Order Soon Van
Creativity starves insanity
After this week I will be the only one left at my centre still helping out the community fill in their tax returns. That is of those who still are looking for help. September has been a pretty damn quiet month. Sure, I never really took any appointments down for myself, always scheduling them in for days I won't be in, but it has still been quiet. Two weeks ago I would have taken close to an hour filling in one single return. Yesterday it took me forty minutes for a couple. I'm still not sure if what I'm doing in the forms is correct, but it doesn't matter me one bit, they've signed disclaimers. I'm just hoping there isn't some mad rush as the deadline draws closer. Halloween. October 31st.
In my shaky little office there is a phone that cannot make calls to numbers greater than eight digits. If there was a ninth the phone would squawk and I would slam down the handset waiting for silence. Someone else gets charged for the calls I make, with this in mind I can make phone calls I normally wouldn't at home. I rang around trying to remember the number I saw one early late show morning about getting onto Catch Phrase. Last week I thought I had the number wrong, turns out I just called the producers of the station and the guy's response led me to try a few different combinations of the phone number. I think I was calling a few fax lines. The girl who picked up yesterday was very nice and had a pleasant voice.
Silence—except for that of the pen and paper cutting—drowns out the office once I start giving those little boxes on the forms residents.
Soon Van - Saturday, 29 September 2001 - 04:05
Two guys were standing next to a table in the shopping centre trying to get the attention of passer-bys. I'm not too sure if anyone was willing to listen, after all it was a day and time in which even the post office was closed, but it was two on a Tuesday, there weren't any public holidays for a week yet. A major factor in dismissiveness could have been the fact that they had white shirts and black pants. The typical garb of people you steer clear of on the streets and those you wonder why they take so long in restaurants.
Waiting for my friends to buy some socks so that they could play tennis I walked right up to one of them and, knowing full well what they were on about, asked them to talk. I really didn't care for listening to what they had to say, I am on their mailing list after all—it's for the envelope collection more than anything. But, there was time and no one else was around listening to them. Not that I was totally stoned cold for it either.
The talk on what Community Aid Abroad actually did for the third world citizens was nothing knew. They were eager to sign me up as part of their Aware campaign, but being a skin flint and starved for cash as I am, they let me go without any harassment. No one else seemed to have had time out of their selfish lives to even listen.
Much like the World Vision 5000 campaign it is all about having enough money to live on and being able to send away what we would consider a measly sum to help the lives of people across the world. That, and pretty much only that, is the reason behind my motivation behind getting a job. Sooner or later, preferably sooner as they can't wait forever. If I were to donate funds in the financial situation that I am in now I could probably keep it up for about a year or two. But then what after that? Will they just turn to the kid I'm sponsoring and say, "Sorry, but it looks like Soon doesn't have any more money to keep you alive. Make do with what you don't have. Good luck."
Jobs are no certainty either, so many sackings are going on right now, I wonder how many of those getting canned actually tried to help someone out in a less fortunate situation. In their fight for entitlements I would be more concerned about someone else's life hanging in the balance due to the lavishness the management have showered upon themselves.
Soon Van - Thursday, 27 September 2001 - 06:04
Straight out of the darkness and into the glaring morning light of a Sunday, I spotted the backside of a huge Freddo floating just under or over a kilometre away. Immediately after registering the hot-air balloon I turned around, blinking frantically, I could see nothing but a burnt vague image of the sweatered amphibian. The ghosted eyes remained so for sometime after. Two hours later when I woke up again it seemed as though the vision had passed. There was a moment later during the day where I nearly walked straight into an oncoming car while jaywalking. I think my vision's been Freddoed.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 25 September 2001 - 10:34
It also made the people pledge amounts upward of up to two million dollars a minute during the telethon, America: A Tribute to Heroes, when it was broadcast on the weekend to around 220 stations worldwide. I watched it on Saturday afternoon on one station and then again on Sunday night on another, the only difference that I could tell from the feeds was that the second version didn't feature many, if at all, display names of the artists performing. I only found this displeasing as I didn't know the name of the artist singing just before Robin Williams spoke of courage. For the most part, the songs were well chosen, on the other side of things it felt like a real downer, but then you really couldn't expect a party, that would just wouldn't mesh.
Being out of the scene for some time, Michael Jackson, came back with a new music video masquerading as a short film, or it could have been the other way around. Either way, it was pretty damn well executed. The song on its own plays well, the videoclip just added that bit extra. It was most disconcerting with Chris Tucker as the co-star, the area around Jackson's mouth was that much more frozen, nothing like what I remembered in Blood on the Dance Floor. David Bowie's Blue Gin is the closest I can draw to a comparison. Both could be passed as short films, both were cool, both by great artists, and both are most likely to be seen in full only when played on rage.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 25 September 2001 - 03:17
For the rest of these two hours you should be able to find a television channel showing America: A Tribute to Heroes. Featuring some cool artists trying to raise funds in the name of relief and support for the September 11 tragedy. Stationed at the phones during this telethon they have some movie stars taking calls, then there's the intermittent reflections between acts. Since the website takes forever to check my settings to load the video stream, to the television, be glued.
Soon Van - Sunday, 23 September 2001 - 07:39
Morning, and a house some few blocks away pays company to a fire truck. Lain on the ground are two overwhelmed people. They have been pulled from the doused ashes of an adjacent garage or shed. The neighbours fawn over such a spectacle, their lives have livened up for just one moment out of a dreary many.
Microwaved re-preprocessed steam from a week ago managed to simmer to the boil a little blister on the right thumb midshank. I was all set to rip the skin right off a few days ago—something I find flavour in—when I awoke to the realisation that the blister had resorbed back into the mainstream. There is a slight difference between the skin that surrounds, but other than that, it has left no trace.
Michael Jackson's new video clip is supposedly something worth waiting to see on rage tonight. It's been some time.
Soon Van - Saturday, 22 September 2001 - 11:17
Standing in a crowd of gorgers the sweat dripped steadily down the sides of my face. Salty and stingy to the eyes I was adamant and chose not to take off my moderately-weighed cotton top, remaining all buttoned up, way past sense. Sweat is a good substitute for pricey products to keep your hair set above your face. As everyone around me sported shorts either as tops or bottoms, I had the urge to remain unique and odd. One Asian standing in a horde of caucasians stuffing their faces with oil and bread crumbs. One lady just could not stop staring.
That was until I won and broke her and remain the staredown champ in times of query. The days are getting warmer, but right now it's very cool. I dress for destination, not for travel. Sweat is a mere nuisance as I gear up for some lean times in the insanely cold conditions of wherever.
If someone tells you that you stink, would you think of them as being mean or nice? I would thank them for having an olfactory that works, a mouth that conveys the brain's mood and being unable to stand the deteriation of another human being.
Soon Van - Friday, 21 September 2001 - 07:53
Returning from last week as reigning champions, Elite Rollers, faced an extreme uphill battle at the university's bar trivia. From the onset the questions relating to gold and other precious metals made no sense to any of the team members. A golden moment was missed as the actor portraying James Bond in Goldfinger was mistaken - I played no part in that question. In the end, as we watched the numbers tallied from rounds one to three, the inevitable spoke loud and clear, possible one time wonders. In a five team competition the result was two chupa-chups. Prize that for second last.
Soon Van - Thursday, 20 September 2001 - 09:59
Nothing but coins on a restless day's wake. Unlike previous times the coins are not ready to be deposited into the bank. For a few hours prior to today I was under the stark impression that I had no longer any liquid funds in which I could move about. From a mere day the pot had gone arid. Then I remembered where all the red notes disappeared to. A ticket to Rumba.
Soon Van - Thursday, 20 September 2001 - 06:26
Visions past and present, of here and abroad, times and images familiar and foreign, forever changed. Change affects us all, there is no doubt. Few hours from that of a week and the players of Hollywood and the like seem not to be in such high spirits. Scripts, treatments, images of old. Reworked, redone, just on a feared outlook. Spider-Man, Collateral Damage, to name but just a few. The towers of the World Trade Centre, removed and deleted from all scenes, other films and such, held back, some being destroyed forever.
Keep this up and the memories of the lives taken from the towers will mean nothing. From my warped view of disreality, these acts of retrofitting are killing the spirits of the people who lost their lives from those towers. The lives never existed, the tombstone will never stand. The fallen were just a figment of everyone's imagination. The heroes are nothing.
Soon Van - Wednesday, 19 September 2001 - 06:58
Idle time brings forth ideas and stories. Paul Abtruse shared this during his lunch at Comicfarce.
To be performed at a party. Pull your pants down, walk over to the garden house, or you could pull your pants down when you're at the hose. Insert the open end up your rectum. Turn on the tap and hold for a little while. Wait until the build up. Stop clenching your buttocks and watch the waterworks. If performed properly the effect will have water shooting in a stream stemming from your anus.
Party tricks are aptly named, they should be performed at a party. Decide for yourself whether or not this stunt is plausible. Paul will pay you ten dollars for a video of this in action.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 18 September 2001 - 08:59
Moments prior to walking up to the ticket teller I seriously thought about skipping this film in favour of reading. In the end, it had proven wise to spend money.
Cirrus, Socrates, Hurricane, Dolphin, Tulip, Monica, David.
At least that is what I could remember of the seven word imprint code. A code in which David is then made useless if the parent fails to love him back. Teddy is a delight, very marketable. I would have thought that given the task, Spielberg would have totally ripped this movie apart. It would have been Kubrick's last had he survived to tell the Pinocchio tale. I may watch another Spielberg film in future.
In the future, both of the World Trade Centre towers remain standing in a New York that doesn't. But it is science fiction, and not every reality stems from the one we exist in.
Food in cinemas drives me nuts, one person behind me had a bucket full of styro-popcorn and made it last throughout the entire film. At least not a single cretin had their mobile go off; I would have gone right off.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 18 September 2001 - 05:40
I've always thought that it was extremely possible to ride atop an avalanche and survive the ride. If riding soft, cloud-like snow was possible, then riding something more solid was doubly so. From the events of recent past, a story was passed from one newsreader to another. As one of the towers of the World Trade Center came apart from the stress, there was one man who took a plunge. He jumped on top of the crumbs and rode it all the way down from high up around the eightieth floors. Sure, he suffered many shattered bones and was bloody from the ordeal, but that must have been one helluva ride down.
I can't believe it has already been a year since I ran around in a Ken Done-d uniform screaming up, down and around this place, Sydney. I wish I had taken more abstract and vague photos, I have too many with the skin falling off of my face. A haircut then, like the time now, needed much, much more than the sheering pain from ripping the hair out, at least the tweezers leave a fine smooth skin behind.
Soon Van - Saturday, 15 September 2001 - 09:39
Watching the second plane crash live was freaky enough. Now with all these people with camcorders and such handing them in I get to watch the replays of not only the second but the first and the crumbling of both towers of the World Trade Center. Most of the gazes are skyward to perhaps—macabre as it sounds—bear witness to another plane crash/attack. Footage of those cheering and celebrating the news about the attack is one of the most digusting yet. I don't think anyone else in the world would actually be in such a manner of spirits if it happened to their enemies especially if a majority of the victims were civilian. At least I don't recall it being so.
Soon Van - Friday, 14 September 2001 - 09:45
In a stunning move, with nothing more than a half point seperating the first and second positions, team "Will Have Sex For Food (Jordan's Comeback)" scored fifty dollars in first prize money. Of all the questions we have had to endure, these were by far and away the most appealling. Insects and bugs, an extremely heavy theme running throughout all of the questions scored us the highest mark ever seen by the team, twenty three out of a possible thirty. We return next week as reigning champions.
Soon Van - Thursday, 13 September 2001 - 09:01
Spinning from one edge of the world to the other, the websites of the world are pretty much the same. Nothing but reports and news of the acts of terrorism in the United States.
Soon Van - Thursday, 13 September 2001 - 08:58
The teaser from Sports Tonight last night mentioned something about a comeback from Michael Jordan.
Then came some reports about a billowing tower of the World Trade Center.
Minutes later with live footage there came another, and then shortly after that the Pentagon is hit.
Despite pretty much having to make do with loose threads and sparse information, Sandra Sully held up well. The speechwriters working for Bush sure have their work cut out for them. The moment of silence during the short stay at the Florida school lasted only five seconds. No doubt the aftermath will totally change them.
While waiting for the train this morning, hail started pelting down. Nearly missing an eye I boarded the train to when it stopped. The media coverage last night was something enthralling, catching that second plane was exciting. Truth be told, they made the news exciting again. Day is almost over and the reports still sound the same.
Switching around the channels last night—all pretty much feeding the exact same thing—caught some of the ABC coverage and the tension lifted for just a few seconds when some guy with a thick creamy voice told someone else to get off the line he was using for some report/interview. No one might even care if anything else happens this week.
Last time such round the world, round the clock coverage happened it was for New Year's.
Soon Van - Thursday, 13 September 2001 - 04:51
Back again at the Centrepoint, the Comicfest reared its cheapass once again. The queue to enter wrapped itself all around the floor of the AMP Tower. So much so that a couple of vested chaps came out and redirected the line to face itself. As long as it was it managed to smoothly move itself along. The entry fee was were it all went down hill. Carefully placing three two dollar coins in the palm of some near sighted geriatric I waited for my dollar in return. She questioned me on why I was still standing there after having relinquished the coins. I demanded the dollar back and went on in after being apologised to.
A whole floor was dedicated to card gaming and ultra expressive cartoons. On the second floor there was the usual load of comics and nothing more. On the farside wall lined a slew of Australian publishers and artists. Along the "Artists Alley" there were the folks from Phosphorescent, OzComics and Reelism. In the furthermost corner was Eddie Campbell. Somewhere on that floor was the veritable "Mister Conan" Roy Thomas. The third level laid nothing but chairs all facing a small table. I spent most of the convention there.
Comics: From Go to Whoa panelled by the guys from Phosphorescent Comics was enjoyable, for a time it looked like I was going to be the only audience member. The seminar after that was the standard bore of some University lecture pulling out transparency after transparency. In conjunction with that was a panel of local artists, with a visibly timid or shaken Dillon Naylor. Some guy in front of me kept touching his lip, probably to let Naylor know that the mike could not pick up his voice.
I walked out for lunch, or whatever you do when you think you might soon get a rumbling.
Back and up again to the third level I was expecting some talk on the 1986 Convention, some say the best ever. Instead, Christian Read and Paul Abtruse or Aggett walked in and ate their lunch. They proceeded to make bong noises and spit all over the mikes. I, along with a few others, participated in their impromptu appearance. It was then that I realised that there wasn't any Skroce affected comics to be found. Read and Aggett remarked how Steve Skroce was renowned for being able to draw the best teeth. There were a few other artistic strong points discussed, like someone being fantastic with fences and another with midshots. A little while after having finished their slighty burnt meals they coaxed three of us up onto the table to take over. A half hour of nothing but comments on the stragglers and the dead con.
Then came four o'clock
Roy Thomas, best known for keeping the Conan mythos alive, walked onto the stage. For two hours he was to talk about the Barbarian. I couldn't believe they flew past that quick. From his initial involvement of writing the first comic to be able to pay for some extra licensing money to the Robert E. Howard estate, all the way to his involvement with the movies, Thomas had the small audience listening to every word. Either that or they kept nodding for no apparent reason. He stated that the biopic on Howard's life was the best biopic he had ever seen and a beretted man in front of me confessed that a story by Thomas on Howard had given him nightmares. I left the con soon after the talk wrapped up.
I still have no idea on why they had some cameras floating around the place earlier that morning. Typically they took shots of small kids talking to the artists and bigger kids pawing through old back issues. You soon learn that the back issues never change from con to con.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 11 September 2001 - 05:32
Fuzzi dislikes people who have parchments all over the walls and spend their time looking down the mouths of others for a living. I thought two years had passed since last I made an effort to visit my doctor. From the records he keeps it only turned out to be a year. Having believed that she would never really go and stare at a light for minutes on end, wear a nicely textured bib, and spit sublime lime or cherry coloured liquid, I thought safe in saying that I would take a trip if she opened her jaw for the many metal clinks and clangs to happen.
The obligation then fell upon me to hold up my end.
I'm not entirely sure it was a vaccination shot for hepatitis B. I still have no feeling in the targeted section of my arm. I can only hope that the conditions of the cramped convention won't seriously take advantage of the immune system in this time of repair.
Soon Van - Saturday, 8 September 2001 - 05:06
Sick and tired of people coming in, watch me fill out their tax returns and then boldly denounce the work I have done with the phrase "I could have done this myself." To which I promptly reply with a request for them to fill in a questionnaire. Then again, I do take pleasure in turning people away just for the fact that they have sold a few shares during the fiscal year. Most of the people who want me to fill out their returns always ask for what's the most that they can claim without a receipt or documentation. Easy. For donations, merely two dollars. One hundred and fifty for laundry.
Soon Van - Friday, 7 September 2001 - 10:45
Part of the reason for setting a pact between two people is the hope that the otherside does not actually come about and fulfill their end. When one side does not seem likely to hold up their end, it relieves the other from having to carry out any such duties or agreements made between the two.
That is why I make pacts/agreements. The dental visit by one half recently made vision all blurry. In the end, a few days later, this morning in fact, I sutured the deal and made a visit to my doctor.
In an hour of nothing, waiting for the clock to run around I was still unable to bring forth any iota or notion that I was there, sitting mindlessly, for some concrete reason other than carrying out my half of the deal. The suggestion was to get a once over, a simple check-up. In the end, I bowed to frustration and asked for any kind of injection that would be fitting for the day.
Indeed there was.
A Hepatitis B vaccination shot in fact. Glory be, I had found a reason. Then I remembered how it was to be administered.
Some rubbing alcohol, a minute rupture of the skin, seconds and it was all over. The arm then fell to what most bored brains fall victim to. Numbness. The block upper from the shoulder down to what should be the first indent of muscle lay in existence to void. I don't know why but I am keeping that band-aid.
Soon Van - Thursday, 6 September 2001 - 08:17
Slipping somewhere between the pages of a book and a dusty laden table lay my first ever cheque. Fittingly, it is payment for having applied the questionable skill I possess to put pen to paper and let fly a stream of words, phrases and ideas. Had I not filled out a disclaimer beforehand the massively two-minded taxman would have eaten away at forty eight percent in GST. This may be the only cheque I receive for quite some time as other scams are taking longer than I had envisioned to pay any dividends.
Soon Van - Wednesday, 5 September 2001 - 10:41
The Australian Olympic Committee are best known—at least in my mind—for helping our athletes and such get organised for the Games where ever in the world they may be held. Such an organisation would seemingly have enough money to print their own envelopes. The kind of envelopes wherein they don't need to lick and slap down a stamp, but ones that have the words "Postage Paid Australia" in the corner where you would normally see a perforated and intricately designed square. During the Olympics the stamps were hijacked every time an Australian or team of Aussies stood in the middle of the podium. The envelope from the AOC had such a takeover, that by the women's hockey team. I would have thought nothing of it until after reading the letter accompanying Susie O'Neill's scanned signature were the four little letters that usually come with most of my pseudo-addressed mail: "adma."
Among the many training sessions Olympic volunteers had to endure and in the material we had to read—reading it was merely a suggestion, one I did not take—we were informed of the fact that our details would automatically be inserted into the TAFE database. The fact of the matter was that if we wanted to sign up for courses later on the training from the games would count as credit. Fine, even though I don't ever seeing myself enrolling for anything else at least I knew the details of my details.
But from nowhere comes this marketing letter infroming me of all the things I can order or possibly win. A limited release film on the Games seems tempting despite the fifteen dollar ticket price. The records show that there were approximately forty thousand volunteers during the 2000 sporting spectacle. That is one helluva mailing list. If money were a problem they should take a look at the amount of advertising at the Goodwill Games.
The Reply Paid envelopes have been invisibly absent of late. Charitible organizations do not count toward the predetermined backlash. Friday came the realisation that they did not flow in as much as once before. What I see now are envelopes asking me to apply my own stamps. One company, Australian Shoppers Survey, had the audacity of asking me to fill in their survey and post it off to them using my own stamp. How ludicrous is that? They even tried baiting with a few prizes—but I don't exist, or at least my pseudonym doesn't. If you send mail without a letter I still think the postal service will see that it is delivered, but the recipient would be charged.
At least that's what happened to me before.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 4 September 2001 - 05:22
Maniacally laughing inside this bubble I turned away a client who resembled the female version of Carlotta. The amount of mascara her eyes seemed to be drowned in was hilariously excessive. The black make-up was clumping in septuply thick amounts and I think a few lashes fell off due to the unyielding weight onto her tax return.
The tax return, as I tried to shift and keep from laughing, included figures from shares. Shares were something of a sketchy subject during the training period. Basically I didn't listen to nor read a single word on it. Not really wanting to fill out more than three tax returns within a span of six hours, I claimed the failsafe of being unable to, being a volunteer and all.
She was visibly peeved and had the makeup for delivering a mighty piledriver. Storming off with a cigarette hanging off her lip, I was left with two hours of idleness and spent it watching water run over a filing cabinet.
The ten o'clock client I had basically filled out her own return using the phone in my office. I still attached the sticker to declare my handywork though.
I was questioned by one of the ladies working at the Smith Family why I seemed to have so much free time wherein the other volunteer was flatout and only managed three to my six hours. All I could say was that it was the choice of the pen and the people who called and were called.
This is the best non-work I have ever done.
Soon Van - Saturday, 1 September 2001 - 04:19
