1.
Hello. My name is Gordon LeBoite. I hope you can believe that much because that's a safe baseline of plausibility to which this tale may never return.
I awoke the other morning to find that the organ of my heart was no longer in my body. It had been extracted during the night by the errant burst of an interstellar tractor beam, and it had found it's way into the vast recesses of outer space. I thought it was a dream, but I awoke to find two heart-shaped holes, one in my chest and one in the window pane next to my bed. I took a shower and tried not to get water in my heart hole. But water has a way of wending where it's not wanted, and it was obvious that I could either seal up this silly thoracic excavation and quit my whining, or I could win my heart back.
And so it was that that morning, I flew into space.
2.
I didn't go into space. And I didn't have a hole in my chest, although I did wear two jumpers and that made my torso feel strangely constricted as I rode my bike around to see you. You said if I wanted to see you I could, and I did want to see you, but I knew you would be disappointed to see me. The great thinga bout the universe is the sense it makes. The geometry and the rhythm and the design. But you pushed it all of its axis. In that night before when you said the sentence "I think you and I, together, have done all we need to do." You said I could ask you questions if I wanted. I asked you what I would dream about that night, and you smiled and said "heartbreak, I guess."
3.
Hello.
My name is Gordon LeBoite and I am an astronaut. I'm quite good at zero-g exercises and I'm into vitamin supplements in a huge way. On a daily basis I liaise with intergalactic communities, encounter bizarre lifeforms and cruise around in my sweet rocket. My officially chartered space mission is the retrieval of my own heart, now a wanted space fugitive, but these days the case has run cold and I mostly just patrol some of the old leads and otherwise just check stuff out and observe. I do like it out in space. It's quiet, there's moments of genuine awe, and a lot of peace. Most days, I hope I never find that heart of mine. But sometimes I think it might be nice.
-Yuri
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Show Yourself
Ok, ok. I've got to come clean about something. Things.
Sometimes I imagine pushing strangers under trains.
Sometimes I punish myself and keep it secret.
Sometimes I feel good when other people look foolish. (Like when they are quizzed about their use of the word "schadenfreude", and it is revealed that they don't really know what it means.)
Sometimes I lie. That's a lie. I lie often. (That's the truth.)
Sometimes I think I'm more special than other people.
Sometimes I waste fresh food by forgetting to eat it before it putrefies.
Sometimes I waste my talents.
Sometimes I try to make my thigh touch the thigh of the person next to me on public transport.
Sometimes I pull malicious faces at babies in prams. (Usually they laugh.)
Sometimes I pretend to be deaf.
Sometimes I eat a whole block of chocolate.
Sometimes I eavesdrop.
Sometimes I use disabled toilet facilities.
Sometimes I pretend to know more than I do.
Sometimes I wish I was in a fist-fight.
Sometimes I do things that are innocuous.
Sometimes I don't warn people before I hurt them.
Sometimes I do things that really hurt people.
Sometimes I hold a life in my hands and I don't value it very highly at all.
Does anyone out there know me? Has anyone seen me? This is all so anonymous, it feels like a lie. My vanity makes me desperate to have you thinking I'm unique. But really I'm just another person. I'm in my late twenties, living on my own in a one-bedroom thing on the edge of a city. But does anyone know who I really am? Anyone?
Could you have seen me? We might shop at the same supermarket.
Am I ringing any bells? Maybe you saw me hide something when I thought you weren't looking.
Do you know who I am? Maybe I'm that person who watched you cry from afar, but you didn't care at the time.
Can you picture me? I could be the one you always wonder about on the tram. Maybe you've even been building up the courage to talk to me. Maybe you think I look nice.
Maybe I work with you. Maybe I'm in your family. Maybe I'm in your bed.
I'm not in your bed. I'm in my own bed, typing this post.
Good night.
I hope dearly that you and I will see each other soon.
Really see each other. In a way neither of us ever imagined.
Soon.
-Yuri
Sometimes I imagine pushing strangers under trains.
Sometimes I punish myself and keep it secret.
Sometimes I feel good when other people look foolish. (Like when they are quizzed about their use of the word "schadenfreude", and it is revealed that they don't really know what it means.)
Sometimes I lie. That's a lie. I lie often. (That's the truth.)
Sometimes I think I'm more special than other people.
Sometimes I waste fresh food by forgetting to eat it before it putrefies.
Sometimes I waste my talents.
Sometimes I try to make my thigh touch the thigh of the person next to me on public transport.
Sometimes I pull malicious faces at babies in prams. (Usually they laugh.)
Sometimes I pretend to be deaf.
Sometimes I eat a whole block of chocolate.
Sometimes I eavesdrop.
Sometimes I use disabled toilet facilities.
Sometimes I pretend to know more than I do.
Sometimes I wish I was in a fist-fight.
Sometimes I do things that are innocuous.
Sometimes I don't warn people before I hurt them.
Sometimes I do things that really hurt people.
Sometimes I hold a life in my hands and I don't value it very highly at all.
Does anyone out there know me? Has anyone seen me? This is all so anonymous, it feels like a lie. My vanity makes me desperate to have you thinking I'm unique. But really I'm just another person. I'm in my late twenties, living on my own in a one-bedroom thing on the edge of a city. But does anyone know who I really am? Anyone?
Could you have seen me? We might shop at the same supermarket.
Am I ringing any bells? Maybe you saw me hide something when I thought you weren't looking.
Do you know who I am? Maybe I'm that person who watched you cry from afar, but you didn't care at the time.
Can you picture me? I could be the one you always wonder about on the tram. Maybe you've even been building up the courage to talk to me. Maybe you think I look nice.
Maybe I work with you. Maybe I'm in your family. Maybe I'm in your bed.
I'm not in your bed. I'm in my own bed, typing this post.
Good night.
I hope dearly that you and I will see each other soon.
Really see each other. In a way neither of us ever imagined.
Soon.
-Yuri
Some Things are Addictive
Four New Jersey wiseguys in the back room of a strip joint.
1 - So dyou hear about Insy Winsy?
2 - Who the spider, what'd he do?
1 - What so you didn't hear about this?
2 - Nah I didn't hear what'd he do?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - He climbed up the waterspout.
2 - Oh shit, are you shittin me? Insy Winsy?
1 - No shit.
2 - What happened then?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - Down came the rain.
2 - The rain? A spider like Insy, what'd that do to him?
3 - It washed the spider out.
2 - Oh man. Was he married, did he have kids or anything?
1 - Nah this aint over yet, get this, tell him Pauly.
3 - Out came the sunshine-
2 - What and that dried up the rain?
1 - Absolutely it did.
3 - It dried up all the rain.
2 - Oh man, that's a hell of a thing. You think you seen it all.
3 - And Insy Winsy Spider -
2 - What, you're fuckin with me, he aint done?
1 - He's still got the big finish.
2 - This is a hell of a thing, what happened?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - He climbed up the spout again.
2 - Oh no he didn't!? He climbed it again? That's nuts, after all the business with the rain?
1 - No word of a lie.
2 - He's a hell of a spider. Thank you for sharing that, Sammy. Pauly, you too, thank you for that.
1 - No problem.
4 - Guys. I'm sorry. I'm out. I can't do this no more. You guys are great, but I gotta get out, I gotta change my life. All you guys do is tell these nursery rhymes, and that's cool, but I got a family now. I gotta think about becoming a seriously drug importer now and start spending time with my kid.
2 - Where you goin' Mikey?
1 - Whaddaya think you're doing Mikey?
4 - Guys it's nothin' personal I promise.
1 - You got a problem with the way we live our lives now Mikey?
4 - No it's not like that -
1 - Suddenly you're better than us is that it?
4 - No Sammy, really, I love you guys, but I got something else in my life -
1 - It's no that simple Mikey. Tell him Pauly.
3 - It's not that simple Mikey.
1 - Show him Joey.
2 - Hey Mikey? What did Miss Muffet do?
4 - C'mon guys don't make this harder -
2 - Miss Muffet, what did she do?
1 - Not so easy Mikey is it?
4 - She, She-
2 - She sat, she sat didn't she? And what did she sit on?
4 - She sat on a tuffet alright!? She sat on a goddamn tuffet!
1 - Oh yeah, and what was she eating Mikey?
4 - Please guys why are you doin this to me -
1 - Mikey!
4 - Curds and whey alright? She was eating her curds and whey, then along came a spider who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away goddammit...
1 - Hey hey Mikey don't cry.
4 - I thought I could just walk away, I hoped -
1 - Mikey. Hey. We're a family. Yeah we tell nursery rhymes, but we're a family, Mikey. You know that.
4 - Yeah I know that, Sammy.
1 - Say it Mikey, say we're a family.
4 - We're a family.
1 - You bet your ass we are. Joey, go get the Mother Goose book for Mikey.
4 - Hey thanks guys.
1 - Don't mention it Mikey. Don't mention it.
-Yuri
1 - So dyou hear about Insy Winsy?
2 - Who the spider, what'd he do?
1 - What so you didn't hear about this?
2 - Nah I didn't hear what'd he do?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - He climbed up the waterspout.
2 - Oh shit, are you shittin me? Insy Winsy?
1 - No shit.
2 - What happened then?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - Down came the rain.
2 - The rain? A spider like Insy, what'd that do to him?
3 - It washed the spider out.
2 - Oh man. Was he married, did he have kids or anything?
1 - Nah this aint over yet, get this, tell him Pauly.
3 - Out came the sunshine-
2 - What and that dried up the rain?
1 - Absolutely it did.
3 - It dried up all the rain.
2 - Oh man, that's a hell of a thing. You think you seen it all.
3 - And Insy Winsy Spider -
2 - What, you're fuckin with me, he aint done?
1 - He's still got the big finish.
2 - This is a hell of a thing, what happened?
1 - Tell him Pauly.
3 - He climbed up the spout again.
2 - Oh no he didn't!? He climbed it again? That's nuts, after all the business with the rain?
1 - No word of a lie.
2 - He's a hell of a spider. Thank you for sharing that, Sammy. Pauly, you too, thank you for that.
1 - No problem.
4 - Guys. I'm sorry. I'm out. I can't do this no more. You guys are great, but I gotta get out, I gotta change my life. All you guys do is tell these nursery rhymes, and that's cool, but I got a family now. I gotta think about becoming a seriously drug importer now and start spending time with my kid.
2 - Where you goin' Mikey?
1 - Whaddaya think you're doing Mikey?
4 - Guys it's nothin' personal I promise.
1 - You got a problem with the way we live our lives now Mikey?
4 - No it's not like that -
1 - Suddenly you're better than us is that it?
4 - No Sammy, really, I love you guys, but I got something else in my life -
1 - It's no that simple Mikey. Tell him Pauly.
3 - It's not that simple Mikey.
1 - Show him Joey.
2 - Hey Mikey? What did Miss Muffet do?
4 - C'mon guys don't make this harder -
2 - Miss Muffet, what did she do?
1 - Not so easy Mikey is it?
4 - She, She-
2 - She sat, she sat didn't she? And what did she sit on?
4 - She sat on a tuffet alright!? She sat on a goddamn tuffet!
1 - Oh yeah, and what was she eating Mikey?
4 - Please guys why are you doin this to me -
1 - Mikey!
4 - Curds and whey alright? She was eating her curds and whey, then along came a spider who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away goddammit...
1 - Hey hey Mikey don't cry.
4 - I thought I could just walk away, I hoped -
1 - Mikey. Hey. We're a family. Yeah we tell nursery rhymes, but we're a family, Mikey. You know that.
4 - Yeah I know that, Sammy.
1 - Say it Mikey, say we're a family.
4 - We're a family.
1 - You bet your ass we are. Joey, go get the Mother Goose book for Mikey.
4 - Hey thanks guys.
1 - Don't mention it Mikey. Don't mention it.
-Yuri
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Shannon Noll told me to shine, so I'm giving it a go.
Breakfast is very important.
If I ever sleep too late, I just consign myself to my lateness rather than cutting morning corners, because breakfast is very important.
Poached eggs are good. Variations on the theme of muesli. Vegemite and Avocado on toast for variation. Juice and/or tea (I usually need to wee before too long but that, like lateness, is just another price to pay).
Breakfast is very important. Laying the foundations to build the skyscraper of your day. Putting your best food forward, fed.
Everyone deserves a good breakfast.
I should also exercise or work out more. Not because I need to be buff or cut or stacked or ripped or huge. More so I feel like I'm taking pride in my body. In a healthy way. It deserves to be in peak condition as much as any other, right? I should run. Everyone runs these days, you're a chump if you don't run, right? It's like: "Swallow your pride, chump. Run until you're fit and hot like the rest of us. But not because you need to show people that you're fit and hot. Yes, you'll start out looking pathetic and sweaty, but pretty soon you'll be like Matthew McConnaughey or Michelle Obama and everyone will flock to be around you. Not that that's why you're doing it, it's just so you can be healthy." Right?
Then there's mental health and all the rest.
This post is my positivity-post. Self-positivity. My spirulina-and-yoga-post.
I believe we do need to love ourselves if we're going to function properly. Not in any sort of born-again way, but we have to think that we're good enough to deserve a place in the world. That we're good enough to speak. Good enough to occupy the thoughts of other people. Good enough for spirulina. Sometimes I need to remind myself.
So allow me to say it to you.
You deserve to be here. You are unique. You have beauty in you. You have things to offer. You have helpful skills. You have desirable qualities. You are an interesting topic for conversation. You are the reason to throw a party. You are lacking nothing. You think fascinating thoughts. You should share those thoughts. You can make people happy. You should sit for a painting. You should write. You create light and music when you smile and when you dance. You contribute to the betterment of the world. You are you and you are amazing.
This might be a tawdry read, but it felt good to write. Alex Lloyd must feel this good everyday...
-Yuri
If I ever sleep too late, I just consign myself to my lateness rather than cutting morning corners, because breakfast is very important.
Poached eggs are good. Variations on the theme of muesli. Vegemite and Avocado on toast for variation. Juice and/or tea (I usually need to wee before too long but that, like lateness, is just another price to pay).
Breakfast is very important. Laying the foundations to build the skyscraper of your day. Putting your best food forward, fed.
Everyone deserves a good breakfast.
I should also exercise or work out more. Not because I need to be buff or cut or stacked or ripped or huge. More so I feel like I'm taking pride in my body. In a healthy way. It deserves to be in peak condition as much as any other, right? I should run. Everyone runs these days, you're a chump if you don't run, right? It's like: "Swallow your pride, chump. Run until you're fit and hot like the rest of us. But not because you need to show people that you're fit and hot. Yes, you'll start out looking pathetic and sweaty, but pretty soon you'll be like Matthew McConnaughey or Michelle Obama and everyone will flock to be around you. Not that that's why you're doing it, it's just so you can be healthy." Right?
Then there's mental health and all the rest.
This post is my positivity-post. Self-positivity. My spirulina-and-yoga-post.
I believe we do need to love ourselves if we're going to function properly. Not in any sort of born-again way, but we have to think that we're good enough to deserve a place in the world. That we're good enough to speak. Good enough to occupy the thoughts of other people. Good enough for spirulina. Sometimes I need to remind myself.
So allow me to say it to you.
You deserve to be here. You are unique. You have beauty in you. You have things to offer. You have helpful skills. You have desirable qualities. You are an interesting topic for conversation. You are the reason to throw a party. You are lacking nothing. You think fascinating thoughts. You should share those thoughts. You can make people happy. You should sit for a painting. You should write. You create light and music when you smile and when you dance. You contribute to the betterment of the world. You are you and you are amazing.
This might be a tawdry read, but it felt good to write. Alex Lloyd must feel this good everyday...
-Yuri
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Gnus don't kill people
I was always very good at spelling.
I guess I have a bit of a word fervour/fascination/fetish. Reviewing this blog, I see it is time to admit this. Not in any literary way, and I'm certainly not an aspiring poet. I just dig words. Whimsical wordplays and heartrending ambiguities. On a toilet wall today I saw this beautiful bit of wordly wonder:
"My love, you have it all."
And my mind and guts went racing.
The epitome of romance? A cavalier critique of a wealthy person? A phrase uttered by an old wife offering her husband the last portion of cake? Or someone lost, devout and broken?
So sorry for the self-indulgence (the very nature of blogging, surely), but I thought I'd throw some words about on this post...
Here they are. Words:
I let my day fall away
I looked up to the moon
And I felt like something somewhere
Was completing
I head bedward nightly by lamplight
My night-sight is not so good you see
I've learned life should be light
Life should be light
Life should be lit
Life should be lighted on
And have lightness
Be set alight
Lighten
Then alight
A mouth unopened
Words unspoken
A harder ardour
No such profundity under me
As under-tree fecundity
I don't care to air the finer points
Solutions are liquid
As are spirits
I fell in a well
I felt sound
I fell still
I drowned in a well
I fell still
I felt both well and sound and also still
I look into her eyes and ice grips and plies
Her porcelain brow draws snow from the skies
Sleet stinging skin and frost flakes within
Driving a blizzard and biting my spine.
Imagine her at altitude.
-Yuri
I guess I have a bit of a word fervour/fascination/fetish. Reviewing this blog, I see it is time to admit this. Not in any literary way, and I'm certainly not an aspiring poet. I just dig words. Whimsical wordplays and heartrending ambiguities. On a toilet wall today I saw this beautiful bit of wordly wonder:
"My love, you have it all."
And my mind and guts went racing.
The epitome of romance? A cavalier critique of a wealthy person? A phrase uttered by an old wife offering her husband the last portion of cake? Or someone lost, devout and broken?
So sorry for the self-indulgence (the very nature of blogging, surely), but I thought I'd throw some words about on this post...
Here they are. Words:
I let my day fall away
I looked up to the moon
And I felt like something somewhere
Was completing
I head bedward nightly by lamplight
My night-sight is not so good you see
I've learned life should be light
Life should be light
Life should be lit
Life should be lighted on
And have lightness
Be set alight
Lighten
Then alight
A mouth unopened
Words unspoken
A harder ardour
No such profundity under me
As under-tree fecundity
I don't care to air the finer points
Solutions are liquid
As are spirits
I fell in a well
I felt sound
I fell still
I drowned in a well
I fell still
I felt both well and sound and also still
I look into her eyes and ice grips and plies
Her porcelain brow draws snow from the skies
Sleet stinging skin and frost flakes within
Driving a blizzard and biting my spine.
Imagine her at altitude.
-Yuri
Friday, September 4, 2009
Philosophy
Two pigeons perched on a wire.
One - Grandma Peggy, why is the earth brown and green?
Two - It just is, Little Desmond.
One - But why?
Two - Well, people used to think it was a reflective manifestation of light hitting the dirt and grass content of the earth.
One - Oh yeah?
Two - Some other people say it was to contrast our sky, which was already such a brilliant blue.
One - It is a brilliant blue.
Two - And some people think it's the colour left over from all the old branches and birds that have fallen down, dead and rotting.
One - Wow.
Two - But me I'm not so sure. I don't really know.
One - What do you think?
Two - I don't worry about it. Some things just are.
One - But why?
Two - Life is why.
One - ....
Two - Don't worry about it, Timmy.
One - I'm Desmond.
Two - You're cute is what you is.
One - Are you high, Grandma Peggy?
Two - Oh oh, am I high, am I high?
One - Grandma Peggy, you promised.
Two - What are you, you're, fa fa, you know what you're problem is, I feel a bit-
One - You're making me cry.
Two - Suck up a blast of this bad boy, Jo-Jo.
One - I'm not supposed to smoke your dope, Grandma Peggy.
Two - What are you, a poofy-girl? Hit that shit Billy.
One - I'm a child, Grandma Peggy.
Two - And we're both pigeons, so all rules are off, bitch. Pigeon don't gots no code, you wiener.
One - You're mean, Grandma Peggy.
Two - I'm- I'm mean? Do you really think-
One - Don't cry don't cry I just wanted to know about why the earth is brown and green. I guess sometimes it would be better for me to keep my curiosities to myself. But you mustn't cry, Grandma Peggy. Grandma Peggy? Are you sleeping? Oh God, God, Grandma Peggy, no, don't die Grandma Peggy. Don't die!
Two - ....
One - ....
Two - Ah, I'm just playing you, Little Desmond!
One - You scared me, Grandma Peggy!
Two - Do you want to go get some kugelhopf cake?
One - I think that would make everything better, yes.
-Yuri
One - Grandma Peggy, why is the earth brown and green?
Two - It just is, Little Desmond.
One - But why?
Two - Well, people used to think it was a reflective manifestation of light hitting the dirt and grass content of the earth.
One - Oh yeah?
Two - Some other people say it was to contrast our sky, which was already such a brilliant blue.
One - It is a brilliant blue.
Two - And some people think it's the colour left over from all the old branches and birds that have fallen down, dead and rotting.
One - Wow.
Two - But me I'm not so sure. I don't really know.
One - What do you think?
Two - I don't worry about it. Some things just are.
One - But why?
Two - Life is why.
One - ....
Two - Don't worry about it, Timmy.
One - I'm Desmond.
Two - You're cute is what you is.
One - Are you high, Grandma Peggy?
Two - Oh oh, am I high, am I high?
One - Grandma Peggy, you promised.
Two - What are you, you're, fa fa, you know what you're problem is, I feel a bit-
One - You're making me cry.
Two - Suck up a blast of this bad boy, Jo-Jo.
One - I'm not supposed to smoke your dope, Grandma Peggy.
Two - What are you, a poofy-girl? Hit that shit Billy.
One - I'm a child, Grandma Peggy.
Two - And we're both pigeons, so all rules are off, bitch. Pigeon don't gots no code, you wiener.
One - You're mean, Grandma Peggy.
Two - I'm- I'm mean? Do you really think-
One - Don't cry don't cry I just wanted to know about why the earth is brown and green. I guess sometimes it would be better for me to keep my curiosities to myself. But you mustn't cry, Grandma Peggy. Grandma Peggy? Are you sleeping? Oh God, God, Grandma Peggy, no, don't die Grandma Peggy. Don't die!
Two - ....
One - ....
Two - Ah, I'm just playing you, Little Desmond!
One - You scared me, Grandma Peggy!
Two - Do you want to go get some kugelhopf cake?
One - I think that would make everything better, yes.
-Yuri
Monday, August 31, 2009
Measured Mortality
Hello people,
I write this post in a room where second-youngest person is roughly twice my age. Two ladies are seriously discussing the apparently modern trend of fitted clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. Seriously. One of them has just asserted that it is likely the trend has come from France. I feel like this is too funny to be real. Too stereotyped for these people to be anything other than old hammy actors.
I feel comforted by my youth. I use it as an alibi for feeling insecure and making foolish choices. I think how happy I'll be when I'm fifty and I know longer worry about everything and I feel comfortable in my own skin. But what if that's a mirage? Perhaps I should poll this room full of sexa-/septa-/octogenarians and see how many among them are still riddled by the pains of existence.
Really I've just never known love.
Love would help I think.
Someone with balm for hands and words that say "You are not alone. I am here with you." But not Michael Jackson.
I administer drugs to fragile bodies on a daily basis. Bodies like the bodies in this room, and also like Michael Jackson.
It's like cleaning the windows on a house of cards.
What I'm saying is: I could kill someone today. If I had the inclination. Not that I'm saying that. You know, not that I'm saying Michael Jackson was killed.
Why do I need to know why leaves fall from trees? Their growth and their life are beautiful. They then litter footpaths with crispy golden goodness. But the most fascinating thing is the fall. The seconds in which the fall occurs. The sever, the fall, the stillness.
Death I've seen with my eyes. Love I've seen with my eyes. Surely a real experience of one or the other will visit me soon.
Is this a morbid blog? I'm sorry if it is.
The next post will be about slapstick and puppies. Promise.
-Yuri
I write this post in a room where second-youngest person is roughly twice my age. Two ladies are seriously discussing the apparently modern trend of fitted clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. Seriously. One of them has just asserted that it is likely the trend has come from France. I feel like this is too funny to be real. Too stereotyped for these people to be anything other than old hammy actors.
I feel comforted by my youth. I use it as an alibi for feeling insecure and making foolish choices. I think how happy I'll be when I'm fifty and I know longer worry about everything and I feel comfortable in my own skin. But what if that's a mirage? Perhaps I should poll this room full of sexa-/septa-/octogenarians and see how many among them are still riddled by the pains of existence.
Really I've just never known love.
Love would help I think.
Someone with balm for hands and words that say "You are not alone. I am here with you." But not Michael Jackson.
I administer drugs to fragile bodies on a daily basis. Bodies like the bodies in this room, and also like Michael Jackson.
It's like cleaning the windows on a house of cards.
What I'm saying is: I could kill someone today. If I had the inclination. Not that I'm saying that. You know, not that I'm saying Michael Jackson was killed.
Why do I need to know why leaves fall from trees? Their growth and their life are beautiful. They then litter footpaths with crispy golden goodness. But the most fascinating thing is the fall. The seconds in which the fall occurs. The sever, the fall, the stillness.
Death I've seen with my eyes. Love I've seen with my eyes. Surely a real experience of one or the other will visit me soon.
Is this a morbid blog? I'm sorry if it is.
The next post will be about slapstick and puppies. Promise.
-Yuri
Friday, August 28, 2009
On Loneliness and Manliness
Hi,
Some people are better at keeping secrets than others. My secret to keeping secrets is solitude. It leads me not into temptation. I just keep my dirty laundry to myself.
I think it might qualify as ironic that solitude can lead to madness, but we require assistance to apply a straightjacket.
I'd like to spend a day or so in a straightjacket, but I'd hate to fall and break my teeth. I already did that when I was fourteen. I had an exposed nerve. I've never felt anything like it since. And do they have gayjackets? Or are gay people unflappably sane? There's a gay girl at my work called Lisa, she's really cool and she seems pretty well-adjusted. Perhaps I'll need to gather more empirical evidence to prove this hypothesis with any statistical significance. I guess it would be cruel of the gays to possess the secret to mental stability and to sit quietly by while the heteros go bonkers.
I wish I hadn't written "gayjackets". How imbecilic.
I have smaller hands than most men. I think. That's bears no relevance to anything else though. I mean, I've got a totally massive wang and stuff. But sometimes I wish I could catch someone's punch and twist their hand around like JCVD does. I guess I'd need to incite someone to punch me first. If anyone has any suggestions as to the best way to get punched, really punched, by a stranger, please contribute. I'm curious.
Masculinity doesn't understand itself. If it strives to, it is no longer masculinity. Strangely, describing femininity can be part of masculinity, in the sense that telling other people what's what seems a masculine disposition. But that isn't understanding. True understanding is in a labyrinth in which masculinity refuses to tread lightly, so all the scurrying pearls elude it.
If I hate men it's ok, but I'm terrified I might hate women. And by hate I mean fear.
Sorry if this suddenly got political. If you have contrary feelings, trust them. You're much more likely to be right than me.
But still, I've got a totally massive wang and stuff.
Stay well.
-Yuri
Some people are better at keeping secrets than others. My secret to keeping secrets is solitude. It leads me not into temptation. I just keep my dirty laundry to myself.
I think it might qualify as ironic that solitude can lead to madness, but we require assistance to apply a straightjacket.
I'd like to spend a day or so in a straightjacket, but I'd hate to fall and break my teeth. I already did that when I was fourteen. I had an exposed nerve. I've never felt anything like it since. And do they have gayjackets? Or are gay people unflappably sane? There's a gay girl at my work called Lisa, she's really cool and she seems pretty well-adjusted. Perhaps I'll need to gather more empirical evidence to prove this hypothesis with any statistical significance. I guess it would be cruel of the gays to possess the secret to mental stability and to sit quietly by while the heteros go bonkers.
I wish I hadn't written "gayjackets". How imbecilic.
I have smaller hands than most men. I think. That's bears no relevance to anything else though. I mean, I've got a totally massive wang and stuff. But sometimes I wish I could catch someone's punch and twist their hand around like JCVD does. I guess I'd need to incite someone to punch me first. If anyone has any suggestions as to the best way to get punched, really punched, by a stranger, please contribute. I'm curious.
Masculinity doesn't understand itself. If it strives to, it is no longer masculinity. Strangely, describing femininity can be part of masculinity, in the sense that telling other people what's what seems a masculine disposition. But that isn't understanding. True understanding is in a labyrinth in which masculinity refuses to tread lightly, so all the scurrying pearls elude it.
If I hate men it's ok, but I'm terrified I might hate women. And by hate I mean fear.
Sorry if this suddenly got political. If you have contrary feelings, trust them. You're much more likely to be right than me.
But still, I've got a totally massive wang and stuff.
Stay well.
-Yuri
Sunday, August 16, 2009
YWW goes fourth
Hey everyone (Is there an everyone? Will anyone actually read this? I'm cautiously optimistic...),
I saw a man walking a ferret today. Seriously. A large man too. And the ferret had this little blue harness and thin blue lead and boundless curiosity. The plundering/lumbering boots barely balanced the big/big man, and the little ferret was dancing with death it seemed with each of the man's terrible paces.
I think I heard him say the ferret's name was Monty.
I've started eating sugar-free dark chocolate. I know it sounds lame-o but it's surprisingly satisfying. You can get it with Acai (pronounced Ah-sah-ee) berries.
People are so hooked on this idea of super-fruits. Acai berries are a super-fruit.
Even cranberry juice, which has been happily selling itself for years as a refreshing beverage and natural diuretic, is now adopting this phrase "super fruit" into it's marketing.
In Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, Street Fighter, and various awesome Japanese children's entertainment vehicles, "super" was like the first level of upgrade, then there was "mega", then there was "ultra", and so on.
I can't wait until we have ultra-fruit. I'm fairly sure that will enable the powers of flight and teleportation.
I have a secret hidden in my apartment. In a wooden chest.
I think it's healthy to have secrets. So long as they're not hurting anyone.
And I'm not hurting anyone.
I'm seriously a nurse. A reader of this blog wrote and asked if I'm seriously a nurse. The answer is yes. I work mostly with the elderly and extremely infirm. It makes for a very quiet workplace. Not much conversation. Unless you can speak with the rhythmic pings and beeps that echo through the rooms. I can't. Yet...
I actually really like being a nurse. When I'm caring for someone, I know I'm giving them a direct line of help, which is selfless on my part, and it's something that they need. I'd hate it if I thought I was helping but then I found out that the person just thought I was irritating. But changing drips is unequivocally helpful, and desirable. So I'm doing good. I really like my work.
And to finish today's post, a few nice words. Each nice word has multiple definitions that form an amusing relationship within the nice word:
Career
Ravel
Quodlibet
Well (see physics textbooks for this one)
Thanks for reading.
-Yuri
I saw a man walking a ferret today. Seriously. A large man too. And the ferret had this little blue harness and thin blue lead and boundless curiosity. The plundering/lumbering boots barely balanced the big/big man, and the little ferret was dancing with death it seemed with each of the man's terrible paces.
I think I heard him say the ferret's name was Monty.
I've started eating sugar-free dark chocolate. I know it sounds lame-o but it's surprisingly satisfying. You can get it with Acai (pronounced Ah-sah-ee) berries.
People are so hooked on this idea of super-fruits. Acai berries are a super-fruit.
Even cranberry juice, which has been happily selling itself for years as a refreshing beverage and natural diuretic, is now adopting this phrase "super fruit" into it's marketing.
In Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, Street Fighter, and various awesome Japanese children's entertainment vehicles, "super" was like the first level of upgrade, then there was "mega", then there was "ultra", and so on.
I can't wait until we have ultra-fruit. I'm fairly sure that will enable the powers of flight and teleportation.
I have a secret hidden in my apartment. In a wooden chest.
I think it's healthy to have secrets. So long as they're not hurting anyone.
And I'm not hurting anyone.
I'm seriously a nurse. A reader of this blog wrote and asked if I'm seriously a nurse. The answer is yes. I work mostly with the elderly and extremely infirm. It makes for a very quiet workplace. Not much conversation. Unless you can speak with the rhythmic pings and beeps that echo through the rooms. I can't. Yet...
I actually really like being a nurse. When I'm caring for someone, I know I'm giving them a direct line of help, which is selfless on my part, and it's something that they need. I'd hate it if I thought I was helping but then I found out that the person just thought I was irritating. But changing drips is unequivocally helpful, and desirable. So I'm doing good. I really like my work.
And to finish today's post, a few nice words. Each nice word has multiple definitions that form an amusing relationship within the nice word:
Career
Ravel
Quodlibet
Well (see physics textbooks for this one)
Thanks for reading.
-Yuri
Friday, August 14, 2009
I am invisible to night.
Hi, it's me again.
I heard a really funny joke on the radio at work today about swine flu. But it's really frustrating because I know it was really funny but I can't remember the wording. If anyone was listening to those two comedian guys at around four-thirty and remembers the joke, could you please post it? It was so funny and I laughed till my tummy hurt, but now I can't remember it at all. Please help.
Also, tonight I found some yellow paper wedged into a crack in the skirting in my bedroom. This is what was written on it:
I am invisible to night
Unlike the nights when I was oh so repugnantly conspicuous
now
to night
I am invisible
My keen responsive dance bifurcated the revellers' visions and now I sit within their retinal lapses
In prayer
In prayer for a prayer for revelation
Self-revelation
Of
Not unto
The hip-hips and brays will part and I shall receive illumination
Self-illumination
Of
Not unto
I have prospected enough
Shit I've derricked well my wells and well this piggy needs must go to market and
set up shop
But
As I said
I am invisible to night
No amount of ambition will serve to demystify or even de-mist me now.
I am such the stuff of polarity's devilry if but the entirity of the world would tilt its head to a side I would burn out their eyes.
And that was the end of it. No name, no date. Pretty interesting I reckon.
Yeah, so once again if anyone knows that heaps funny swine flu joke from the radio guys, can you please post it here as a comment?
Thanks heaps.
-Yuri
I heard a really funny joke on the radio at work today about swine flu. But it's really frustrating because I know it was really funny but I can't remember the wording. If anyone was listening to those two comedian guys at around four-thirty and remembers the joke, could you please post it? It was so funny and I laughed till my tummy hurt, but now I can't remember it at all. Please help.
Also, tonight I found some yellow paper wedged into a crack in the skirting in my bedroom. This is what was written on it:
I am invisible to night
Unlike the nights when I was oh so repugnantly conspicuous
now
to night
I am invisible
My keen responsive dance bifurcated the revellers' visions and now I sit within their retinal lapses
In prayer
In prayer for a prayer for revelation
Self-revelation
Of
Not unto
The hip-hips and brays will part and I shall receive illumination
Self-illumination
Of
Not unto
I have prospected enough
Shit I've derricked well my wells and well this piggy needs must go to market and
set up shop
But
As I said
I am invisible to night
No amount of ambition will serve to demystify or even de-mist me now.
I am such the stuff of polarity's devilry if but the entirity of the world would tilt its head to a side I would burn out their eyes.
And that was the end of it. No name, no date. Pretty interesting I reckon.
Yeah, so once again if anyone knows that heaps funny swine flu joke from the radio guys, can you please post it here as a comment?
Thanks heaps.
-Yuri
Friday, August 7, 2009
An interview with me conducted by me:
So Yuri, you live alone do you?
I was about to say yes, but the very nature of this interview has, I think, cast some ambiguous plurality on my apparently solitary living arrangements. Wouldn't you agree?
No. You live alone Yuri.
If you knew why did you ask?
Why don't you live in a sharehouse?
I work long hours and I would feel guilty about not contributing to the group environment. And on the occasions that I was home, I would worry that I was in people's hair too much. And I don't want to be involved in any unpleasant disputes over money. And I think everyone needs their own space to feel safe.
Do you feel safe?
Yes.
Would you like to live with other people one day?
I'd love, one day, to have a family. One day. I think that would be terrific. So yes.
New topic. If you were any kind of animal, do you think people would treat you differently?
That's a very funny question. Obviously, yes. People treat people with a certain unsurprisedness. As if people all behave the way people they know behave, so there's no need to entertain the possibility of opening their eyes and treating anyone any differently. But if I became an animal, I think people might stop and consider me as something novel or dangerous or fascinating.
Are you religious?
I don't go to church, but I do pray a bit. Daily usually.
What is your favourite food?
Akta-Vite. It's technically a drink. It's like Milo, but different.
If you were in a horrific accident and had only seconds to live, what secrets would you reveal to the paramedics?
None. Or maybe the fact that I'm guilty of being too simple and uncomplicated. I wish I had scandals to reveal, but I'm afraid I don't.
You're lying.
To lie is human. Lying is a fusion of wanting and weakness. Maybe the most human of all actions. If I am lying, it's because it feels good.
That's an interesting thought.
Thanks.
-Yuri
I was about to say yes, but the very nature of this interview has, I think, cast some ambiguous plurality on my apparently solitary living arrangements. Wouldn't you agree?
No. You live alone Yuri.
If you knew why did you ask?
Why don't you live in a sharehouse?
I work long hours and I would feel guilty about not contributing to the group environment. And on the occasions that I was home, I would worry that I was in people's hair too much. And I don't want to be involved in any unpleasant disputes over money. And I think everyone needs their own space to feel safe.
Do you feel safe?
Yes.
Would you like to live with other people one day?
I'd love, one day, to have a family. One day. I think that would be terrific. So yes.
New topic. If you were any kind of animal, do you think people would treat you differently?
That's a very funny question. Obviously, yes. People treat people with a certain unsurprisedness. As if people all behave the way people they know behave, so there's no need to entertain the possibility of opening their eyes and treating anyone any differently. But if I became an animal, I think people might stop and consider me as something novel or dangerous or fascinating.
Are you religious?
I don't go to church, but I do pray a bit. Daily usually.
What is your favourite food?
Akta-Vite. It's technically a drink. It's like Milo, but different.
If you were in a horrific accident and had only seconds to live, what secrets would you reveal to the paramedics?
None. Or maybe the fact that I'm guilty of being too simple and uncomplicated. I wish I had scandals to reveal, but I'm afraid I don't.
You're lying.
To lie is human. Lying is a fusion of wanting and weakness. Maybe the most human of all actions. If I am lying, it's because it feels good.
That's an interesting thought.
Thanks.
-Yuri
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
My first post
I couldn't figure out what to call this blog.
It's just a blog of thoughts and my life and things.
I almost called it Yuri Wells' Neural Spells. But that's pretty pretentious, and pretense is seldom pretty.
Here's a thing I scribed down today. In the park near my work, a man was muttering this to himself. I tried to capture it word for word. I did my best. I think it's beautiful. In a way.
"Sticky viscous I'm dripping slippery fishy now blocked and rocky stop me stop me CUT oh bite my eyes out cry out dry out limply dripping thinly bristled distanced mincing primly dumbly fumbling sinking dribbling in my sticky viscous drivel slipping wistful to pish and piffle CUT I'm viscous impotence itching filaments fibres grime and grit with no love in it no life or love in it this drizzled stickiness and limp-wristed winded whisper clip-wing business, my weak and woeful no-hopeful sticky viscous self.
You fiend. You phoney. You falsity. You phantom. You half-truth turnskin crookback mountebank shadow of a shame of a show of a semi-person. Go grow a hope."
I know it's kind of intense, and he was obviously not in a good way. But there's something about his attachment, his burning feeling for whatever it was he was talking about (pain?), that I just found really beautiful. Yes, he was a troubled man, but he also seemed to be engaged in something else, something substantial, and that's why I thought it was beautiful.
Or maybe he was just strange.
Have a lovely day.
-Yuri
It's just a blog of thoughts and my life and things.
I almost called it Yuri Wells' Neural Spells. But that's pretty pretentious, and pretense is seldom pretty.
Here's a thing I scribed down today. In the park near my work, a man was muttering this to himself. I tried to capture it word for word. I did my best. I think it's beautiful. In a way.
"Sticky viscous I'm dripping slippery fishy now blocked and rocky stop me stop me CUT oh bite my eyes out cry out dry out limply dripping thinly bristled distanced mincing primly dumbly fumbling sinking dribbling in my sticky viscous drivel slipping wistful to pish and piffle CUT I'm viscous impotence itching filaments fibres grime and grit with no love in it no life or love in it this drizzled stickiness and limp-wristed winded whisper clip-wing business, my weak and woeful no-hopeful sticky viscous self.
You fiend. You phoney. You falsity. You phantom. You half-truth turnskin crookback mountebank shadow of a shame of a show of a semi-person. Go grow a hope."
I know it's kind of intense, and he was obviously not in a good way. But there's something about his attachment, his burning feeling for whatever it was he was talking about (pain?), that I just found really beautiful. Yes, he was a troubled man, but he also seemed to be engaged in something else, something substantial, and that's why I thought it was beautiful.
Or maybe he was just strange.
Have a lovely day.
-Yuri
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