quality BBC drama. A great book. The edition I read was illustrated by Mervyn Peake. One of the great geniuses of the last century. They are resurfacing in my mind now.
Oh, And I commend the BBC's use of a dwarf in a non dwarf role .
YOU: Thank you O great one.
ME:Go in peace, my child. |
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| CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER |
[Jun. 28th, 2006|09:22 pm] |
I am trying to sell my car. It's a Daihatsu Applause; A Good reliable, daggy, fifteen year old car.
I want $3000 for it. I have put an add in the local Car website.
So far Ihave only recieved one reply. It came from Britain!
"Hello,
        Am David Carter from Uk,i saw your advert for the car you have and i am
intrested in making the purchase,so i want to know the last price you areasking
for it and its present condition,i will bo glad if you can send me some
pictures,i will arrange a pick up with my shipper to come and pick it up after
payment has been fully made,i will be paying by international money order,so
email me back now so that we can proceed my Mobile number is +.......
So get back to me now.
Regards
David"
What is the scam????
THe cost of shipping a cheap car between Australia and UK.... Is it a trendy car in England?
So many questions...
I have replied to him. But I wish I knew what he was up to.
(Photobucket is being tiresome) |
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| CULTURAL MATTERS |
[Jun. 25th, 2006|09:01 pm] |
I was reading Charles Sprawson's "Haunts Of the Black Masseur."It's a history of swimming. Naurally this famous image was in it. As it should be in ALL books.
When this image first appeared in ninteenth century France, It caused a Frission of excitement in the intelectual circles.
Beads of perspiration broke out on pudgy white foreheads as people fought over copies.
Those they got hold of copies retreated to their studios for a period of contemplation. Those that missed out were reduced to opium and fevered poetry.
Much the same thing happened in my school when it was produced.
Since then, this image has reappeared in my life from time to time. I am always struck by the same thing; What is the "limb" that is prizing open the girls mouth? Is it a second octopus? Why does it have eyes?
It is ruining my enjoyment of the art.
Perhaps one of my readers has had a similar experience with calamari and would like to enlighten us. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 23rd, 2006|10:13 pm] |
After three attempts over two nights I managed to sit through "Godfather III".WIthout doubt one of the most boring, pompous, badly written, imcompresble , movies of all time.
It was also very badly dubbed into English.
I've given it due considereration, 55 seconds, And I still dont know what the basic plot was.
I ve sometimes wondered whether the people on the set have any inkling how dire the finished movie will be.
And vise versa, just say your a bit player in the "Lord of the Rings."
You are wearing a riduculas wig and slipping around in mud in New Zealand Countryside. Ocassionally it is your turn to say dailog like. " I cast thee into the Abyss!"
Did none of them lose their nerve and think " I want to go home. This is going to be nine hours of garbage."
Did they know how good the final film would be? |
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| OBSERVING HOMO SAPIENS |
[Jun. 20th, 2006|05:28 pm] |
I was standing in queue for lunch the other day. I noticed a young man beside me. He was having an anxiety attack. He couldnt handle the other people, They were invading his space. He stumbled out, and stood at the side of the queue.
I have been like that at times. But how was he to get his lunch?
He had an elegant solution to the problem. He rang up the canteen. Placed a phone order. Then sauntered down to the head of the queue to pick it up .
Brilliance. THe only fly in the salad, was that when he sat down to eat his sandwich, he was probably thinking:" I am becoming paranoid. Everyone is staring at me, with dislike."
Meanwhile like all other queue waiters I am having troubles. These new pills are really altering my head. The worst side efect is that every night I have nightmare, after nightmare. I keep waking up going "How horrible. I will definatly remember THAT dream.Then I plunge back into sleep, and promptly forget most of it.Last night was a doozy though, at one point I was cutting an old ladies head off, or she was cutting my head off. It was powerful enpough to make me repeatdly touch my throat during the day.
things like that make me feel jittery and full of saliva. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 15th, 2006|08:53 pm] |
Yesterday I was ambling in the street. Idly wondering which one of these likely lasses would marry me. I was called over by the least likely lass around. 3 foot 2,and pancake make up. Layers of clothes had made her complely spherical. The topmost layer was a green and black tiger skin cardigan.ie your bog standard nutter.
She was in the Greek welfare agency, she wanted me to carry some clothes for her.
The clothes turned out to be two of those stripey nylon earthquake-war-laundry Vicitms bags. She carried a third one.
I followed the bouncing tigerskin ball up the street.
"Just a bit further please. ohhhhhh. I take it to friend of mine. a beatifall Lebanese lady. She give me some food. I say take clothes you want.Ohhhhhhhh"
we crossed the road. To a Vintage clothes shop. A smartly dressed woman of thirty let us in. Then, together they both shooed me out.
I reeled out like the figure in mr Munch's "Scream".
The shop owner must get all these "bag ladies" to strip the welfare agencies and charity shops of the sellable clothes. They would then be marked up as "vintage" "retro". and "camp".
an amazing species.
Whilst musing on this criminal under belly, I feel bound to point out how let down I have been by the removalists.
They had the tracksuits, the gold chains.The racial sterotypes, and the wallets stuffed with cash. Plus, the complete inabity to tell the truth.
I cost them $20 000. And the only thing that happened was a limp dick phone call theatening to take me to court.
pathetic.
My operation has been brough forward to the 11th July. Which means I get to spend my 40th birthday (19th July) in pain. Yay. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 12th, 2006|08:21 pm] |
Had dinner with a friend last night. He's the nicest of my few friends. also the most respectable.Currently he is school teacher.
Most excitingly though, in Januarary he BEAT A MAN TO DEATH.
He (lets call him John) was running his weekly chess club. It meets in a local pub.
Chess , as you know,is a game that requires a lot of concentration. How irritaing it would be when you are trying to concentrate to have some idiot running around making a spectacle of themselves. And, according to John this idiot was also coked off his head. words were exhanged. He tried to upset a chess board. He was "restrained."
when they stopped restraining him he was dead
The police were called.statements were taken. People were locked up over night. Lawyers were called.
The "incident" (to use a constablary venacular)occured in Janurary. The middle of summer. There had all ready been 30 murders that year. It got put on the backburner. Sometime in the distant future (and in a galxy far, far away,) there will be an inquest.
Till then He is left to deal with the stress .
It's a great cure for depression, being reminded that A. you are not immortal. And B. you could be killed at any moment.
John is a sensitive guy. I asked him whether he felt guilty .
Pausing from eating his way through a Chinese banquet. "Yeah. Of course I do. I mean the guy was a dickhead. But somebody loved him."
Which sugests that being tormented by guilt is just an illusion.
That all happened six months ago. and since then nothing has happened. at Last nights dinner we couldnt even be bothered mentioning it again.
Instead of which he told me that my ex "T" is working as a prositute on the street in Kings Cross.
It had crossed my mind last time I saw her. But there is nothing I can do . Just dont think about it.
In a couple of hours Australia plays Japan in the world cup. This will be a good test of these pills. Perhpas now I will feel a part of something. lose myself in a mindless team sport. Instead of sitting infront of the TV endlessly self involved.
Got to focus, try to remember, are we Japan or Australia? |
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| THE GENTLE DAZE OF SOMA |
[Jun. 9th, 2006|09:30 pm] |
Day three of these new pills.(Solian)
Obviously a person as exquisetly sensitive as me is going feel the effects more than the rest of you lot.
I am smashed . Unfortunatly its not pleasant. I am not, in the words The Sex Pistols "Comfortably numb."I cant sit still. restless moving around. I have to squint to see things. And I get muscle cramps.
The worst thing is how much I am eating. I cant stop.
For dinner I had a "family size" packet of ravioli, and 4(!) apples. Not to mention lunch (soup), 11s(cold sasauge) and 5s(warm sausage).
I will try to avoid it but if there is one thing that would suit my temperment. Its to be on of those solitary, obese men silentltly, and shamedfacedly patrolling the supermarket aisles.
H.G. Wells "Brave New World" is on the radio. It is a more accurate prediction than "1984". I read it first when I was 16 and full of outrage and rebellion. Times have changed. In fact the distopia has become a utopia. I can think of nothing more delightful than at the end of a pleasantly dull day, to pull up a seat, have some some Soma. And perhaps an "orgy porgy."
Both HG Wells. and Graham Greene claimed a turbulent society was necersary to produce art. I remember in the Graham Greene film "The third Man". Harry Lime makes a speech comparing Renaissance Italy to Switzerland; " which in 400 years of stable democracy has only produced the cuckoo clock."
I looked it up. At the same time these English fools were sprouting their nonsence,Two of the worlds most important atists were Swiss; Paul Klee and Le Corbosier.
Leave me my telly, and my Soma. An little orgy would be nice as well. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 6th, 2006|12:19 am] |
I have been sitting here for a few hours with a packet of pills in front of me.
"Soliam" as prescibed by my shrink. It's a contract, If I open the pills and take one.It means that I accept his diagnosis of schizophrenia.
All my life I've accepted the dianosis of "fuckwit" and "arshole" and "Bastard". But I've never been a victim before.
I don't like it.
Still there is something wrong with my brain. That conversation I reported here, in which the hubby was boasting about making fillers for porn movies was obviously a hallucination.
I dont know who was hallucinating, him or me.
Of course I never tell my shrink about things like that.
The thing which is really giving me the shits is these holes in my head. I can just sit and stare at a wall for hours at a time. I dont seem to think of any thing at all. All thought just disapears from my brain. I have a feeling that this is what senilty is like.
Not to dwell on the negative. The good doctor claims that these pills will modify my personilty. Smooth out the bumps. Make it not seem so stand offish, snippy and aggressive.
However I am proud of my personality. There was a time, in my twenties, when my personality felt seperate from me. I would watch in horror as it twirled and whirled like an out of control spinakker on a racing yacht.
Now its a Russian tank in Budapest in 56. I am the driver,protected in the centre of it. those petty little molotov cocktails can't harm me. I drive it over the top of my enemies.
(oh Dear , excessive metphorical speech is one of the symptoms of Schizophrenia)
Then there are the side effects. WEIGHT GAIN!
Surlely its better to be Thin, Miserable, and mad. Than Fat, sane , and happy.
Then on a (even more) boring note. I have postponed drinking and drugging for eight months now. But I always promise myself I got out of it ...Tomorrow.
If Start taking this medicene I will aslo be admitting that I wont get on tomorrow.
Even more upsetting is that I might loose the urge!
There would go a major crutch of my personilty. Kicked out form underneath me.
The feel good pills they control the population with HG Wells "Brave New World" is called Soma. A bit to close to "Solian" for my liking.
Joking aside. I will be 40 in a 6 weeks. I am unemployed. alone. to the extent that not even my mother can stand me. Time let somebody else steer the yacht/tank. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 2nd, 2006|10:43 pm] |
The big discovery for me this past few months has been the films of Hayao Miyazki.
The works of a true artist.One of great things about them is the minimal dialog.
This enables people of limited concentration ie me, concentrate on the imagery.
My favorite of these movies is "Porco Russo."
oh to be a sky pirate. floating above the Adriatic.
IN one scene...... NO I wont disfigure such a work of art by clumsily trying to describe it.
Go and hire it |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 1st, 2006|10:25 pm] |
I'd love to able to write elgiac(?) entries calmly ruminating about the world. Obviously it's not meant to be.
ON MATRICIDE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.
Had one of those increasingly unpleasant dinners with my mother. We had it on nuetral territory, in a restaurant.
After I presented my recent actions. She presented her disaproval.
Then in order to break the develeping gloom, I asked did did she know the woman from this case. http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/open-verdict-for-wealthy-widows-murder/2006/05/30/1148754974742.html. She had lived ine adjoining suburb.
My mother in a voice three times louder than normal starts exclaiming that I was one of those people that thought that old people should be killed.
Then after getting the attention of the restaurant she goes all lady like and mutters." You frighten me Christopher. You frighten me."
She said I should leave now. I refused . I hadnt finished my dinner. Eveybody was watching, wineglasses poised, .
I shoveld my remainng dinner away whilst considering; a) the possibilty that she has read this this journal.
B) The arguemnts in favour of killing off old people.
She had also been thinking. Showing a suprising abilty to "throw" her voice." Now that you are UNEMPLOYED. AGAIN. I will give you some money." ." But on certain conditions...
One, that you see a doctor."
I havent told her what my psychiartrist thinks of me.
"...And two That you Do something. Even volunteer work."
I also havent told her about my disarsteous foray into teaching swimming to disabled children.
Perhaps she knew with that uncanny knowledge that mothers have.
I refused. And the hovering waitress brought the bill.
"Oh no He cant pay for anything."
.SHe paid and got up.
"Goodbye Christopher, Please dont follow me."
The resteraunt was completly still as people absorbed all they could of the drama.The burley chef came out of the kitchen with arms folded. He made sure that I didnt shuffle after her, and kill, and , eat her.(Thats the way chefs think.)
I was so far beyond embarresment. humiliating, shame. mortification.
what ever. I was almost cheerful
I should have taken her money and "volunteered" for AlQuuedea".Publiclly.
In other news the Albaian partner of my ex boss rang up. He was very cheerful and said he was going to take me to court for ruining his buisness.
I told him that no court in the land would take the word of an Albanian against that of a white man. That shut him up. But for how long?
He is weird alcholic, who likes to boast of his criminal connections.
Albainans have thousand year vendattas .
Why have I lost the ability to "get away with it."
I am going to try to sell my car on the weekend. Then it's off to Fiji, where I will swim in the blue tropical waters, hunt for Brooke Sheilds. And ponder if I should ever return. |
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| SOME MODERN FOLK AND A BIPOD OF DESTRUCTION |
[May. 28th, 2006|09:37 pm] |
ENTREE: Some Modern folk.
This afternoon, I was sitting enjoying the winter sun in a coffee house.Next to me was an "arty" family of three.I was evesdropping. It was the daubter's 17th bithday. A sulky teenager,she'd turned away from her parents and was facing me. She was sitting with her legs apart and her feet up on the chair. I glanced at her. She smiled at me and rocked her hips back and forth.
I spent the rest of the time staring fixedly at a very interesting back of a van .
Imagine her sex life at 30. Megaslutdom
Staring and perspiring in this position enabled me to better listen in to daddy. He hadn't seen the mother and the child for a while. He was out to win them back by big noting his career.
He is a film director. For the first time ever he is in continual work. He is working for company that imports pornography from America. The next step is to tack on a certain percentage of Australian content. This enables them to claim massive tax breaks.This is what film director Daddy does. Last night he made an hour of film of "actors" reading out the "letters to the editor" of the local paper.
How could one not be proud of a father who did that for a living?
And where can I see these masterpieces?
PART TWO: THE BIPOD OF DESTRUCTION.
THE LEFT LEG.
A few weeks ago I (gently)broke a water pipe in a car park. I was driving the removalists van at the time.
This week the bill arrived. $13 800.Of course we are not insured. My boss is a Lebanese peasant. He thinks he can talk his way out of paying.
I doubt it. This will send him bankraupt. As well as putting four other losers like myself out of work. I felt at home amongst these gambling addicts, liars and welfare cheats. They are my friends.("Yeths Buddy")
Plus the money was good. and I enjoy sneering at other peoples furniture.
Well to dwell on it is just to distract myself from the right leg which is stronger.
THE RIGHT LEG.
Some time a ago I began to feel very sick. With a specific pain in my left leg. It was a deep seated wrong pain.
I saw a GP. He had me irradiated. It appears I have growths in my femoral artery in my left leg.
He thinks it is an infection caused by something I injected into myself. in my distant junky past.
I never shared needles but I often just used tap water.
I was sent off to see a surgeon. He was preety blase about it.(Because I was a drug user?) He will operate in the beginning of September.
LIke most qualified Australian Drs he is "Away" June, July and August.
Skiing I expect.
WHY THE BIPOD IS NOT A TRIPOD.
Bad news comes in Threes. I was waiting for the third blow.
I knew what it would be. I would get back on heroin. Ever since I left the surgeons office it is all I could think about.
Spent the weekend trapped in my flat. unable to concentrate on any task. apart from going off to score. imaginig it in minute glittering details.
Then around 3pm the storm broke. I went outside walked around went to the above coffe shop. Heard that fantastic man.
Tomrrow's Monday, I've got things to do I'll be Ok |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 13th, 2006|11:36 pm] |
Other people thrust their lurid and disgusting dreams at us so why shouldnt I respond.
A few nights ago I dreamt I came across a group of hobos. They were caked in dirt, and grease and wearing animal pelts. They were drinking metholated spirits/ homebrew around a bonfire. they offered me some metho I declined. They spoke in mild American accents.
I cannot think of how I was so accuratly able to visulise my lj friends.
Also dreamt that my mother had written a book about how mistreated she was by her family. It was a very boring book with very boring qouetes on the blurb. one said " As IBM is to small buisness so to this ......."
It was set in Portugal. Work up feeling guilt ridden, deservedly so.
IN reality, my mother is making a big point of going overseas for her 70th birthday. SHe is going to France to stay with some of my fathers relitives. She speaks no French Most of them dont speak English. Then she is off to Portugal where she will be staying with her block of flat's gardener and his wife. In some peasnts hovel.
I wish she wouldnt. They will capture her lock her up in the basement.
Then in a few months I will get some greasy letter from a greasy local lawyer saying that before she so tragically died, she had changed her will leaving everything to this devoted couple.
I have tried to tell her of my fears. The only result was I wasnt inviterd over for mothers day.
Her birthday is in August. I ve got a month or so to kill her before she goes.
Ahh family life. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2006|09:20 pm] |
There is a big Schizophrenia website(www.schizophrenia.com.)It seems to be run by Yale university.
They have schizophrenia Test. I have emailed them asking them what percentage of people return a negative result for it.
Some meek idiot replied that they do not know. the "researches are working on it."
I'd like as many people as possible to do this test.
http://www.schizophrenia.com/sztest/.
Please reply with whether you return a posive or negative result.
I always get positive even when I am lying. |
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