Under two weeks until the nation gives away a Saturday to vote for someone who'll vote for someone else to run the country under the govern of the Queen. I'm already set in my vision in not voting for either ill bears or a neat onion. It'd be more like Democrats then Labour then in the order of the least amount of crap handed to me at the gate of the primary school. I'll see if I can get a double load of leaflets, I have a few reply paids ready to go.
Wednesday, 31 October 2001
Good morning ladies and gentlemen. We are now approaching Glenfield, our final stop for today. The driver and I hope that you have enjoyed this ride as much as we have. We hope to see you again some time aboard many other Cityrail services.
It seems as though this may be the norm for when the train runs at single digit daylight hours. During the dead of the weekend I saw some heavy diesel train pull up choking Macarthur station, asked someone something and that guy grabbed hold onto the rails on the front of the train. I would forget that I was holding on for dear life and stretch to my doom.
Wednesday, 31 October 2001
From one simple event I have been reconditioned to believe that daylight savings should have started much earlier this year. The timing of it all has thrown me off of when to actually forward my clock. I was so ready for it to hit that I reset the clocks in the house one day early. Nothing much resulted in it except that it did take me some time to realise that I gave myself an extra hour. It still feels like I've lost more than an hour doing nothing.
Since I find myself with ample time in the library on Sundays I grabbed the new and revamped Popular Science to bide the time. I walked in the swinging metal hoop gates at one. On another clock it read two by the time I totally finished the book from cover to cover. I sure wouldn't buy a magazine that I can finish in just one hour. I could with Popular Science, the other clock was still behind. Two hours seems like a good span for a magazine. I reserve fifteen minutes for comicbooks, any longer and I know that I've stared at the splash pages for way too long or that there is extra wordage in the panels.
Wednesday, 31 October 2001
So, with all that has come during the past few months, the slight obsessiveness in relation to tax is over. Over. Over. Over. Seems to be a very highly unlikely chance of returning next year to help the community again with matters of the wallet. All in all I have managed to help thirty clients, that means thirty disclaimers which means thirty signatures. Perhaps they might find themselves in some sort of situation down the track with no recollection whatsoever of having signed any documents. At least I knew I wasn't signing the form that Fuzzi faxed off that roped me into all this mess. That doesn't mean there won't be some other sort of force later next year.
But volunteering in such a way is not as conceited as walking around with a badge or ribbon or something else showing off the fact that you were too cheap to freely donate money, instead, you only felt like giving to charity as long as they were giving something immediately back to you. Think of the benefits the funds could reap if they didn't have to manufacture crap all year long. Where would your bleeding heart be then? Waiting for some other charity to offer a little toy, flower, or organ. Cheap bastards.
Saturday, 27 October 2001
Done. For a while it seemed like there wouldn't be any change whatsoever what with the burgandy leather having to pull double time. Wading through the asphyixiating spray counters of Grace Bros I spotted a spin rack of belts I missed on Sunday. Twenty seven dollars for what is printed as genuine leather. It could have been forty three from David Jones but I forgot to bring the other red notes. The prices you'll pay to smell a cow's ass around your waist. At least there's extra metal on the strap.
Saturday, 27 October 2001
It's over, it's over
Now we're over
It's my turn
Now it's over
The game shut down, sorry.
No more shall I rise on a Thursday to see to the tax returns of that community. Six days till the deadline for lodgements and the booking sheet looked extremely stressed. Yet again with the near full day and of course, time was severely displaced. There might be someone in the line-up who mistakenly included their personal records copy with the top half of their payment summary. There was another client who either could not be bothered coming in after having gotten the address of the place or totally forgot all about having a booking. I left about three blank messages before remembering that indeed I did hear a beep. One of the first clients came in on his birthday, one of the very last came in on hers. What a way to spend your birthday, watching some guy wrestle aimlessly with the door handle as he tries to aviod the static shock from walking on the cheap synthetic carpeting. The crackling always managed to sound down the tiny yelps.
As it was my last day one of the ladies in the main area front office told me of the fact that it would be an easy transition from one volunteering gig to another. News to me. Then again, I do have an aversion to Christmas. Next week it starts to pour down on the Smith Family with people ordering hampers.
Life would be so much easier and less depressing with fewer holidays that existed largely on presents and purchasing things. You could of course do what most others do, buy the presents for the kids and just after the twenty-fifth, refund them. Keeping up appearances is so pathetic. Is that a reason to ask why some don't care about getting what everyone else gets? I don't get it.
Saturday, 27 October 2001
An LJ Hooker nearby a comicshop has plastered two A4 sheets urging all to buy plastic noses for red nose day for October. Either they're running a scam or the website is way out of date. Support for charities like Pink Ribbon Day or Legacy often involves some telltale signs of a donation or such. Close to faux contriteness.
Thursday, 25 October 2001
It's nearing that point along the ultimate stress of its reconstituted being. A little over a year has passed and the life is drawing to a close. The skin flint within won't shell for Gucci belts. With all the things most skaters do I would not consider the forethought of keeping up their pants one of them. I could go and dress like a Clampett, but I don't have any clean rope lying around. I may just have to buckle and invest in a fifty dollar strap.
Thursday, 25 October 2001
A stretched piece of reconstituted leather is all that is keeping that thing around my waist from totally snapping off. I need a new fatass belt for wearing with jeans. Suspenders won't cut it. Don't know why but in highschool I wore suspenders, just for a month or two, to get the feel of things. I know how girls who get their bra-straps snapped feel.
Wednesday, 24 October 2001
There was nothing in the standing order last week, there isn't ever really anything after and between when the comics are scheduled to arrive anyway. Up high on the wall of comics sat three new Marvel titles; Fury, Alias and U.S. War Machine. The new MAX imprint from the House of Ideas. Both Fury and Alias were already onto their second issues while War Machine was on its sixth. WM also happens to be the cheaper of the three. A US cover price of one fifty converts into three thirty Australian. Buying comics is easy, it's remembering to read them that often fails me.
So, of the backlog of comics I have there are only a certain number which can be read without penalties on continuity. Ultimate Spider-Man (read all of the issues to current), U.S. War Machine (something to sample) and Black Panther (issue thirty-five is a monster one hundred pager).
Bagley's art never really appealled to me past the way in which the lines defined the body and suit of Spider-Man. The artwork in Ultimate remains pretty much the same, the rest of the cast falls short while Spidey swings around in fine lines. Issue thirteen introduces Gwen Stacy after quite some time and instead of looking like a blonde version of Mary-Jane, she instead resembles that of Alison Mongrain or at least way older than the support cast would suggest. At least the story holds up pretty well, Doctor Octopus makes it into the Ultimate-verse in pretty close circumstances, and the Ox looks like he may be onto something.
Black Panther is by far and away the best of the comics that I collect, even to the point that I could forgo all else and have nothing but that. Several issues have yet to be read up on, but seeing as though this was a monster celebrating the thirty fifth anniversy of T'Challa I had reprints of back issues to enjoy. The major difference between comics of yore and the present is the verbiage Stan Lee would indulge in. The comicbooks seem to go on way too long. But on a word-for-word count between Lee and Priest there is no comparison on flow. The same amount of writing and yet a totally different energy.
Black and white and weekly, U.S. War Machine. Chuck Austen's take on the silverado left me wanting a refund. Stilted and glaring, the characters looked like that they didn't even want to be in the story. I'm not picking up any of the other issues of this, even if it is comparatively cheap with no ads. I know how it all sounds.
Wednesday, 24 October 2001
Twice. That's about the limit you should push if ever recycling a bandaid. After that the gauze won't do you much good. When the colour of the bandaid turns, that is a sign to discard the no longer functioning plastic strip. As always, I have managed to rip that flint of skin off before the total benefits of recuperation were seen. The skin looks back with an eye of multilayering. Maybe scotch tape and a chamois could work just as well. It sort of melts if you run it under a hand dryer for a short amount of time. Almost had it melting into the skin at one point.
Saturday, 20 October 2001
Below the corner of the roof that once nested a few birds—definitely not indian miners as they have a different look to them—laid a whole fall-softening pad of grass and somesuch. The average for each pulled out from the attic space was two feet. A neighbour was called and proceeded to take it all out without a care for the people below. I was all the way in the subcountry as this was happening. The night before the clearing out of the reeds or whatever took place, the bird(s) that chirped the night and extreme morning away were noticibly quiet. The night before they seemed like they were holding a rave of their own. Amidst the pile of dried something—of which was made into a nest under the tiles—feathers littered. It can only be assumed that the night of the loud and disturbing tweet tweets and scratches there was a battle royale. In one corner, a little birdy, left without its parents, in the other corner was a starving mouse. The struggle, the blood, the guts, the silence after. A clean fight wherein only one combatant came out alive and in one piece. There probably won't even be any traces of blood knowing how starved the rodents can get.
Saturday, 20 October 2001
Exceptional, the last remaining weeks of Tax Help are just right around the bloodied corner and the onslaught really begins. Last week there was much cryptic crossword rejoicement, so much time to think. Yesterday the story fell shut. Ten clients all in one day, all on the booking sheet bearing my name. Late and sweating, the first client was way too relaxed. But if you don't care, you don't care. After noticing that I had taken to staring at the handbook for the fifth time during their consultation, a British couple at my hands ran off to their tax agent of last year. Rich and still seeking freebies. The next lot came about with something of a jumbled slot. They had booked—as a family of three—a one o'clock appointment that ran until three, but between their names was another at two. The girl had this alluring eye shadow, would look a treat if it were edible and not pasted on someone's eyelid. Luckily the day was missing some bodies and so there was a little respite.
A gust of wind totally blew up the dress of some girl walking alongside, I thought it was customary to sew in lead weights into the hems.
Saturday, 20 October 2001
Tonight's taping of Catch Phrase will either be its last one ever, or just won't happen at all. I was contemplating the possibility of being a contestant to this gameshow of rebuses. The call from the girl some weeks ago that they would run us through one load of taping, then give us something to fill in if we felt confident in the atmosphere of dimishing audiences. If they were to run through a normal taping, then perhaps they would only have a crowd, not potential contestants. In any event, that's one less show with which I could have felt comfortable being on.
The basic format is this: Two contestants, one cheesy grinning host. A board of dollar amounts where something flashes and lands on the amount, players then see a board with some kind of really thick animation. The animation would contain some picture—and possibly some text—that the contestants would have to guess the eventual meaning of. This goes for three rounds. You win any amount you notch up during the game and you automatically come back for the next night if you're the winner. Sweet deal. Yeah, does sound more like Pictionary.
Channel nine are in talks to give the man with the Joker's smile some new kind of quiz show. The Vault is still yet to air.
Thursday, 18 October 2001
Roaches left and right were coming out of the crawlspace of the house and getting beheaded for the stray cats to devour. An insect bomb was released right next to a passive air vent in an attempt to rid the house of possible ticks and such. The cloud of Mortein hovered, then lifted again. I may have spent one to many minutes reading leather because the odour started to get a little sweet.
The fear of ticks and whatever stems from the fact that there is a family of birds semi-living underneath the roof tiles. One half is out foraging for worms and grubs while the babies—possible a family of indian miners—is inside and under kicking and scratching in the crawlspace. When the bomb was released they ran all over to the otherside of the roof/ceiling area. Chirping and scratching, that competes with the microwave and television.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of even more fervent attempts coming from behind the wall. It seems as though some workmen working across the street were called over to pave over the tiles, all while thinking that the birdettes have left the building. One remains as it was somewhere else. Now the corner of the house has a trio or so of birds flapping madly trying to get to their offspring, with food in mouth no less. Either the bird will die and call upon maggots and such or someone is going to break open the roof.
Wednesday, 17 October 2001
While attempting to usher a fly out of the house I managed to catch my right middle finger on a dirty monitor. Watching the blood trickle as I waited for the tap to become free I couldn't but help notice that instead of a sharp sting it felt more like a dull throb. The impact with the plastic cover was merely a result of wildly flapping my arms about closing in the space around the fly's path. It usually works, if I manage to open the door before it barrel rolls right over me. The skin sits like a flap letting the pus seep out yet being able to ward off dust and grime. Since it really didn't look like there would be a problem, I have chosen to recycle the band-aid. Learning lessons from bleeding skin in the past, I shall try and hold off just ripping it for pleasure.
Wednesday, 17 October 2001
For some reason there seems to be a crack in the nail of the left index finger. There also seems to be no recollection in any way for events or misadventures leading up to and splitting the dead cells. What is currently a full length bit could very soon become a three quarter length nub. Just hope that the nail doesn't go catching fabric every other minute.
Saturday, 13 October 2001
From ten til two the booking sheet was filled with client after client. One after the other, no longer with the slots of forty five minutes, but in half hour chunks. Then I take a look at my sheet and relax at the sight of only four names. The difference was a day. The first client was pretty smart in using the service I volunteer for. Unsure on whether or not he actually needed to send one in he only came to me to avoid the charge of his preferred tax agent.
Go to the free checkup before you have to see the real thing, if at all.
Then there was the client scheduled for eleven but was out waiting in the lobby at the crackle of nine that morning, yesterday. Every time I spoke he would get up, stand right next to me and ask "What?" I sent him on his turtle way as soon as I realised there were no papers with him. He had one helluva good looking cane on him. Mighty fine.
The last two only wanted to check for any possible errors, one of them smelt really weird, not foul, weird, and was extremely boistrous. The old guy with the cane nearly crushed my hand.
Saturday, 13 October 2001
With no money of their own and no smarts about them to walk ten minutes to a nearby park, the ferrets of the cross streets around my home have congregated toward the junction that faces the exposed stump in the front yard. That was before they really took to the wooden barrier and sent it cracking to the ground. Now may seem like a good a time as any for a letter toward the council in removing this collector of hokey vibes once and for all. They once had tried to rip the posts up some time ago, only they managed to get the thing up to the point of an inverted v.
Thursday, 11 October 2001
Constant badgering as well as an insane attitude about all things high and mightier, there was finally a break through. Yes! Having managed to pester Fuzzi hard enough and long enough to make her guestbook link float to the top of the page I can't help but think my entry was somewhat deflated. As I rope around the blogs I see, that guestbook link is where I'm going to graffiti. It's a shame then that the entries in those may turn out to be more enjoyable a read than this current location.
Wednesday, 10 October 2001
It has begun. Two days shy of the actual cut off date the villainous scoundrels thought it would be a lark to severe the connection between the world and my base at home. Whether or not I actually do owe them in back payment for a bill is not the issue I want to bleed dry. No, the fact of this matter is that I was told that the link would still be there for until Monday. Turns out that on Sunday, their computers did not want to acknowledge my requests. Thus, there can be only one thing in retaliation worthy and easy enough to carry out. Defiance and avoidance. They'll send me letters, and I just won't read them. They'll call asking for me, and I'll give them the Kalter. They might even call in the big guns, and I'll feign ignorance. Six dollars and sixty cents, that was the last payment I was expected to make. Looks now like I won't ever be. There is hope that I'll outlast them and they'll dive into bankruptcy.
Standing strong and in the shadows.
Wednesday, 10 October 2001
Filling out two quiz sheets instead of one could possibly lead to the demise of this aspiring dreamer. Three years, gone in one fell swoop of the inspecting eyes of the viking. A flutter as the leaves floated and the charge followed soon after. Perhaps not, hope not. Damn. It was a rush the first time, and the first time, for some reason I managed to get both quiz papers entangled with one inside the other. As I was able to complete the next quiz, I guess things went well.
Saturday, 6 October 2001
One day off from volunteer work for the Taxman and I notice that a house has just vanished. In one day. There on Wednesday, not there on Friday. Nothing left but a vacant lot of dirt clumps. There wasn't even a crew or indication on Wednesday afternoon or night about any kind of removal of that scale. An entire house in the middle of the night/day/whenever just upped and moved itself. It was not a demountable.
Hoeing away at the mounds of dirt that have spawned life anew—this is what brought about that last blister/callous mark—not one, but five hairy spiders ran about and away. Instead of worms I get ants and spiders.
Saturday, 6 October 2001
Located just below the pinkie of the left palm now shines a spot of second or third layer epidermis. The gradient around and to the spot is negligible, if not for the extra skin hanging off or the slightest of discolouration, it would be easy to miss. Merely puncturing the blister and squeezing out the fluid was not enough, it looked like enough at the time. It was gone. Then came the hardening. But a swift motion of focused seperation around the puncture mark and the airing section beneath collected another piece to the collection.
Friday, 5 October 2001
A month a year ago and they would have already kickstarted the journey into daylight savings. But no. Instead they choose to celebrate the passing of one year since the greatest sporting spectacle so far. So what time is it? To be able to walk out and onto the streets at night and see the sun still beaming down on your sweat, where's that? Either the clocks are set five minutes too early, or people are five minutes late.
Time tells no lies, as time has no tongue with which to carry out such a normalised act partaken mainly by humans.
On the new time displays featured among more and more train stations, there is one little bulb that never goes out. Bottom third from the right of each digit. As the numbers pass, this stays forever bright. This does not take into account the other numbers that don't change for hours on end. The things you notice when you don't know if you want it to rain or not.
Thursday, 4 October 2001
There seems to be no concrete indication on whether the September campaign by World Vision has reached its target of finding 5000 sponsors. During September, Ten News news bulletins have been prefaced with a collage of faces around the edge of a box, the centre once had the number of sponsors still left for the target. Last I remember the number was around just over 1000 still to go. The absence of the number count could mean that they have either given up on counting due to a late overwhelming rush of signups or that they've made their target.
Liquid paper has been giving me a headache. Sniffing it is something stated not to be carried out as it is harmful to your health. It also states on each and every tax return I've filled in not to apply the tricho on the form. Link and missing, there could be a problem there. Instead of a furious redo and rewrite of the number or whatever lives in the box they've been getting a paint job. But in my chameleonic hands I hold many disclaimers. Disclaimers waiving my responsibility for any and all returns filled with the stuff of headaches. There is hope yet for a wide scale audit.
Yet again the plastic currency that folds and washes with a distinct wear has been silently playing amongst that of the hands of the banks. The little, red, jolly dragon—with a gut out past the feet—has seen the contents of his stomach wither away as I await for more. At this rate, I might forget to deposit the ten cent coins I should be exchanging from notes. Why won't the train station accept a fifty dollar note for a three dollar ticket?
Tuesday, 2 October 2001
Elemunk scrambles the loose connections bouncing about the mind of Soon Van.
Feel free to ask questions on any topic. Or spend some quality killswitch time poking about reading the vintage synapses
Or maybe a torrid trail of job interviews?
Elementary Funk by Soon Van is licensed under a Creative Commons License. Feel free to read up on the scope of the copyright over the posts and photos.
Distributed amongst the proletariat