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Posted 26 September 2003, 6.12 pm by Craig

Visit Site.

Death And Creation

Posted 25 September 2003, 12.12 am by Anton

This might not be laid out as an article because it was never intended as one. Its just me and my thoughts laid out on a page...


Death, its a funny thing isn't it?

Well actually its not really that funny. Its intriguing though, being a man of no religious disposition I have absolutely no idea what happens when you die. It could be heaven/hell, it could be reincarnation or it could be absolutely nothing. To me death is a big dark cave. We spend our entire lives walking round outside this cave never knowing what's inside. Certain people will adamantly tell you what's inside, most of us will stay as far away from it as possible whilst some just decide to run inside way before their time. All we know about the cave is once you go far enough in you're never coming back. There could be everything you ever wanted inside it, money, women, beer, drugs whatever. It could also have a big fuck off bear ready to slowly rip you into small pieces and devour you or it could just be a big fucking empty cave and you spend the rest of eternity lost in the darkness.

I don't lean either way as to the contents of the cave but I have a hard time comprehending that there is absolutely nothing there. All I know is being alive and I really can't even begin to consider not being alive. You could compare it to being asleep but you never know when you're asleep, you just know you were once you wake up. You never wake up from death so who's going to tell you that you're dead?

Linked to that is consciousness, I can't seem to agree that we're nothing but chemical reactions. It all makes perfect sense until things like personality and thought comes into it. Are you telling me that the way one chemical reacts with another can determine exactly who I am? What part of biology explains why I like the type of women I do, what part of biology allows to 'hear' the thoughts I think inside my head?

Death is the only thing in this world I am afraid of. Its the unknown, the one thing I will never understand. I never want to die, if only because I like being alive and as unpredictable as it is at least I know the rules within which it operates. Well its not dying I'm afraid of, I accept that one day my time will end and I shall die. I know this. I'm afraid of whatever happens after I die.

When I think of death I always think of birth. Not human birth but the birth of everything. The big bang theory and stuff like that. Here's what I can remember being taught...

There were a load of gases and energy in the universe and for some reason they all gravitated towards some point and once it got dense enough *BANG* it all exploded and slowly the universe began to form and apparently its still expanding.

What are we expanding into? Whenever I think of an empty space I think of an empty box but a box always has borders. Does the universe have a border? What does it look like? What's on the other side? What happens if we pass the border? If it doesn't have borders what the fuck are we expanding into? Space isn't nothing, it must be something for things to go into it. Nothing is the lack of anything from space to matter. Nothingness doesn't really exist.

Anyway, even if the big bang is right the matter must have come from somewhere and whatever it came from must've come from somewhere and wherever that came from... etc. It can be traced back as far as you can go until eventually you just have to say "It was just there". Now I don't know if its just me but I can't even begin to fathom things just appearing out of nowhere. Could a lump of matter just randomly appear on my desk right now? Of course not, so why the fuck do we have to assume something just appeared in the beginning of time?

Things like this make my brain fry. Its why I try not to think about it because it seems like something we will never ever understand. I'm typically more concerned about the here and now, the present and immediate future. The distant future is to rife with unpredictabilities and the past has already happened. That's not to say I disregard them completely, we must learn from past mistakes but dwelling on them is foolish. We should never let tradition stand in the way of bettering ourselves. We must plan for the future as well because one day it will become the present but we shouldn't plan for the future at great expense to ourselves now should we come to regret it later. I could work my ass off everyday in the hopes of being able to retire at 45 but then I could get hit by a bus next year and spend the rest of my life as a quadriplegic and regret spending all this time working hard when I could've been having fun.

That's about all I can think to put now, there wasn't much of an ending but my thoughts never do have one. They just stop and move onto something else.


Posted 24 September 2003, 10.03 pm by Shaggy

People watching should be considered an art. Rarely do people take the time to look at their fellow man. In fact, I had to be introduced to this subtle art by my significant other. I was surprised at how quickly human nature exposed itself to me (not literally of course, though if you wish, I'm sure there is a stripjoint near you to serve that purpose).

Take, for instance, women. The subtleties do not go unnoticed by me. The butt-wiggling is one of the most interesting fads I had the pleasure of noticing. This strange mating ritual looks rather ridiculous when you stop and actually realize what the poor lady is doing. Certainly, there is a certain art to this movement, but still, it is a method to lure men into the complete and utter control of the woman.

I often wonder how far back this strange phenomenon occurs. Did the cave-women sway their (potentially) hairy behinds in order to lure lugheads into clubbing them and dragging them into the secure confines of "Ugg-Jugg's crib?"

I also find a disturbing amount of fake-ness about women. Now, do not get me wrong, I am not a misogynist! On the contrary, I think a lot of women do not take enough pride in themselves! Ladies, show us your real, true beauty! Men do not truly appreciate having to wait alongside the bed as you take off your face (make-up), your breasts (bra-padding or water-bras), your ass (butt-enhancers), your facial tape, your hair... what are we left with? Someone entirely new! Be proud of your natural beauty, and if you feel shy, or inadequate... at least have some hope that men are not difficult to please. Its true. At times, men are freakin' morons.

Another thing I noticed: a disturbing amount of 50 year old MARRIED men have their eyes fixated on 18 year old ass. Granted, youth can be an attractive thing, but I do get disturbed when I see an older man eye-f---ing some teenager, only stopping when his WIFE AND KIDS come up to meet him. This is not specifically disturbing for the age difference (though I personally find that aspect rather disturbing) but because of the respect he is showing his wife.

News to all men: it is no wonder that lesbianism is so rampant if you keep on the way you do! Appreciate your wife! Be happy for her beauty, for her power, for her intelligence, for everything that makes her HER. While eye-roaming is inevitable, eye-f---ing is not necessary, and sets a bad example for what you think of your wife's beauty (if you find your wife beautiful, why become so infatuated elsewhere?) and a bad example for your children (do you really want your 5 year old daughter to think she has to look exactly like that 18 year old at all times to be attractive? Do you really want to teach her that shallowness means so much?)

Not all my observations are negative, however. I delight in seeing those strong, intelligent parents who encourage the inquisitive side of children. "What is that, daddy?" "Why, that's a dolphin. It is the most wonderful of fish, and plays in the sea!" It is hard to describe these parents. They just give off an aura of appreciation, and it is not hard to see into their happiness and supportiveness.

Lovers are also interesting. Especially new lovers, where the man is so happy he is utterly stupid (or perhaps the woman is suffering the same fate). Nothing delights me more than to see two people, regardless whether same sex, different sex, different age.... just two people who you can tell are utterly happy. I feel happy FOR these people, as if they pass on their happiness to me, and it is a gift to see these people smile.

I enjoy teachers and public speakers, as they give off so much about themselves, and attempt to mask so much as well. I enjoy everything about life, about the energy given to me.

In fact, I think I'm going to go for a walk. Who knows what else I'll see. Maybe it will make me angry and disappointed in the human race. Maybe it will be a pleasant surprise. Whatever it will be, I know it will be worthwhile.

So take a moment, and look around you. You will be surprised at what people speak of themselves by the swinging of an arm, the direction of their eyes, the clothes they wear.

When you begin to be talented at this art, you begin to wonder: how much can people tell by the way I am in public?


Posted 24 September 2003, 7.38 am by Acheron

Best... rpg... ever!

Get Progress Quest!

Rise of the Objects

Posted 23 September 2003, 6.06 pm by Shaggy

Objectify: to pretend as if someone is nothing more than the sum of their parts; to dehumanize; to abuse without remorse.

I recently heard the tale of two lesbian lovers. Not content with actually living happy by themselves, they must take in a third party. You see, one of them is bisexual, though strongly leaning towards women. So periodically, this couple, in order to please her heterosexual side (because, you know, we all must please all our sexualities at once) gathers some stupid man who they both use sexually and then throw away.

Where do they get this man? Who knows. I do not understand how a man can willingly objectify himself, turning himself into nothing more than a sexual organ. I am not the sum of my parts, I am an interesting, opinionated human being, a PERSON.

I would like to see someone try, just for a moment, to treat me like an object. I've been treated like an object before. I lost a job because I'm a male. One of my ex-girlfriends cheated on me because she just assumed all men would cheat so she "had better cheat first, before you do" (quoted from my ex).

Granted, I'm certain many women understand my point of view. But, many people in my position perpetuate the problem. They begin hating the sex that abused them in a gross overgeneralization. Then they begin "cheating before the other side." It turns into a monstrous game of hurt and betrayal.

Forget that. I am no one's object. So, man and woman, all, rise up, and spit in the face of those who would turn you into a life support for your genitals! Spit in their face, and expose them for the petty, wretched slobs they are!

Many of you are probably already disgusted by me. However, one thing I promised myself, as I was beaten down into the dirt (literally) in my younger days, as I nursed concussions and knife wounds, I swore to myself that I would never take my aggression out on others in a world-wide generalization. Because I know why people hurt, and it is the dumbest logic ever: either they hurt out of pure ignorance, or they hurt others because they were hurt first.

So grab your baseball bats, and let's all have a swing against people who are not our enemies... who, in fact, do not know us. Let's fuck around on people, and throw them out in the gutter, never pausing for a moment to consider that they might actually be looking for connection on a more significant plane of existence than sheer sexuality. ...

Rise, I say, all those who have been shoved in the gutter! No longer allow yourself to be stomped on! For those who have been cheated on, tossed aside, beaten, shot at... let's expose those who are ignorant to the pain they cause us! No more shall we bite our tongue and allow your pain.

I will not be objectified, and by God, Valhalla, Buddha, Science, or whatever god you pray to, I will fight to the death to remain as I am in Truth: A PERSON!

Life of Pi by Jann Martel

Posted 19 September 2003, 7.53 am by Acheron

For several reasons, reviewing this book is a daunting task. First, it is incredibly popular. Everyone I know in Canada (I am not exaggerating) has either read this book, is reading it, or is desparately trying to borrow someone else's copy. It may soon supplant our traditional conversational fallback - talking about the weather.

Another reason this book is difficult to review is spoilers. This book is about an East Indian boy. There is some ocean involved. And animals. That's all the plot I can give.

Finally, and most dauntingly, though, there is the book's premise. Here is a book that promises to make the reader believe in God. Even more frightening than the myriad impressions this statement generates is the fact it may well be true.

So you can see, I have left you with nothing. Apparently someone with a funny name, living in Canada no less, wrote a book about a young boy, and then he has the gall to say it will make you believe in God. Popularity, the acclaim of, um, Canada, and my own glowing words of praise are all you'll really have to rely on in deciding whether or not to read this book. I think I should throw a few "very"s in here somewhere to convince you further, because this book is worth reading very very very much.

Fool Britannia

Posted 16 September 2003, 11.31 pm by Villager

A lot of people seem to think that history and its study, either academically or personally, is a waste of time. Others, myself included, value it as a source of understanding the present and a tool for which we can better deal with the future. I find myself studying history at degree level despite popular belief among my friends and family that it is something of a folly, as well as the rather barren and narrow curriculum that I was rationed throughout Highschool. Formerly a mainstay of traditional British education, history has fallen to the wayside, finding itself superseded by a range of more popular courses such as Media, Business and Computer Studies. Accepted modern thought on the matter is that there are basic skills and understanding, the 'life skills'; English, Science and Mathematics, which should be accompanied by more practical, vocational subjects such as Computing, Business, Accounting and Economics. This leaves subjects such as history as marginal topics to be given little attention, an optional extra. Fans of music, art, physical education, philosophy, languages and religion will have comparable complaint: the education of British youth has fallen prey to practicality and economic efficiency, at the fatal expense of culture, art and the exercise of both imagination and body.

Just as important to being taught at all is what is chosen to be taught. Primary and secondary education in Britain seems to be dominated by limited 'snapshots' of history, some of the most common of which are Nazi Germany, English Monarchs and the rise and glory of America. All have their interesting aspects (Nazi Germany being a personal favourite) but their range is abysmal and by character neglect one of the most important things that recent history has to say: that Britain made the modern world. That this is neglected by British schools themselves is quite remarkable. I would venture to say that the history of Britain has more bearing upon the way we live today than that of any other remaining nation. British inventions, intellectuals, wars, language and industries have left a visible and profound mark on probably every country in the world. I do not think that can be said about any other nation still standing in the 21st century. But this isn't about me loving or being proud of British heritage, for I am no patriot and recognise the worse excesses of my ancestors just as their greatest achievements. It is about something in the mindset of those who decide curriculum that either the British Empire and all it entailed is something we should be ashamed of, or a mixed achievement that we should neither celebrate nor decry. So it is neglected altogether. If such a thing as this were to happen in any other country that considers itself to have ever been important, there would be outrage. This is one instance in which it would do us no harm to learn something from The USA: a flag in every classroom, a meaty dose of domestic history and the portrayal of the nation in the most productive light possible, not a negative feature to be overcome.

The great majority of people under 40 have little or no knowledge of the role their nation played in the years before. Many of them see Britain as a developed but beleaguered country well below the standards of many other countries and have no comprehension of how we arrived in this state, now. No doubt some of you are asking 'so what?'. Well the neglect of British history - and so the utter ignorance of the most influential nation since the Roman empire - seems to me to be a perfect example of the erosion of community and culture over the past 50 years. History and subjects like it, subjects that prompt us to think about the world around us and ask questions, are every bit as important to a child's education as understanding maths or computers and far more important than learning about algorithms and business strategies. We no longer see being British as anything more than a name, no more significant that any other Western nation. As history, culture, community and collective self-confidence are gradually eroded, we are left with a society that has chosen without inducement to discard its own magnificent heritage to focus wholly on the pursuit of maximum financial and material gain. Whatever your opinion of the British Empire, Britain without the spirit of Empire is a society devoid of aspiration, self-belief and self-respect. Quality of life is measured by GDP and culture is passed off as pop music and television. As a society we have no mutual respect, as a nation we have nothing in common. True poverty has virtually been eradicated in this country, and most of us are, though we would likely deny it, comfortably wealthy. Isn't it time we spent a little less time and effort in the pursuit of ever greater material wealth and a little more on the development and expansion of the mind?

Confessions of a Flesh Artist

Posted 12 September 2003, 6.06 am by clank-o-tron

The vanity of humanity knows no bounds. It was once exciting to get a loved one's name tattooed upon oneself then, after that, more elaborate tattoos were desired. Eventually, piercing entered the realm of accepted body alteration, beginning with "mundane" locations such as the nipples or eyebrow and moving on to the tongue or genetalia. Just when it seemed that people had done everything they could to customize their bodies - bodies deemed acceptable to the Almighty Himself - I came along. My name is Emerson Drake. I am a flesh artist.

The inspiration for my craft was sudden and almost forced upon me by my good friend Johnson Calem. He and I were having a discussion on the recent craze of body alterations - mutilations, he called them - and the subject drifted to scars. He commented that is althletic ineptitude and careful demeanor had caused him to leave his childhood without any memorable scars. A scar, he said, proved that a man had lived - had seen things and had stories to tell.

As he spoke, I could tell he was staring quite intently at my right cheek from time to time. I knew this because on said location lies a large scar indeed, from my days in service of my country. I had been a sniper - trained by my country to strike silently, accurately, and from afar. No ordinary marksman, I - more men were slain by me alone than entire other regimens. The story of my scar is quite simple, but it still enthralls people such as my friend Calem who have lived their lives uneventfully by comparison. During a routine sweep of a suspected sniper ambush, I found myself staring down my scope to the scope of another. Seeing the muzzle flash of this opponent, I pulled the trigger and rolled out of the way. I was far more fortunate than the other man, as I am clearly here to describe the event to you presently.

Calem glanced from my face up to the mantle where I kept a weapon of the same model I had used in the war on display. An odd look swept over his face as he slowly opened his mouth to speak, as though he was forming the words carefully. When he finally spoke, he asked of my skill and accuracy with the rifle. I issued a brief and by no means exhaustive list of my accomplishments with firearms. He paused for a moment, again with a curious look on his face. He then spoke words to me that I have never heard a sane man speak.

He asked me to shoot him.

I laughed quite heartily at the notion, but when I ceased my laughter I noticed that my friend was staring at me quite expectantly, and immediately offered me a moderate sum of money to perform the service. Before I could speak a word, he assured me that he would sign a paper indicating that I was to be absolved of ay wrongdoing, should his death result from this request. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing that I posessed the requisite skll to decide whether a man lives or dies from my bullet.

At the time, I lived in a rather rural community, with a large field behind my house. In addition to the privacy, the routine encounters with unfriendly wildlife would certainly allow for a gunshot to go unnoticed. Calem decided that he would like his scar to be on his neck so that it would peek slightly out from his shirt-collar. I told Calem to stand at still as he could at a spot then, leaving a first-aid kit by his feet, I moved a good distance away. He yelled to me and indicated that he was ready for me to commence.

That was the first of many "flesh artistries" I performed for people. I would draw up a contract indicating that I could not be held liable if their death was caused, at any time, by any gun wielded by myself. Word quickly spread, and within a year I had "worked" upon hundreds of men. My list of clientele was quite sizable, but still, something inside me was left unsastisfied.

As abruptly as my business began, it collapsed. One client wanted a scar along the length of his forearm, and he did not heed my warning that all jewlery should be removed prior to the event. Unaccustomed to the sound of gunfire the subject jolted in shock, causing his ring - ironically one he wore for luck - to redirect the bullet. Ricocheting off his ring, the bullet drove into his chest - killing him instantly. In that moment the boy died, so did my business. His family tried to have me charged for his murder, but the procurement of the contract signed by the boy forced the charges to be dropped. Even in their civil case agianst me, the precise wording of my contract shielded me much better than darkness and camoflauge ever had. It was at that moment that the unknown longing deep inside of me was satisfied. I looked into my filing cabinet full of contracts identical to the boy's.

My business may be dead, but I will continue my work - whether it is requested or not.

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Doggybag/baggy_dog is an artist living and working in Barga, Italy. Click here to read about this piece in his own words.

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80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?


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