Another Mea Culpa (story of my life 
)....
Been having another internal crisis, but it's another one caused by my own stupidity...
Last week I got a liiiiiiiiitle bit chemically imbalanced and found some time on my hands. I thought it'd be a good idea to do an experiment, and see [what it took / how long it took] to bump a set's stats up.... (If you've read my earlier blogs, you'll suss that I'm not only old, but completely gauche and totally non-tech-savvy).... big, big apologies to the beautiful Hexxus for freakin you out, mate
What's that they say about the Road to Hell being paved with good intentions.... ?
If it's no trouble and it doesn't count against me again for being an ass, please please please visit the most awesomely beautiful Hexxus and leave her some love - she deserves it!!!
http://suicidegirls.com/members/Hexxus/albums/site/20366/
).... Been having another internal crisis, but it's another one caused by my own stupidity...
Last week I got a liiiiiiiiitle bit chemically imbalanced and found some time on my hands. I thought it'd be a good idea to do an experiment, and see [what it took / how long it took] to bump a set's stats up.... (If you've read my earlier blogs, you'll suss that I'm not only old, but completely gauche and totally non-tech-savvy).... big, big apologies to the beautiful Hexxus for freakin you out, mate
What's that they say about the Road to Hell being paved with good intentions.... ?If it's no trouble and it doesn't count against me again for being an ass, please please please visit the most awesomely beautiful Hexxus and leave her some love - she deserves it!!!
http://suicidegirls.com/members/Hexxus/albums/site/20366/
Sometimes you can say more in a drunken hour or so
Than some people get across in a life of lyin' low
And sometimes you can feel more for someone you've barely kissed
But you don't see it at the time, and the moment that you've missed
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
There's a photo of your gang on the night she hung about
And you're lookin' like a wag, you've got your fat tongue pokin' out
But she's nowhere to be seen, you won't spot her anywhere
It was her who took the picture, you were looking straight at her
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
Tell me, how long is a short time? Is it longer than two hours?
Or a bit less than a weekend? Is it shorter than a year?
Is it the time it takes to not complete your business with a person?
With a friend you make in transit? With a daughter held so dear?
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
(Mick Thomas, Weddings Parties Anything. Fkn legend.)
Than some people get across in a life of lyin' low
And sometimes you can feel more for someone you've barely kissed
But you don't see it at the time, and the moment that you've missed
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
There's a photo of your gang on the night she hung about
And you're lookin' like a wag, you've got your fat tongue pokin' out
But she's nowhere to be seen, you won't spot her anywhere
It was her who took the picture, you were looking straight at her
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
Tell me, how long is a short time? Is it longer than two hours?
Or a bit less than a weekend? Is it shorter than a year?
Is it the time it takes to not complete your business with a person?
With a friend you make in transit? With a daughter held so dear?
For a short time she was standing there
And you saw her, she saw you, and you recall the colour of her hair
For a long time you never thought of her
Then you heard she was gone for good
You might have cried then if you could
Would have looked foolish if you did
Somewhere, the tears are falling in your mind
For a short time
(Mick Thomas, Weddings Parties Anything. Fkn legend.)
So, after several months of effort and ascetic lifestyle I THINK I'm finally getting ahead....
Back into training, off the gear, much less whiskey consumption and I'm a little less soggy around the physique, a little more firm in the head, and have finally got my debts under control... of course, I'll never be what I was (age does that haha), but the benefit of a life spent in the pursuit of fighting fitness & football fanaticism (even if only periodically) is that one has a solid foundation that never goes away, it just needs to be reawakened every so often As for the money stuff, well I've spent my life skating along on the skin of my arse so there's nothing exceptional there, but fuck it'll be nice to grab a few luxuries, take my shitbox car for a road trip, and hit the town for 'one of those nights' . I'm fucken GAGGING to get outta this dog-box I'm living in!
The next thing is: work. Jeezis, what a mistake I made entering the world of security specialisation in a Defence context after mature-age matriculation from university. Sure, it stoked my ego initially but, fuck me... what the fuck am I gonna do now? I can't stand the kind of people I have to work with, and I don't have any other skills that'll pay my way (and I can't go back to physical work, too old, too injured
)
*Sigh* Reckon I'll tough it out for the next year as I get my TESOL certificate, then piss off to Montivideo.... perfect! A ferry trip away from Buenos Aires, and hours and hours of gorgeous beach to drive past on the way north to Rio - wish me luck!
Back into training, off the gear, much less whiskey consumption and I'm a little less soggy around the physique, a little more firm in the head, and have finally got my debts under control... of course, I'll never be what I was (age does that haha), but the benefit of a life spent in the pursuit of fighting fitness & football fanaticism (even if only periodically) is that one has a solid foundation that never goes away, it just needs to be reawakened every so often
As for the money stuff, well I've spent my life skating along on the skin of my arse so there's nothing exceptional there, but fuck it'll be nice to grab a few luxuries, take my shitbox car for a road trip, and hit the town for 'one of those nights' . I'm fucken GAGGING to get outta this dog-box I'm living in!The next thing is: work. Jeezis, what a mistake I made entering the world of security specialisation in a Defence context after mature-age matriculation from university. Sure, it stoked my ego initially but, fuck me... what the fuck am I gonna do now? I can't stand the kind of people I have to work with, and I don't have any other skills that'll pay my way (and I can't go back to physical work, too old, too injured
) *Sigh* Reckon I'll tough it out for the next year as I get my TESOL certificate, then piss off to Montivideo.... perfect! A ferry trip away from Buenos Aires, and hours and hours of gorgeous beach to drive past on the way north to Rio - wish me luck!
Well, after a couple of years as a member I suppose it's time to participate in full rather than as a mere tourist, visiting every so often to bask in all the beauty here (looking at you, my Friends and Faves 
) and occasionally, clumsily, reaching out to some of the truly exceptional people I find here (still looking at you). So, if anyone out there is interested in who's behind those random friendships requests, occasional bouts of correspondence, and declarations of awestruck admiration, here's a potted bio which I hope will give you a smile rather than the willies. (Forgive the third-person, not being snobby it's just easier to write).
*
Conceived by accident (not 'mistake', as his Mum says) and born during wild cyclonic floods & industrial chaos, Bodie's early life was hardly bucolic. More a mix of naive awe at the wonder and beauty of existence, and confused belligerence against the injustice of regular disciplinary floggings with a triple-thonged, leather-backed bamboo strip.
Liked school. Played some footy (that's Australian Rules & Rugby). Boxed a bit.
After attending the Kindergarten of Getting the Shit Kicked Outta You and the School of Hard Knocks, he spent a bewildering half year in the Navy - barely escaping with his cherry before meandering into work life as a chauffeur/chaperone for Brisbane's less reputable escort agencies (ie all of them) and roadying a bit. Unfortunately, a government inquiry into police corruption and the (then illegal) prostitution industry completely fucked everything.
Read widely and well. Played some footy. Boxed a bit.
The good times ended with marriage to the Wicked Witch of Everton Pk and working a proper job as a wage slave, cleaning shitters all hours of the day for a pittance. Despite the impediment of matrimonial obligation to the love-child of Mary Whitehouse and an archetypal sub-Saharan dictator, he still managed to enjoy great swathes of his time overseas in Turkey, Europe and especially England by occasionally indulging in massive drinking binges, taking more drugs than a touring funk band, and participating in several impromptu bouts of aggressive fisticuffs. (Well, he's Irish and Scottish. It's the way of his people).
Read widely and well. Played plenty of footy. Earned some scars (but not much cash or cred) in a few Muay Thai and other organised bareknuckle bouts.
Mercifully, the partnership with WWEP ended without fatality or even violence. After a couple of years of lolling smugly, he was utterly smitten by an intelligent, talented, fun, witty, compassionate, humble, awesomely beautiful Princess. Remarkably - indeed, incomprehensibly - the feeling was mutual, and the best decade of his life began. He nurtured and loved his Princess as much as she did for him. He had learned from his past relationships. He wrote a (bad) novella. He enrolled in and graduated from the University of Life with a degree in philosophy (minors in politics, theology and Eng lit). He found less aggressive sporting pursuits. He joined the Army and learned to drive tanks, sneak around, kill people, and do other upright and properly manly things. He fucked his back up (well, he was 35 by then). He joined the public service and worked his arse off for his Princess, without demur, and he rejoiced as she flourished.
Read widely and well. No footy. No fighting. Yoga & tai chi. Lots of sharing, love and happiness.
However, he was too deluded and arrogant to recognise that he was being stalked by a Black Dog. Without warning, it attacked. Before he could recognise what it was and how he should defend against it, his marriage - and his happiness - was over. His Princess, while she still cared for him, was gone - driven away by its snarling and its pointy yellow teeth. Muzzled and chained at his feet though it may be these days, he still treats it with respect, knowing that a momentary lapse of vigilance will see it once again at his throat. (Good luck, mongrel. He may be a slow learner, but he's a deep one. He's got your number now. And he owes you big-time for the gaping, Princess-shaped hole in his soul).
Read not much at all. No footy. No fighting. Some yoga, tai chi & dancing. Plenty of time with his head up his arse.
These days, life sees him as a gauche but good-natured middle-aged dag. A bit wrinkled, a bit scarred, but - miraculously - no grey hairs or beer-gut, thank *insert deity of preference here*. A career of sorts in a certain public service sub-culture (think Defence, think security, think a bunch of self-important deluded wankers in dark glasses), writing for obscure philosophical & socio-political journals, and imparting to his many nephews the dubious value of his insights into fighting, philosophy, footy, work, learning, love and life (and how they are all essentially interconnected) sustains his Self these days. The love and support of his few 'immediate' friends (and the non-rejection of his offers of affection, however inappropriately effusive, to his on-line ones) sustains his Soul. The slightest kindness to him from someone of worth earns a wealth of goodwill and loyalty.
Reads with learned discrimination. No footy. No fighting. Tai chi & some dancing.
He's a bit clumsy, and a lot prolix, and more than a smidge socially autistic. He likes spouting complex ideas in over-formal language (in the interests of accuracy), but his essential humour - the self-deprecating Australo-Celtic sparkle in his eye - is lost in the written form. But he's sincere, genuine, and essentially harmless (to anyone who doesn't bear him any active ill-will). He just wants to love and to say what he means honestly, without anyone freaking out.
*
So, there you go.
) and occasionally, clumsily, reaching out to some of the truly exceptional people I find here (still looking at you). So, if anyone out there is interested in who's behind those random friendships requests, occasional bouts of correspondence, and declarations of awestruck admiration, here's a potted bio which I hope will give you a smile rather than the willies. (Forgive the third-person, not being snobby it's just easier to write).*
Conceived by accident (not 'mistake', as his Mum says) and born during wild cyclonic floods & industrial chaos, Bodie's early life was hardly bucolic. More a mix of naive awe at the wonder and beauty of existence, and confused belligerence against the injustice of regular disciplinary floggings with a triple-thonged, leather-backed bamboo strip.
Liked school. Played some footy (that's Australian Rules & Rugby). Boxed a bit.
After attending the Kindergarten of Getting the Shit Kicked Outta You and the School of Hard Knocks, he spent a bewildering half year in the Navy - barely escaping with his cherry before meandering into work life as a chauffeur/chaperone for Brisbane's less reputable escort agencies (ie all of them) and roadying a bit. Unfortunately, a government inquiry into police corruption and the (then illegal) prostitution industry completely fucked everything.
Read widely and well. Played some footy. Boxed a bit.
The good times ended with marriage to the Wicked Witch of Everton Pk and working a proper job as a wage slave, cleaning shitters all hours of the day for a pittance. Despite the impediment of matrimonial obligation to the love-child of Mary Whitehouse and an archetypal sub-Saharan dictator, he still managed to enjoy great swathes of his time overseas in Turkey, Europe and especially England by occasionally indulging in massive drinking binges, taking more drugs than a touring funk band, and participating in several impromptu bouts of aggressive fisticuffs. (Well, he's Irish and Scottish. It's the way of his people
).Read widely and well. Played plenty of footy. Earned some scars (but not much cash or cred) in a few Muay Thai and other organised bareknuckle bouts.
Mercifully, the partnership with WWEP ended without fatality or even violence. After a couple of years of lolling smugly, he was utterly smitten by an intelligent, talented, fun, witty, compassionate, humble, awesomely beautiful Princess. Remarkably - indeed, incomprehensibly - the feeling was mutual, and the best decade of his life began. He nurtured and loved his Princess as much as she did for him. He had learned from his past relationships. He wrote a (bad) novella. He enrolled in and graduated from the University of Life with a degree in philosophy (minors in politics, theology and Eng lit). He found less aggressive sporting pursuits. He joined the Army and learned to drive tanks, sneak around, kill people, and do other upright and properly manly things. He fucked his back up (well, he was 35 by then). He joined the public service and worked his arse off for his Princess, without demur, and he rejoiced as she flourished.
Read widely and well. No footy. No fighting. Yoga & tai chi. Lots of sharing, love and happiness.
However, he was too deluded and arrogant to recognise that he was being stalked by a Black Dog. Without warning, it attacked. Before he could recognise what it was and how he should defend against it, his marriage - and his happiness - was over. His Princess, while she still cared for him, was gone - driven away by its snarling and its pointy yellow teeth. Muzzled and chained at his feet though it may be these days, he still treats it with respect, knowing that a momentary lapse of vigilance will see it once again at his throat. (Good luck, mongrel. He may be a slow learner, but he's a deep one. He's got your number now. And he owes you big-time for the gaping, Princess-shaped hole in his soul).
Read not much at all. No footy. No fighting. Some yoga, tai chi & dancing. Plenty of time with his head up his arse.
These days, life sees him as a gauche but good-natured middle-aged dag. A bit wrinkled, a bit scarred, but - miraculously - no grey hairs or beer-gut, thank *insert deity of preference here*. A career of sorts in a certain public service sub-culture (think Defence, think security, think a bunch of self-important deluded wankers in dark glasses), writing for obscure philosophical & socio-political journals, and imparting to his many nephews the dubious value of his insights into fighting, philosophy, footy, work, learning, love and life (and how they are all essentially interconnected) sustains his Self these days. The love and support of his few 'immediate' friends (and the non-rejection of his offers of affection, however inappropriately effusive, to his on-line ones) sustains his Soul. The slightest kindness to him from someone of worth earns a wealth of goodwill and loyalty.
Reads with learned discrimination. No footy. No fighting. Tai chi & some dancing.
He's a bit clumsy, and a lot prolix, and more than a smidge socially autistic. He likes spouting complex ideas in over-formal language (in the interests of accuracy), but his essential humour - the self-deprecating Australo-Celtic sparkle in his eye - is lost in the written form. But he's sincere, genuine, and essentially harmless (to anyone who doesn't bear him any active ill-will). He just wants to love and to say what he means honestly, without anyone freaking out.
*
So, there you go.
Thank you Missy for this wonderful movement! Thank you for letting so much beauty loose in the world!
