Ah, who am I kidding. It’ll happen when it happens.
I am well, btw. Just not very blog-oriented right now, for whatever reason..
Ah, who am I kidding. It’ll happen when it happens.
I am well, btw. Just not very blog-oriented right now, for whatever reason..
Here’s to certainly at least one more year of.. whatever the hell kind of fuckery this is.
🙂
Filed under History, Illusion Of Time, Liable For Nothing, Self Analysis, Weblogs
Go read them. I got nothin’. Except an interminably unclearable email backlog. (Plus ca change etc.)
And, I guess, the news that after two years of global trekkage, an older, worldly-wiser Toots aka babysis is coming home today! To my home (ie Melbourne)!
Can you say “I’m fucking excited”? Coz I surely can.
Filed under Are You Hungry, Art, Benevolence, Here Is The News, Newness, People, Pimpage, Signs Of The Apocalypse, w0ot, Weblogs
No camera = no pictures + very low commentage levels = just got nothin’. Sorry.
It’s all about F***book right now, anyways. If you want me, friend me on FB. If you want to know my FB name, write me.
I am well, and having a lovely time.
More TK when the moment is propitious. Please stay tuna etc.
Filed under F***book, Here Is The News, Life Is Good, Nothing, Weblogs
It’s a bit hard to to know where to start.
*thinks*
So my computer’s sound recording facilities had been playing up, right. Had been for a while. It was no good. I wanted to make an album.
Thus on the morning of January 15th, I called a taxi and took the old gel into town to be serviced. They told me it would take four days. It wound up taking three weeks. But they did it.
In the meantime, I got totally hacked. First teigan@gmail.com, then [mylegalname]@gmail.com, my blog and my Facebook accounts all stopped accepting their passwords across the final week of January.
On Friday the 8th of February, I got my computer back. On Saturday, I threw a party. This is where we came in.
Upon getting reputered, I created some special email accounts and conducted a few experiments. Via these I established to a high degree of likelihood that my hacker was good old Henley. Somewhat predictably, I lost my shit at him.
On Tuesday 12th, I attempted to boot my newly restored digital handmaiden only to discover that – four days after returning home to me – she had totally, totally died.
I was ‘puterless once more.
Then the following night – Valentine’s Eve, no less – none other than Henley’s girlfriend, a former close associate of mine, claimed responsibility for the hacking via SMS.
Leave the poor petal alone, she said. He’s innocent.
I was skeptical at first, but when she told me that teigan@gmail was wide open for resetting (Quick! Jump up and find an open internet cafe at 2am etc), I realised she was probably telling at least some weird Lady-J-since-she-turned-feral version of the truth.
Why had the former love of my life done this to me? She’d written to me at another account, she said – one of the ones she hadn’t violated and locked me out of – explaining everything.
Only problem was, I had (of course) been changing all my passwords like a demon – without having gotten around to making a backup or a hard copy of any of them. From my computer. Which had since – you will recall – dropped totally, totally dead.
In other words I was now not only ‘puterless and locked out of my hacked accounts, but ‘puterless and locked out of all my internet accounts.
Then in the early hours of Sunday 17th, Wouters dropped my last remaining link to civilisation phone in a full glass of bourbon & coke.
Oy.
Various people have eased my journey through this Durdenesque ordeal, and thanks are due.
Mishuki of Hagakure 419 fame was good enough to let me use hir Facebook profile. My colleague in social research, fellow FB tragic and soon-to-be-housemate Celestine has been extremely generous with her 3G handset, enabling me to update my status in something akin to the style to which I’ve become compulsively accustomed. Thad gave me a safe-haven email account on his server. And last Tuesday, having learned that my dead six-year-old eMac would cost $700 to reanimate, my long-suffering parents offered to buy me a MacBook. Which was very nice of them.
I picked it up this morning. I’m using it now. It’s lovely.
(I’d take a picture but since the destruction of my phone I’ve got no working digital camera, except the one inside said MacBook. And its eye is not prehensile. But here’s a picture of the box:
And now I have my accounts back.
Things are gradually returning to some semblance of what passes for ‘normal’ on Planet Teigan.
*flops exhaustedly*
Apart from all of that, I have mostly been going out a lot – having, y’know, not a whole lot else to do – and taking quite a lot of acid.
It’s been.. awesome, actually. Can’t complain.
Oh, and I got engaged on Saturday night. I think. But that’s a whole other story.
Welcome back, blog.
Coming soon: the long, long-delayed multimediatastic Rainbow Serpent post.
Looking at old TF posts for the purposes of linking to them in more recent TF posts, I was struck by something: No fucker is commenting here any more. (Except Liv. And Li. And Wortwut. And the odd Neurocam random combing the archives.) (Gotta love those tenacious, cockroachlike Neurocam randoms.)
Where have you gone, beloved blog massive?
Do you not love me any more?
Is it because Lady J doesn’t love me any more?
That’s it, isn’t it.
It is. Don’t lie.
Actually, I don’t think that’s really it at all. It’s all about me. (It is always all about me.)
To get perhaps ill-advisedly personal for a moment (Li will enjoy this):
Towards the end of 2005, I had Learned To Love Myself. Man. Really, truly had. It was nice. It had been a long time coming.
And I got lots of comments in those days. Because as we all know, if you love yourself – like, really, truly do – then everyone else will love you too. Everyone who matters, anyways.
LJ fell in love with me at around this time. And that was great. But then I think I became dependent on her loving me in order to love myself. So when she stopped, I kinda stopped as well. Et voila: blog comments? Thing of the past.
It’s more complex than that, naturally. But it’s One Way Of Looking At Things. Makes a lot of sense to me.
This is partly the reason people sing the blues when their partners leave them. It’s partly that you just desperately miss having them around, course; it’s partly the shattered dreams of future happiness; it’s partly the sense that all this time and energy expended on getting to know this person really, really well and them getting to know you really, really well, and building trust and constructing a shared identity and blah blah blah has all gone totally to waste. It’s partly because you feel like a part of your very soul has been ripped out, leaving a huge gaping hole in your psyche.
But it’s also significantly because you’ve forgotten how to love yourself without someone else to back you up on it.
That’s really, really bad though. You shouldn’t need anyone else to love you. And the more you do, the less they will.
Am I wrong, non-existent blog readers?
It’s one of those perverse inverse dynamics that The Universe is so fond of, for some sick twisted reason that I will never entirely understand [*] except maybe when I’m on nitrous oxide.
Ah, sweet nitrous oxide.
It will never leave me. Until they make it illegal.
(Why isn’t it illegal? It’s so good.)
[*] NB This is disingenuous; I do in fact understand perfectly. It’s because people are attracted to power and personal power derives from self-sufficiency. But for the purposes of allowing this post to form a nice, natural arc, I had to pretend to be stupider than I really am. Funny how that happens sometimes.
Filed under Drugs, History, People, Self Analysis, silly humans *rolls eyes* etc, Weblogs
Ms Fits has acknowledged my existence again. (Previously.)
There really is nothing left to live for.
(Except, y’know, art and shit.)
Filed under Heh, Here Is The News, Illusion Of Time, Lost But Unconcerned, Weblogs
Found in the toilets at St Jerome’s on Saturday night:
I’ve got absolutely zero interest in horseracing, but I love this time of year.
In other news, the artist formerly known as Shemyaza and more recently known as Jonathan Carfax has a new blog-based venture “dedicated to providing an uniquely Australian perspective on absinthe, and to provid[ing] fellow absintheurs with the most up-to-date and reliable information on absinthe varieties and tasting notes, as well as providing a home for Australian Libertines and lovers of bohemian culture, decadence and art, both historic and contemporary.”
It looks pretty cool.
He asked me if I’d like to be an occasional contributor. I replied:
Right now I’m extremely busy & preoccupied preparing for a VCA interview on the 21st and generally trying to metaprogram my way into the belief that I’m a Real Artist, whilst attempting as best I can to assimilate the monumental dual headfuck that:
(a) [censored]
(b) for all his sins, I really *like* the crazy, evil bastard.
And I should tell you that as a retiring semi-recluse I have at best only a nodding acquaintance with the Melbourne artistic intelligentsia and bar scene – although I wouldn’t be averse to developing a closer one for a cause as worthy as your own.
So yeah – if you have any absinthe you want me to drink / burlesque performers you want me to date / etc from next month onwards, feel very free to giz a heads up (equine or otherwise) (preferably the latter, ay).
That is the news.
Filed under Art, Damage Control, Discombobulation, Here Is The News, Photos, Pimpage, Weblogs
“On Monday morning, Paxton was woken at five from a claustrophobic, anxious sleep by the weight of his worry. After disentangling himself from the sweaty unwelcome embrace of his patchwork quilt, he padded over to his bedroom window and pressed his nose forlornly against the glass. The sky was clear and dark and sparkling – there was, as yet, no sign of the sun.”
Jo (who I won’t link coz she hasn’t updated since March; maybe it’s just me, but I think her blog’s dead) told me the other week that my posts had become very cryptic this year.
I knew what she meant. But at the same time I was kind of bemused.
My posts have always been very cryptic. Sometimes they’ve been so cryptic that I didn’t even get them properly myself until ages afterwards.
This one here is a perfect example. I’m really not at all sure why I’m writing this – but I just know I’ll look at it in four months time, or in 2012, or whenever, and go “Ah, I see!! Ingenious, Teigs.”
Brains are funny.
Braaaiins.
I – which is to say, a close personal friend of mine – keeps getting sent zombie invitations on Facebook.
I don’t know what that’s about either.
Filed under Art, Cryptography, Self Analysis, Weblogs
I just started writing a new one about pending bathroom renovations but that was even crapper, so I threw it away.
I’m still getting back in the saddle. Y’know.
Further requests are invited.
Filed under Weblogs
I think it’s Nearly Time.
Filed under Weblogs
Fans of Hagakure 419 will be delighted to learn that its long-lost archives from the golden era of April, May, June, July and August 2006 are back, and better than ever*.
* Relative value judgement; the quality of your personal H419 archival experience is your own responsibility and cannot be guaranteed by TF editorial staff. If dissatisfaction persists, stick metal skewers into your eyeballs.
Filed under Auto-Pimpage, Weblogs
I celebrated by buying a new goldfish, Feustus II.
His predecessor Feustus I died in April 2005, as documented in one of my very first posts.
Filed under Here Is The News, History, Illusion Of Time, Photos, Weblogs