There was always the new

March 5th, 2010

It was 1998, Christmas there-of and I was ushered into a corner and asked if I’d like to earn some money.

“Of course!” I chimed, elated at the prospect; and with those words, the ink was dry and I was at desk – with computer, at phone – with conference and caller ID, at office – with smell of mould and decomposing cement and tattered carpet and inexplicable sink.

The month passed slowly, the jobs varied and came at the end of a single sentence command.
“Design the Christmas Card!”,  I did.
“File the action reports!”, I did.
“Make a database!”, I did.
“Go home!”, I did.

I was excited at this money earning endeavour, I did odd things like sleep in full business attire + cap, use a unisex bathroom and entirely give up thinking about what to do with the rest of my life.

And so it began, the first new.  The new that decided my path, discarded of hope for the future I began my pursuit of this life I have. The new that filled the waking hours, stalled my plans for travel, my plans for riches, my plans for excess.

This week: a new a new. Two steps closer to god, two steps further away from everything else.

Every opportunity is a choice, each has a path and you can’t travel both.

Occupation

January 10th, 2010

This weekend, a vapid experience, spent supine and jacked-in. It dissolved into time like Berocca into warm water, not because I was having fun, but because, so idle, so empty was it that I have no memory to consider.

It brings to mind the contradiction of those people that spend their time doing nothing complain fiercely of being busy, yet those that spend it actively seem to fill their lives with such wonderful diversity.

It seems to me that the more you have to fill your life, the more life you get to be filled.

End note :- This is totally worth your time.

Refresh

January 9th, 2010

Amongst the violent sneezing fits and the occasional mucousy discharge of the nostrils I’ve been doodling a banner for this page. A glowing, colourful banner, to embrace visitors far and wide, to introduce them to my ridiculous nature and bathe them in a little bit of me.

But I am a pawn to procrastination, its sure enough that I’ll be stuck with this ominous blue rectangle of WordPress cliche forever. I am too easily consumed by the hilarious capacity of the Internet to do harm.

Know where you are going in life, you may already be there.

Nepalese Dining

July 30th, 2007

The Restaurant: Kathmandu Newa Chhe’n
The Map

The Adventure:
Braving the horrors of an empty fuel tank, two soldiers of misfortune ventured into the remote district of Milton, one of Brisbane’s finer dining suburbs, to locate a meal whose recipe was spawned in a country better known for its dirt and rocks – often of the piled-high variety.

The Kathmandu New-a-whatsit looks exactly as a Nepalese restaurant should, this has a lot to do with the fact that I have never been to any other Nepalese restaurant and I am in the habit of drawing conclusions from first impressions.

Three distinct and notably empty dining areas met our arrival, not ones to shy away from skinny dipping in foreign culture when they present their tepid waters, we dove right into the no-shoes-so-you-think-you’re-there area. Floor pillows and slightly too loud foreign sounding music crowded us, building the authentic ambiance.

We ordered food, lots of food, we were being ridiculous and thought it would be funny. 3 Fantastic entrées; the breads are magnificent, possessing a texture you’d imagine to be shared only with light rain clouds.

Then a Chea tea, yes Chea, not Chai or whatever pompous name is usually given to these fashionable beverages. It was simply titilating, like a dessert, it had flavours of nutmeg and cinnamon and gave a slight tingling feeling a little bit like nearly fainting after an adrenal-rush, without the prerequisite near death experience.

At this point we forced ourselves upon the mains, two meat platters of sinus clearing protein, with a large helping of rice and a bowl vegetable something-or-other. Perhaps we were too bloated to enjoy them fully; I barely had energy to filter through the dregs from my meat bowl to find those hidden nuggets of cow flesh just big enough to fill the gap beneath your eyeballs. The vegetable soupy thing wasn’t for me, but people accustomed to the world of bland and hollow dishes (vegetarians) might think differently.

They had an animal-flesh-free menu, and I think they could pull off gluten-free too, although I didn’t ask.

Food: 18
Its food, I am no critic, some of it was bad, most of it was good, the bread I will praise to anyone willing to lend an ear.

Ambiance: 18
What do I know about Nepal? They have a strangely shaped flag – the windows were strange, close enough. Lost some points because I don’t like slightly too loud music, gained some points because I don’t like places that are full of other humans.

Service: 15
It was basically empty and still I had sufficient time between stuffing my face to run through my repertoire of idle conversation topics. Nay!

Value: 20
Main for under $20, entrée and shit-hot tea for under $10, nice.

Convenience:15
1.2 Klm from the nearest train station, so you probably don’t want home carrying the full weight of a gigantic meal in your gullet. If you’re driving, we parked just across the road and weren’t nearly run down by psychotic 4×4 owners. Kudos.

Overall: That’s 86 out of 100, having never written a review, I have no idea what that means, damn statistics. Try it, its cheap enough that you won’t care if you are disappointed, and fortunately, you probably won’t be. There isn’t much room, so it would suck on a busy night, Tuesday is the day to hit it.

A little story

June 10th, 2007

“I don’t know. I guess alone is my favourite place to be.”

Her eyes showed a slight annoyance, “Why did you ask me out then?”

“Because… despite all the time I spend abandoning the comforts of friendship and irrespective of the austere shell that surrounds my very core, protecting me from foes that don’t exist, I know, that in truth, all I really want is to have someone to breathe through, someone whose flesh will fit with mine, someone to coax my heart into rhythm and carry me to sleep with nothing but their warmth.” are the words I didn’t utter.

“It’s getting cold, and I am too cheap to buy a hot water bottle.”

She laughed.

The Wanton and the Wanted

July 22nd, 2006

She who wants what she does not have, and has whatever she wants, always has something new to want and always has something old to want anew.This is the paradigm that grips every woman I have ever desired. Through my desire I find myself amongst the endless cycle, watching the curiously predictable ebb and flow of want.

Distracted by their wants no one ever stops to consider what they need.

A green basket maker

June 24th, 2006

Gardening has long been considered the domain of the aged, alone, and curious abominations with scissors for fingers, I considered this fact for a moment, then, realising that I was most of these things, headed out into the garden.

With little understanding of the actual act of Gardening, I set about making things look a little prettier by giving my garden the equivalent of a haircut. As I stood, casually hacking my way through dried banana fronds with an oversized pair of nail clippers, I wondered to myself – why is it that weaver ants always manage to find the softest most sensitive part of your body to sink their tiny pincers in? The answer is simple, and occurred to me shortly after realising my entire body was covered with little green bastards, tripping over, rolling down a hill and hitting my head on the sharp coner of a large brick structure – my house.

There is somethign about waking up with a mild sunburn and concussion after having received paper cuts to hundreds of places on your body that is truely enlightening – no wonder I paid people to do this before.

A tag – I am laughter incarnated as flesh

February 19th, 2006

Use your mousey thing to click here
http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Neossian
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Neossian

That’s right, those are links! I have been informed that this is a blog,and as such I am obliged to utilise them. I may have to remove them so I don’t find myself appearing on Google™ somewhere closer than the thousandth page.

Essentially a means to indulge my overwhelming narcissim and find out what everyone thinks of me. You should try it too, I dare you.

Dice: Mathematical yet random, structurally sound, although not perfect,utterly stoic. I am dice.

Humour is a funny thing.

January 16th, 2006

Personally, I take great delight in the most ridiculous forms of humor,the immature, even trite little quips that others can only enjoy when sufficiently lubricated by alcohol or some other state altering drug. To me, these thingsare gold, an endless vat of abdominal straining laughter, near hystericsI will struggle to complete each joke, as others begin laughing more likely at my inability to breathe than the jokes themselves. I laugh even now, only thinking of the series of jokes that begin.

Why couldn’t the fly climb the wall?
There was a fridge tied to its leg.

“It’s funny because it’s stupid” I suggest uncertainly to the attending audience. Like menstruation, it seems they get it, but it just isn’t funny. Taking its place near “Stories that go nowhere”,”Unnecessarily violent outbursts” and “Discussing places to store the remains of my victims” I write “Inelaborate Jokes” under the heading “Ways to isolate myself in conversation.

“And now for the ulterior motive behind this entry, to share this little joke, conjured amidst my deafening psychosis.

What do a chiropractor and a psychiatrist have in common?
Each can be replaced through application of a noose and an appropriate altitude.

Anne Frank writes from my heart

December 29th, 2005

I have just finished reading The Diary of Anne Frank, for those unfamiliar souls, Anne Frank was a young and charming girl forced into hiding with her family during a period of Nazi occupation of the Netherlands from 1942 to 1944.

The book is a great deal more than the chronicles of a young girls life. Her grasp of language, emotion, motivation and the things that reside within us all is undoubtedly cause for inspiration.

In the closing entries, Anne comes to truly reflect on the nature of her being, and describes a soul that I cannot help but find parallel with. Questions thrash inside me, if I can have such things in common with a 15 year old Jewish girl from 1944, might I find them in others too? How many of us fight the unruly beast that is self. Do we all hold an ideal within us, one that seems only to visit during the loneliest times. Is young Anne the one person who truly revealed herself, if only to the scrawled pages of a diary.

To those who have trusted enough to show the truth within, read this book, if only to know that truth is within all of us.