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
Okay – the liability for mess thing? This thing? Totally figured it out. Mess can be made liability neutral. Gab and I are cleaning up mess right now and WE. ARE. HAVING. A. BLAST. We seriously are.
We will be slightly sad when the mess is gone, because there will be no more mess to not be liable for, and shit. But that’s okay; we’ll find something else to do.
Liable for nothing.
Seriously.
*eye contact* etc
Totally.
*very long pause*
*nod*
Filed under Liable For Nothing, Life Is Good, Mysteries
Filed under Art, Audio, Benevolence, Boogie Fever, Cryptography, Discombobulation, Dreams, Drugs, Evil, Found, Genius, Here Is The News, Illusion Of Time, Liable For Nothing, Muntedness, Mysteries, Night Time, Nothing, People, Photos, Self Analysis, Signs Of The Apocalypse, some do it fast, some do it better in smaller amounts, The Liberator Who Destroyed My Property Has Realigned My Perceptions, the walls are mushy, These Hippies Are Not Messing Around, Travel, w0ot
So yes: about a month ago I accompanied my colleague and fellow Merrie Scrambler Major G to Rainbow Serpent. She’d scored a free ticket and needed a handbag company; we went halves.
It was incredibly excellent.
I captured a lot of media, and thankfully had the foresight to copy it off my phone before it died. Then my computer died. Etc blah blah.
Here at long last, etc.
To be continued.
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.
Went off.
Oh, what a mess! Though. Liable for mess.
Also, someone stole my weed. I’m a bit unhappy about that. But that’s what I get for leaving it unattended in the garden.
So it goes. It was all worth it. Hooray for parties.
Filed under Audio, Drugs, Drunkenness, Life Is Good, Muntedness, People, Photos, Swings & Roundabouts, w0ot
At long freaking last.
In the meantime, my two primary gmail accounts, my Facebook account and my TypePad (blog) account were hacked & rendered inaccessible. Oy.
I’ve managed to resecure the blog account, at least, thanks to a friendly cookie which recognised my machine. Bless that cookie. No damage appears to have been inflicted. The only evidence of intrusion is that the answer to my secret security question (“What is your mother’s maiden name?”) has changed from “Symington” to “whore”.
Charmed, I’m sure.
Cunts.
Here – nested all meta-style – is an earlier entry I scrawled freehand on Tuesday, and was planning to post at the ‘ternet caff that evening but couldn’t, because I’d been hacked:
Munted.
Is the word of the week. As in “Man, I got munted on Saturday night.” And I did. I really did.
At 10pm I was summoned by Wouters to a party in the Brunswick area. I was only going to stay out for two hours or so on account of: (a) I was supposed to be working the following day –
(In other news: I started working at the doodle palace again last week; it’s been almost as much of a shock to my system as Rainbow. But in a significantly less good way.)
– and (b) I didn’t actually know the person who’s party it was or anyone else who was going to be there. Or so I thought..
As it turned out.. ah, it’s quite a funny story, but it’s also a bit complex and at least four of my five remaining readers basically know it already.
Suffice to say a munting good time was had, this being only improved – and further enmunted – by the semi-random appearance of none other than the mysterious and extraordinary Thad at an advanced stage of the evening. (Update 8 Feb: I’ve encountered him twice more since then. I think he’s stalking me. Or someone I know. But I don’t mind at all.)
I didn’t make it to work. I’m not sure how I made it home. I’m really not.
In other muntedness news, I’m having a party tomorrow night. It’s going to be pretty good. If you are reading this and you know my street address, you can come.
Filed under Cunts, Damage Control, Discombobulation, Domestica, Evil, F***book, Muntedness, People, Terribleness, Whack
It was pretty fucking good. (As in “That’s a pretty fucking good milkshake.“)
Thanks to Major G, the Rainbow Serpent undercover vibe police, and most especially a man named Thad.
More will be said once I have fully regained the power of speech, and also my computer. Which I still don’t have. Still.
So don’t even care right now!
Still.
Avoid these people. They will quote you four days on the repair of your eMac, then keep it for ten with no end in sight. They can’t even tell me how much it’s going to cost. At this rate I won’t be paying them anyway.
Fuck this shit. I’m going to Rainbow Serpent.
Hooray for everything (except puterlessness)!
Filed under Current Affairs, Discombobulation, Domestica, w0ot, Whack
Totally and utterly ‘puterless. Still. I’m posting this from an internet cafe on Brunswick St.
It really does feel like I’ve entered a strange alternate (originally typed: “alternet”) dimension.
It’s quite good. It’s a PAIN IN THE ASS. But it’s certainly novel.
In other news: Happy first birthday, Nada.
Your birthday present is that you are now officially allowed outside to wander wither you will.
We look forward to seeing what you make of the world beyond the fortresslike confines of Chez Hagakure, and what it makes of you.
Filed under Discombobulation, Domestica, Here Is The News, Nada Zero
Feed my narcissism, you cunts.
Filed under Audio, Life, People, Photos, Sketchiness
Starring Johnny Coburg (nb liable for nothing) and Sjorka The Sorcha (please note: liable for nothing), as themselves.
No liability was incurred.
Filed under Audio, Liable For Nothing
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
Amount of spare cash I have lying around: none.
Prostitution is looking real good right now. I think it would pay better than conducting legitimate social research, be more fun, and also do more to make the world a better place.
But how do you get into the industry? Is there a TAFE course or something?
Filed under Desperation, Domestica, Poverty
