Category Archives: Uncategorized

Who Cleans the Holodeck?… 

I have been watching Star Trek DS9, TNG and Voyager, in all three it is alluded to that people are having sex with the holograms, fair enough, long journey, limited choices, I’m not going to judge. My concern here is what happens after your hardlight date, when you switch off the holograms? Not to be indelicate but any issue that was being contained by your holographic dream girl or guy would be deposited directly on the floor the instant you say “Computer end program”. Two issues are raised here, one of etiquette and the other of health and safety. Obviously health and safety would involve slip hazards and biological waste, and etiquette would be similar to wiping down the exercise equipment in the gym. So what I’m really getting at her is, is there some kind of mop squeegee thing in the corner cupboard of the holodeck, or is there a fancy space version of the robovac the scoots out and cleans up after you?

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Release the Kraken… 

I was doing so well. The happy kubuki mask firmly in place. But there is no noh mask today. Blame it on the rain, or 5 minutes too long in a crowd. Or maybe it’s just bad input causing static on my internal oscilloscope. Whatever it was it kicked me, bit me and scratched. It took my veneer and left a nasty gouge in the varnish. 


Hell is other people? No… Hell is other people in your head. Including the people that tell you not to worry about that. Fuck them most of all, your voice is the least helpful. 

Oh and fuck Batman day, falling doesn’t teach us to get back up again, it reminds us of how easy it is to take the skin off our knees. I’m acutely aware of how it feels to be raw, I don’t need further reminders. Falling just means you get hurt and your progress is set back. I know the skin will heal, but there will be scabs and eventually a scar to remind you. So many falls, so many scars. So many many scars. At some point there is the danger that you stop worrying about the falls and learn to find comfort in the scars. New scars mean you are still alive, but is that a good way to check? Don’t answer, because if you said yes you’ve got the issue I used to have, I say “used to” because I don’t want my inner narrative any more toxic than it already is… 

Tomorrow I will have the hangover that comes from stale adrenaline and bile stewing for an hour to many. I will make amends for those I have been the “other guy” to. I will let the scabs form and stay away from the gravel for a bit. There is so much gravel and so little grass in my life these days. That’s what happens when you pave instead of sow. But I still have a planter box I haven’t pissed in yet. So tomorrow I will water that. 

Please excuse the metaphor and similes they are for my clarity,  and the obscuration of others… 

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Drink…Drank…Drunk…

Well just the first two really, a bottle of moscato won’t really get you drunk. More pleasantly befuddled. Actually that’s a great name for a wine, I would buy Pleasently Befuddled if I saw it on the shelf, double so if it had a midly confused looking woodland creature on the label. It’s my 48 hrs a fortnight with out the sproglings, or the brief window to lounge around with no pants, a bottle of wine and watch a movie with naughty words and the occasional boob… So let’s raise a glass to tipsy rabbits and bluebirds, swear words and the occasional glimpse of pink things… cheers… 

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House of the Rising Sun… 

There is a house in New Orleans. They call the rising sun, but I can’t seem to find it on this map. 

Today’s opshop crawl turned up a map of Storyville New Orleans. The notorious redlight district created to regulate prostitution and drugs in New Orleans from 1897 to 1917. I’ve got a thing for maps, not the kind of thing that requires googling the name of the disorder of getting obsessed and wanting to role naked in them, but just an atheistic attraction. They can be both utilitarian and decorative, sometimes in equal measure. In this case its utility is as a historical snapshot. A blotchy opaque window back in time, with a jazz soundtrack and a pearl handled derringer under a perfumed pillow, possibly with a touch of syphilis. 


It is a hand drawn 1940s copy of the original 1915 version. Streets, shops, brothels… The names of those trading in negotiatable affections are both mundane and fascinating.  I own far grander and more artistically embellished maps, but they fail to deliver a sense of place and time as well as this simple bureaucratic document. 

Perhaps that’s the lesson here, affectation is a distraction from the clarity that simplicity can achieve. 

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The Other Guy… 

Today I picked up one of those books that everyone knows, and few have read. Like Moby Dick and Heart of Darkness the number of people that claim to have read some books vs the amount of people that have actually read them is quite disparate. Yesterday I wouldn’t have claimed to have read Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but today I can. 


The main take away message I got is, the movies in most part got it wrong and Dr Jekyll is not Bruce Banner. That’s the problem with things being adopted into popular culture, the source material gets bastardized. Jekyll wasn’t a nice guy, he was frightened bad guy. The story works so much better that way.

That’s pretty much it really, I’m not here for book reviews or drawing long bows of literary criticism. I’m just here for pithy observations, and random thoughts.

PS – I’ve read Moby Dick and Heart of Darkness too, Heart of Darkness is better… 

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