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A wonderful Christmas

Posted 6 January 2002, 9.01 pm by Shaggy

Things will admittedly be a little slow for me, but I will guarantee that I will post as much as usual. My time on the computer will be limited, since I am forced to use the school computers, but don't worry! I will disobey the school rules on using the net for purposes other than of the university!

(A stupid rule, really... ahem. But it keeps the students away from porn.)

At any rate, during my christmas, I got a wonderful bit of reading. My girl got me The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, The Complete Dialogues of Plato, and four plays by Aristophanes. Her dad got me The PocketBook Nietszche (if I've spelled that last one wrong, dreadfully sorry)

At any rate, with Christmas over, with school looming overhead like a swift bird of prey, I will try and keep up with you all.

To Dot: a belated welcome.

To Everyone: A belated HAPPY XMAS AND NEW YEAR

And for the record, for those who think I was not posting because I was perhaps gone to jail and killed by a large con... the reports were highly exaggerated.

Now that the introductory dribble is gone, I will write a quick note. I am now an optimist. It took about four months of conditioning from my girlfriend, but I am now an optimist. The glass is half full.

How did I come to this conclusion? Well, oddly enough, in searching for my "aim", I have found that there is no reason not to be an optimist. As Nietzsche said (once again apologizing for any bad spelling): "If you think your life has purpose enough to get out of bed, why do you stop thinking that in the afternoon?" Well, okay, so that is a summary, but it makes sense, n'est pas?

And as for the ubermensch (translated: Overman)... well, I am fighting to understand a way to transcend this mortal coil, to transcend "man" and become something more, something that surpasses, and makes us to mankind as life is to goop.

But at any rate, food beckons. I've had a long trip. Something about a 6 hour trip perturbs me so.

I will write again!


Posted 6 January 2002, 5.18 pm by Alexander

This site is based primarily on user interaction. That's why the staff write articles, and that's why there's a chatboard, comments pages, IRC channel and a forum. Without your input this site will die.

I, as the owner and builder of akpcep, have done my best. I will continue to do my best. I'm always thinking of new improvements and features to keep you all entertained, but at the end of the day all I can do is provide the framework, for you to fill.

Sometimes I hear from people that they enjoy the site, but feel it's too "over their head" or they feel intimidated by the fact that we're lucky enough to have some fairly intelligent people here. I hate that. I'm not a clever guy. Not compared to some people I know. I just like to think, and discuss things with people. It's a great way to learn, and I know for a fact that the people who are regulars here will never look down on anyone, or judge people for their percieved intelligence or lack of it.

I know for a fact a lot more people visit here regularly than make their presence known. So, I'm asking you; make an account in the grinding shed, come and see us in the chan, put what you think about the writer's work in the comment pages. Interact with some of the other cool people who make this site what it is. The more people we have discussing, adding, and commenting on the content here, the more enjoyable it is and the larger and more solid the community becomes.

And it will make all the countless hours I spend working on this site all the more worthwhile. If you enjoy akpcep the best way to show it is to participate. Thanks very much.

In a Sense, Lost.

Posted 5 January 2002, 9.40 am by The_Roach

I've always been somewhat fascinated by children. Especially very young ones, tiny and disporportionate little people. Pyschologists say that children aren't really small people, and I'm inclined to agree. There's something about them that isn't right, and until recently I never could figure out what that was.

I was on a bus once, heading from one job to another. The route that I followed every day passed by a local high school, and students were just ending their day at the same time the bus would pass, so there were frequently many teenagers along for the ride. On the day I remember most out of all of those travels, a young woman, probably about sixteen years of age, climbed on board. From the minute I first heard her voice, I could taste nothing but bile. Venemous words flowed forth from her like a mighty river, never exhausting the supply at the source. She made death threats against her instructors, complained about her friends and used every malediction I had ever heard (and taught me a few that I hadn't).

Two stops later, a young mother stepped inside the bus and made her way to the seat directly in front of this repugnant teen, her infant son cradled in her arms. It was as if a switch had been flicked within the girl who was nothing but hatred mere moments before. Now, she was the picture of sweetness, the sinister edge in her voice melted away leaving behind only kindness and virtue. This left me wondering what it is about a young child that could change people like that.

An old friend later told me that it was probably the innocence of the child that invokes such a radical shift in someone's behavior, as though we miss our own and would not wish to spoil it for another. Then, at what age is it alright? What makes it reasonable to ever take something like that away? Do we all really have to learn how the world works sometime? Is it possible for someone to go through life never losing that ability to honestly question the world around them with fresh eyes? Could that person survive?

Could they change the way the world works?

Reader submission #2523 from: dot

Posted 4 January 2002, 11.27 pm by Alexander

It is easy to mistake inspiration for depression and insanity when you have been creatively empty for so long. Suddenly, although nothing in your life has changed, something can go off in your head. So you spend a good part of the night crawling out of your skin because whatever is inside is trying to escape. How does this start? In a room filled with incense, a cute tech support girl on the phone, frustrating technology and a boy lying on his back about 3 feet away. She puts me on hold and an awkward silence. Awkward because I can't pretend I am busy doing something else, because it becomes glaringly obvious I am basking in his company. His empty, painful company.

The cuts on my wrists ache and I want to show him. The cuts on my chest, the ones he made when he sliced me open and stole my heart, start gushing blood. Covered in the invisible mess I am sure he can see it, smell it on me. Staring at him, I wonder when his skin got so clear and when his features softened to that of an angel. Sitting, pretending to look at the computer, I daydream about crawling on top of his chest. Curling up, listening to his heart and staying like that forever. I don't have to show him, he knows without asking. He feels my hips and cries. He kisses my wrists and tenses up. Please, oh please, don't leave me again, don't dig deeper inside yourself, stay here, with me, I promise, I promise I won't do it again, I promise I'll eat, I promise the drugs, the knives, the pain inside, I promise it will all go away, just please, oh please, don't leave, I beg. What is it, what's wrong? Insomnia? Headaches? Depression? Shhh, shhh, I understand, I understand, I get migraines, you remember. You can't kiss them better. They go away with time, just don't touch me, and it will all get better. He leaves the room. I hold my breath, bite my tongue, and cry.

Nine hours later. Insomnia? The man behind the counter asks. I squirm and mutter things under my breath. Yes, yes, insomnia. It's not a total lie. Not my insomnia, my mothers. No debit, that's fine. I search my pockets for the last two dollars I have. I'll get some more money after this cup of tea. Half an hour later, in the closed off section of the bank that stays open all nite, my card is refused. How stupid could I be? It is January, expired.

I have no money, no place to go. I curl up and cry, under the fluorescent lights, dry and warm in that little alcove, realizing inspiration hit when my heart left the room and understanding it once the rain and wind whispered it in my ear.

One day..

Posted 3 January 2002, 11.48 pm by Villager

One day I will travel the world.
One day I will write the perfect novel.
One day I will run for Prime Minister.
One day I will eat only healthy food.
One day I will run the four minute mile.
One day I will let my loved ones know they are so.
One day I will Climb the tallest mountain.
One day I will fix the handle on my wardrobe.

And yet today I have done nothing.
Or yesterday.
Or the day before..

Reader submission #2312 from: dot

Posted 3 January 2002, 5.46 pm by Alexander

I look so small in the mirror. Almost pretty. I touch my stomach, my hips.
My belt is half off when I decide to wash my hands. I scrub and scrub until the skin is soft and smooth again. My eyes are dark. I turn and stare at myself from a side angle. So close. My pants rest on my hips, my underwear showing about an inch. My stomach aches and I am sick. Self-induced. No, not another eating disorder. There is nothing to get rid of. I wash my hands again. Splash water on my face. I want to wash my hair. I wish my best girl friend was here to help me. I am so proud, I can't help it. It shines through the self-hatred and depression. I wonder how much more time I can waste in this washroom, in this café, in this state of mind. Gleefully calm as I spiral into self destruction.

Back at the counter the late shift employee makes idle chitchat. I consider rolling up my sleeves and laying the pills out in front of him. Laughing and crying. I ponder taking off my shirt, as if to explain, quite simply, all the problems with my life. See, these are my tits, you can do whatever you want to them. This is my stomach, always in pain. These are my hips, with all that unwanted fat. You already saw my arms, and I'm sure you know what's wrong there. Back to my tits please. Look closer, no, that's not close enough. Stare longer. There you go. To the left a bit. That's my heart. Understand? Of course you do. Who wouldn't? Well that was fun, let's share a joint.

Parents, do you know where your children are? How about alone and broken.

Thanks a hell of a lot for paying attention.

Fuck the mainstream? Fuck you.

Posted 2 January 2002, 11.12 pm by Villager

The "rebel" attitude is not a new one. Popular predominantly among youth cultures, it's always been the 'in-thing' to go against what we are told and essentially be different, whatever different might be at the time (hippies, goth.. take your pick). I cite youth culture as the main feature because the youth are the most impressionable, the most vulnerable to pressure from their peers and generally the ones most influenced by advertising, media, the new world around them. It is no surprise, then, that the youth, unguided and unsure, turn to these influences, and so develop a pattern of thinking in which they believe they are Doing It Their Way.

But whichever age group, there is pressure to do things your own way. People so often tell me I should do this or I should do that. Some of it is reasonable, common sense that shall stand me in good steed for the future - other advice is a slightly more innate view that one should not deviate from the norms in society. School University, stable job - family, pension, yada yada yada. By no means shall my life be a copy of what tradition and society expects.

But, but the very same token, the people who tell me not to become a sheep and get married for the sake of being married, not to kiss the Government's ass by getting a job, and to essentially shun all the undesirable elements of society around me, these people are even wider of the mark.

I firmly believe I make my own choices in life, as far as one can and not become an exile, but that is no reason to shun the society that created me. I want to get married - it may be a slightly superficial institution to a non-Christian, but it does hold meaning within society and within the people I know and love. And that's not something I wish to escape. Again, if I need to get a job in return for ££ to pay for the kind of lifestyle I desire, that's a fair trade.

Too many people have an OTT reaction to society, it's not some George Orwell's 1984-esque conspiracy, it's life amongst other people. I'm not being milked like a battery hen by some demonic leader hiding behind the public face of Tony Blair. I'll do what I want - but don't tell me I'm a sheep if any of my choices happen to be traditional or typical.

The Power of Sentiment

Posted 1 January 2002, 9.05 pm by The_Roach

(The New Year is a time of looking forward to the future, a time of hope and of joy. It is also a time of sentementality, fond remembrance of times past that shall not be forgotten. I would like to demonstrate how powerful sentiment can be by telling a story of New Year's past.)

It was by no means a particularly significant evening by anyone's standards. In fact, that night we all discussed how it didn't seem like New Year's, that Christmas hadn't quite seemed like Christmas. As far as I was concerned, it was just another night out on the town, another excuse to get drunk (as if we ever needed one). Two of my friends who made up this little group were recently married, having done so in the early part of the same year. Very much in love, they've never ceased to demonstrate to me that, while love does not conquer all, it makes the hard times seem that much easier. This specific evening, we ended our troublemaking at their home. As they were in the process of moving, much of the furniture had already been removed and we were forced to sit on the floor.

Two minutes remained until the dropping of the ball. The New Year was fast approaching. The pair prepared themselves for another year of living and of loving. The husband grasped the bottle of champagne, planning to pop the cork at the precise moment that would be upon us while the bride held their ceremonial glasses in anticipation. The cork popped prematurely, the husband's face red with embarrassment, or the cold, or the earlier indulgences of alcohol that had taken place earlier. I'm sure I'll never know. What I remember happening next was the clink of crystal, or so I thought at the time. On reflection, it was too sharp, too severe. It sounded more like a heart breaking, which is not too far from the truth. As a result of amusement towards her somewhat clumsy husband, she had clapped the champagne flutes in her hands together and shattered one.

Here was a woman that I had never seen unhappy, never experienced any hint of sorrow from. No matter the circumstances that tried to hold her down, she always stood proudly with a smile on her face. Not this night. Not this last minute into another year. All she could do was stare at a broken champagne flute and cry silently.

I was stunned. The thought that something so trivial as a glass could possibly tear down the defenses of this strong and independant woman was mind-boggling to me. She was graceful, though. The moment it occured to her that someone might have noticed her plight, she rose and walked from the room, lifting the tears from her face with an empty hand.

I'm still not quite sure I understand why this was such a horrible event. Certainly, I can relate to the sort of attachment that comes as a result of associating material items with events in one's life. I am just as guilty of it as anyone else. I suppose what has always led me astray is my own sense of symbolism, coupled with my attitudes towards love and all it's joys: That it is to be shared.

Now they have but one glass to drink from each year, one they will both sip from in hopes of a fruitful and harmonious New Year. I have no doubt that she has forgotten the importance of that broken crystal in times past, but I also know that she weill never forget the significance of the one she still has.

Happy New Year. May you be safe, and joyous, and free.

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This was more a fluke shot of the sun that turned out for the best. I was impressed by how well it worked out. Even thought there is a lot of empty space I feel that the sun flares and single set of trees has a very alone feel to it.

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Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness


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!


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