It's 8:30 in the morning. I'm exhausted, my eyes nothing more than slits as I painfully work to prevent the lids from snapping shut and locking my lashes together. I reek of body odor and hastily applied deodorant and my pant legs are sticking to my thighs from dried sweat. Most importantly, though, I'm smoking my last cigarette.

I meant to sleep tonight... last night. I have a lot of things that demand my attention today, and I don't know now if I'll be able to accomplish any of them. It's way past my bedtime. An hour ago, I exceptionally rude to Spooky's younger sister because her phone call broke my concentration. No matter how much I would like to say that I spent all of tonight learning the intricacies of the PHP scripting system as I had intended, it's simply not the case.

At 5:30 AM on January 17th, I lifted Syrup from atop my scanner. By page two, I had chuckled three times and realized that all hope of rest was lost.

Maxx Barry is quick to point out that this is certainly not the way employees of the venerable Coca-Cola company would behave themselves. He's got an entire page devoted to this disclaimer. If I honestly believed that this were the case, I'd be damn disappointed.

The average adult is said to have three million dollar ideas per year. Scat, an unemployed marketing god-to-be, has just had one. It's called Fukk and he's convinced that it's going to revolutionize the soft drink industry. What's different about it? It comes in a black can with the word Fukk emblazoned across it in red.

That's it.

When Scat takes it to Coca-Cola, he meets the woman of his dreams. Aggressive, smart, and undeniably sexy. Her name is 6, she's a lesbian, and she knows that Fukk will change the world. Too bad for Scat that he's already fucked up his own deal. Well, that and the woman of his dreams is a lesbian.

What follows in the next two hundred and fifty pages is an uproarious ride through the often bitter and cruel corporate marketing world. Scat is repeatedly crushed and defeated despite constant success against unbelievable odds. All of this leading up to the ultimate prize, the wet dream of any marketer: The 90 minute advertisement.

Barry has successfully managed to weave together a cynical look at media with an often touching romantic tale. It's constant twists and turns managed to keep me riveted from start to finish. I didn't even set the book down to brush my teeth, preferring to read while praying that I hadn't dribbled paste down my beard.

If you can find a copy at your local bookstore, buy it immediately. Printing ceased in mid December with no plans to resume. As for me, I'll be banging on store doors about this time next Friday to pick up his next novel, Jennifer Government. If it's half as entertaining as Syrup has been... Well, I guess I can look forward to at least one more sleepless night.

I try, for all that it matters. I try desperately to be a good person, to shed all the indecent things that I have thought, said, or done. In fact, I suppose I shelter myself a great deal to this end, not drinking, smoking, fucking, taking drugs, going out, or even entertaining myself further than writing, reading, working, and watching movies. Not that I do not encourage a friendly game of Playstation 2 to celebrate the return of school (and while I still have time).

Yet my cost has always caught up to me.

Things change. Feelings change. Emotions are ever elusive, waves up and down. Sometimes I feel like slicing my wrists. Other times I feel that there can be nothing greater than life.

I try.

My different waves of emotion are not, at least as far as I know, a result of manic depressive disorders, or any other form of neuroses, but the predisposition of this pit of earth: nothing stays the same, everything changes. The values a child holds are no mirror to those of the same adult. Even the beliefs change.

I am not sure what change has overcome me. I am not even terribly certain that I care. The only thing I can be of certain is the importance of a lie. I smile. I cheer. I attend school, and no one knows any different. Indeed, even in my most depressive of days, no one could tell. It is not in me to be an open book when it could be the most helpful. Rather, I lie, because I cannot be a burden to those I love and those I see everyday. How would that burden ever be killed?

Will those around me ever think I am sane, reformed, happy, if I tell them "I am deeply troubled and fear the nightmares that are a cause of my sorrow, which keep me from sleeping"? Can I tell anyone that is not a complete stranger, whose judgement I feareth not?

I have been everything from happy to sad on this site. The most I am in real life anymore is annoyed and ecstatic.

The strange thing is the cause: I fear my girlfriend of two years has seriously considered leaving me. This is ridiculous as a cause for all my sorrow. In fact, it is ridiculous as a consideration, not because my girlfriend would never leave me, or any other such cal, but because in the end, for better or worse, she is the last woman I will ever be with (this is a promise both to myself and to her). I love her, no matter what her decision, and she is, reciprocity potentially notwithstanding, my soulmate, my one and only.

I do not know what is more scary to me: the fact that she very well might leave me, or that I might very well be holding her back, might be taking from her something she wishes.

I guess I just am not certain about anything.

Ah, how the tides wash away the sandcastles. Perhaps tomorrow, she will tell me she will never leave me. Perhaps I will be happy continuously, smiling like some junkie.

Whatever the case, being beaten by the waves can get mighty annoying.

Mighty.

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Well it's only been a week but it seems like longer. After 7 days in the wilderness, akpcep.com is back. New server, new hosts - site should be quicker, more stable and reliable. If it's not, please let me know.

Few things to tell you as we start up again. Firstly, check out the store. You'll notice the prices have plummeted considerably. I've decided to earn 0 commision on any of the items as it became clear to me you're only lining the pockets of the British banking system, and I'd rather more of you bought stuff and used it as a way of advertising the site. That way everyone wins - except Johnny Bank.

Another little gift from akpcep.com to you - we have 1000 you@akpcep.com email addresses to give away. Simply email me at admin@akpcep.com, stating what email address you would like and which email you would like it to forward to. Then, when email is sent to alexfan@akpcep.com, it gets instantly forwarded to your alexisasexgod@hotmail.com address. Great huh?

I'd like to thank you all for your patience over the site move, especially those of you who supplied funds and whatnot - every penny has gone back into the site running costs.

I also would like to see more user submissions to the front page - be it an article (on any topic you like), a review of something or a link to a funny, informative or inspirational website, I want you to share it. Click "submit article" in your User Console to the left (when logged in).

Lastly, I would like you to use the comments page linked below to tell me about any features or functionalities you DON'T see at akpcep.com that you think would be a good idea. I want to keep pushing forward and to make akpcep.com the most complete 'site fer interlekshuls' it can be.

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I think therefore I am, Descartes

I am therefore I think, Marxism

Not that I really have an entire understanding of those concepts, nor did Karl Marx himself actually say "I am, therefore I think", though I think that it can be a synopsis of some of Marxist concepts. However, those two phrases, used to describe two of the most interesting philosophers, led me to ponder, whether justifiably so or not, the concept of reverse-solipsism. I am fairly confident when I say that there is probably a school of thought already devoted to the concepts I have come up with, but... well... in the spirit of the uneducated, I will just say, on my part, "ignorance is bliss" (not that I condone ignorance...)

I have often felt as if my life is being led by the hand, so to speak. Often, I wonder if the Naturalists are right in the theory that there is very little free will, that we are willo' the whisps, so to speak. I often wonder, if we have no free will, could you not substitute "random chance" very satisfactorily into the equation, and not be left with very much in terms of alteration? I mean, if it is not your choice, then it is fate. And since no one is a purist of fate anymore (forgive me for potentially being presumptuous), it can be said that life today is, for those who believe in fate, is 50% fate, 25% chance, 25% choice. "It isn't my choice," they say, and are doubted. If everything is completely random, then the choice of which random path, although completely arbitrary, is still free will. Simply because I am biased, does not make my opinion completely null in void.

However, I do not believe there can be such a thing as half-fate. I mean, really, either the state of existence is completely mapped out, by gods, seeds, aliens, clones, or whatever, or everything is completely random. How can there possibly be a middle-ground, a gray area to ponder upon?

I believe life is written. I believe in fate. And yet, I often wonder if I even exist. I feel as the spectator, the only character who does not truly exist in the great scheme. Not that I am a pessimist! This is no feeling of depression, or identity anxiety. Rather, it is a mere feeling that those around me control my paths, that those around me are filtering my character into a capsule, a tiny, well-placed and (hopefully) socially important capsule that can be taken into the machinations of the world, and form some function therein.

As I choose who interacts with my spectator-status, is my fate then free will, or is it a purist fate, one that is written and inevitable? If I choose two rocks, will I choose correctly, even though both rocks are completely arbitrary and useless?

Or will I steal someone elses rock?

And by the way, reports of my demise were grossly exaggerated. I am not dead yet, though many of you will be displeased to hear.

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I'm sure we all have distinct recollections of our parents telling us to finish our meal. I know I can remember my parents scornfully telling me to shovel more eats down my gullet. How could I leave food uneaten when children in vague, far-off locations, usually Africa, never have enough to eat?!

Right.

Is it any surprise that the West's (read: North America) is a culture of overeating? Don't you remember being a child and feeling some serene sense of accomplishment - fullness - at finishing the whole meal?

"Wow, I'm truly an upstanding citizen today! I even ate the vegetables! I deserve a medal!"

True, I felt accomplished after some very silly tasks as a kid, but I can't shake the fact that my parents were somehow behind the pride I felt. Today, I still feel a little proud of myself whenever there's an empty plate in front of me. The best victories are those wars of attrition between me and my stomach, where I have to eat the food one piece at a time. I feel like Churchill thumbing his nose at the Germans:

"We shall go on to the end, we shall eat in France, we shall eat on the seas and oceans, we shall eat with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall eat on the beaches, we shall eat on the landing grounds, we shall eat in the fields and in the streets, we shall eat in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old."


You've probably guessed where I'm going with this argument, because here it loses all coherency and branches off in a thousand directions, not stopping until I've ranted about everything from those filthy bastards who make generic brand soda crackers; to Big Daddy Bush and his mendacious quest for oil.

Face it - we're fatties, and our (my?) eating habits are wholly unhealthy. Not only do we overindulge ourselves at every sitting - on the wrong food at that; but we subjugate our appetites to the oddest schedules imaginable. Just how healthy can it be to eat three gigantic meals oddly spaced throughout the day?

It might be an odd approach, but if people want to curb Western over-consumption (you know, that whole "armageddon"/"human extinction" bit) perhaps we should start with... consumption?

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A little flash cartoon about Dubya and his role models.

Bahahahaha

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While browsing PETA propaganda, I came across a delightful site called "Milksucks.com". Follow the link, click the smallish picture of a little girl.

CLICK ME

Damn.

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I have been known to go on tirades against over-labelling music, and whenever someone asks me what kind of music I like, I get confused and fidgety. After all, if it's good music, who cares what the label says? Needless to say, I get a bit peeved when someone like, say, ElectronicScene.com feels it necessary to divide Drum'n'Bass into "Ambient", "Breakcore", "Techstep", "Drill and Bass", and "Darkstep." Please.

It's albums like "Babylon" that help me justify my stance. The first track, "Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes," hits you like a sunrise - it's a silky-smooth Bjork meets "The Mirror Conspiracy" meets a Chemical Brothers b-side meets Air. I can't even put to words how beautiful I think this song is.

The contrast between that track and the Near-Eastern "Facing East" that follow it demonstrate the true interest of the album: the eclectic. Thievery Corporation paints a groove-laden portrait, rife with ethnic drums, vocals, and instruments.

The rest of the album is savvy, to say the least - the tracks are all three to five minutes long, and each one has its own catchy riffs. There are hints everywhere of their previous works, but the album has its own unique feel. In a word: organic.

If you like lounge or downtempo music, or you simply need to put something on late at night to chill, go get it. Even the packaging is something to be ogled.