VAD THE IMPALER

10 BEST QUOTES FROM HER DIARY PROVING HOW ANNE FRANK WAS STARVING AND TERRIFIED

I suppose it was my fault for reading the guardian.

In protection of full text.

I text a terrible amount, really. I don't like the interface and do nothing to change it: I imagine there is a simple way to do so via a keyboard, which is probably the quickest way to write, although it is still second best in my life, preferring the pace of handwriting and the evolutionary obviousness of its superiority: humans make symbols with their hands. Full stop.
The sms, though, reigns fiercely and there seems no way to abdicate. I don't have the will. That it is short is also a problem, always loving to explain myself at whatever length (often too long, unclear, thwarted). So I generally do, at some cost to my cervical spondylosis, and patience. I have found that while I am starting to slip or give up on misspelling by typo (what is communicated is largely unchanged by this, although a "cultural shift" hovers over it and my recipients, who have, wearily, come to expect a fairly exact communique. There is some arbitrary benefit to attempt concision, sure (twitter may make better wrtiers of us all, or make us non writers), but I like full sentences, and the real benefit is being understood more or less perfectly, so that when (I must find examples to make this less or even more boring) a certain turn of phrase or usage is in it, I am fairly sure someone gets the joke, the tone, the insult. I also swear a lot. More than anyone I know. I swear at my mother frequently throughout a given day. So i am not defending full usage for some dusty, hackneyed, academic reason, but that writing poorly in any medium has a cost. It really does keep my writing okay, and benefits how I think and speak. When I have texted poorly, I really feel it, and recipients lose trust, for good reason. They cannot then trust my delivery, and my delivery also suffers. I text fairly fully for my benefit, chiefly.

All Cats Are Grey

Take a look at @andiblonde's Tweet: https://twitter.com/andiblonde/status/898455742738382848?s=09

Weezing

Weezer turned out to have a, however ephemeral, Kabbalah phase. Or she was more pro-annorexia than we knew. You judge for yourselves, she certainly judged all of you, and me too.

Latest histrionic absurdity is an invitation to the CHRISTENING of Ian.
In Denmark.
What, no bris party?

Liberty Pills

It's time to take your liberty pill

SEAT OF HOPE - 19F

WINGS OF HOPE

You're simply The Breast

The Horse Drawn Dead

Is this vintage or period or are gshocks still a thing. Were white ones? Was dome hair?

Just In The Prick Of Time

In a thrilling induction into the near future a letter was opened today (Saturday) reading I, we, have 60 days to vacate the premises as the house is being sold. Likely to someone with a bulldozer or wrecking ball.

I'd rather four months more in this shaky shitheap, but two it is, apparently. The panic inducing letter is a cousin of other correspondence: debt collectors, medical results, confirmation of unnecessary death in war, subpoenas. Douglas Adams wrote nothing travels faster than bad news. I do wish it continued to travel though, whizzing past me, but it hits home and stops there. It makes a hole in the wall and a cyclone is coming and robbers too, and sexual predators and brimstone. And, in breaking news, gravitational waves. We will look back in time.

_______________________ this was an 'edit' from a 2016 post. It's unchanged except for when it was published. 

  

YOUR BILLS PAID

Add caption

An .xdocs On Both Your Houses.

On a phone with incriminating data on it, text messages amounting to edicts on a particular individual ,signals intelligence, and it being discovered by this individual. What to say to that? I have no answer.
No, about my tinder match
I have no idea either

However I can't help but feel that moments earlier J was chewing taffy chews so disgustingly I fervently believed she deserved to die for it, before she could do it again. I sustained that passion into safe and silent distance, too. Not for long, but then it's a thought I hope is aberrant from my usual precepts for crime and punishment, so any length of time or indeed its mere existence had pushed us passed frankly long enough. But then so did the inebriated mastication of the now repellent sweets.
Either way, if this record should ever make it back to Josie Hughes it would hardly constitute an account of my love for them. Or would it? it's certainly the culmination. It was only minutes ago after all.
I had, while walking, meant to text Jack this observation and that it would be on both our phones.Entropy, right? A title like 'Phone Hack Jack' was to be shoehorned into the night's writing from a country without exports.

Twice exposed that night by the current, the looming present, the other being at the cigarette counter of the supermarket at sometime around midnight: the problem is we all knew as we do now just what eastern standard time it was, it was all around us (we each had phones smarter than us, and the cashier a number of other objects all, too, counting down). It was midnight and I had cigarettes - was swiping card to finalise payment for posterity - and the cat dying of cyanide in the box next to me did not, calling the cashier a complete fucking idiot. Credit to that cat, I didn't expect idiot to be the noun that time, the cashier being as they were an Asian woman and the cat white guy somewhere between 20 and death. Thankfully he did this while storming off which left me there to comment the exchange was unfair, abusive. But she had challenged my request for cigarettes too. And I had used the same line the hopefully now dead cat whose appeal was denied had used. Interesting questions raised about morality, privilege, tolerance, the nanny state, time management, and the nature of causality there.

I say hopefully dead as I felt quite sure if not the cat would be so incensed by the order of the prior ten minutes it had left him murderously hateful towards me as collector of spoils and potential collaborator, and at least apathetic bystander, and would follow me on my walk home in hope of ending my life. I think I could potentially want to kill someone who bought a winning lottery ticket after I had bought a useless one as much as want and believe I deserved said winning ticket.

This isn't quite good enough for the amount I have invested in editing it. Time to post.

THE ACT OF KILLING. LOL.

ALL NANS ARE MUMS BUT NOT ALL MUMS ARE NANS AND NOT ALL NANS ARE NAN AND HERE IS WHY, LOVE DAN

On being told not to use the word idiot to each other as children, my cousins and my sisters and I


''Don't say idiot! Idiots are little boys in wheelchairs!'' 


Nan meant spastics, of course, though undoubtedly there are little boys in wheelchairs who are in addition to being spastics are idiots.

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS TAKES ITS TOLL ON ME

0603hrs

Return from tea preparation to find mum rifling through the vast amount of just time and things in boxes under the bed I am not sleeping on in the room I am staying in (everyone’s, but especially my younger sister’s, belongings are everywhere around the house – the spare bedroom in the house I lease has a room just for her detritus in suitcases) after complaining about how I was sitting and typing and en route to rearranging furniture on her birthday I said ‘’What the hell are you doing?! Go to breakfast! I said I’ll move it now [the bed against the wall, perhaps, to allow for table and chair to sit at]’’

‘’I’m looking for something’’

‘’WHAT?!’’

‘’One particular bell I am looking for’’

I reached into a drawer and retrieved the bell. I have an exceptional if unpredictable memory. Happy birthday. Already I have used ‘’I found your bell, what more do you want from me?!’’ ‘’At least you HAVE a bell’’ and ‘’I got you that bell!’’ and only half an hour has elapsed.

Events occur in real time.

0615hrs

Having told her (the refrain of both my parents ever ‘’show me when it’s done/don’t tell me you are doing something’’) I had actually written something and she would read it today I of course regretted it for a number of reasons, which temporarily is only two, to mind, but one being a fear of her dying on her way to or from breakfast thinking I have yet again made a claim or promise to go unfulfilled and be sad for me, which in turn opened one of the houses countless trapdoors. The entire house was made with trapdoors, very eco-friendly. 

PARAGRAPH FOR A SERIGRAPH

Of course I still paint, but they are worse each time, like a boxer’s fights. I want to say.

People remark this is low self esteem but in this instance it is twin towering ego, in that I don’t believe potential diminished with each finished piece, or that my paintings or printmaking is no good. I don’t do it with discipline or at all most of the time, which is a problem, and maybe in part due to low self esteem, but my saying so in what I genuinely believe is a joke is just showing off facility in expression and knowing if words are the weapon, say a nasty unsolicited validation (or a gentle one, and a rejection of it is a chance to talk more, to entertain more or get out) then I feel confident of at least mutually assured destruction. 

I DON'T REALLY CARE ABOUT STAR WARS OR GAME OF THRONES OR HARRY POTTER OR CARD GAMES OR BOARD GAMES OR SPORT

There, I said it. 
It's not quite inverted snobbery, which I am prone to, it is something else. Maybe it's just normal snobbery? It feels foreign to me now as I haven't cared for years and my consumption of sub par dreck quotidian: I look forward to the Canadian pilot season of shows for christ's sake. 

Just none of those.