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Posted 12 October 2002, 6.12 pm by Craig

mmmm... erotic cakes!.


Posted 12 October 2002, 10.19 am by Berly

Here it is, proof that I'm far too easily amused.

This thing...this DIRK is a glob of interconnectedness....or something. I'm still playing with it.

DIRK you!

Paradise lost

Posted 11 October 2002, 10.52 pm by firebrand

Vill's post reminded me of this. I suppose this is yet another entry in my current obsession with memories and other girly-type “feelings and shit.”

I don’t even remember what being in love is like.

It used to swamp my days – I’d lose whole hours wrapped up in that cocoon. Vague memories of couches and blankets, foot massages and hot cocoa swim out occasionally. I can remember the moments. I can’t remember the feelings. I can’t remember what it was like at all.

Have I blocked it out because the boy I thought I loved was just that – nothing more than a boy, confused in his own desires? Or has it just been so long since someone has inspired me thus that those emotions have slipped away like an atrophied muscle?

How does one remember an emotion? If I think about an apple, I can remember its colors and its smells and its tastes. If I think about a feeling, I can’t make myself experience it. Sometimes a smell or a taste or a color will bring that feeling up though. It’s an enigma.

Of course, then comes the question: Does one really want to remember being in love with someone who is no longer available? Or even if available, someone you wouldn’t want to return to? I think the answer is clearly and firmly “No.” Otherwise, we would just be spending our time pining over something we can’t recreate.

Where Art Thou, Love?

Posted 11 October 2002, 7.45 pm by Villager

A couple of months ago, few would have believed in the idea of love and its virtues more than me. I believed in what I had and what it meant as an intrinsic part of my life. Recent events have rather changed not only circumstance, but the way I think about love and its value. The disruption caused recently has left me disillusioned, more than anything. I am not so irrational as to denounce love outright and never allow myself to become vulnerable again, and if nothing else these past months have taught me to expect to be proven wrong, but what I feel and my shifting perspective has led me to analyse one particular aspect: if I, one who rationally and truly believed in the strength and endurance of love, can be changed, and believe myself to have been, then what of the love I thought I had? Does it change, disappear, or remain unaffected?

I still feel much of what I felt months ago. Many of the same emotions. But one thing has changed. I now believe love to be an essentially peripheral part of life, rather than a central factor. Life must be taken alone. If I am lucky enough to spend it with one with whom I can consider myself "in love" then I will likely live a more fulfilling life because of it, but I can no longer depend upon the feeling generated inside my heart in the name of love. It was enough to live off, but unfortunately it becomes too much to let go. And that is why it must be controlled, just like any other emotion. Just like hate, anger, animal instincts which we accept need to be controlled for a balanced society. My love has little bearing upon society, but the instinct must not be allowed to control me.

I was at my happiest when in the throes of love, but at my lowest point when that was torn from me. And that is why it cannot be. I cannot live my life like that. I now understand - no, I have always understood it, I now believe it to have value - what is meant by the idea that we do not fall in love, but with the concept of being in love. Was I in love? I believe so still, but I was also in love with the concept so as to lose my independence emotionally. And that is where it all went wrong. When in love one cannot see outside the box; when out of love, one cannot see back in. I can not and will not return to that particular box. I am not 'happy' alone, but I seem to have accepted within myself that I have always been alone, only now do I miss the company of love which led between me and my own emotional frailties. I thought I was the happiest man alive, when really I was the luckiest.

Luck changed.


Posted 10 October 2002, 9.32 pm by Acheron

The intro is a bit long, but man... I don't even know how to finish this sentence.

Don't click here.


Posted 9 October 2002, 1.46 am by Jake

~It's my first try at something semi-serious as opposed to short stories. Crucify me if you don't fucking like it~

What exactly are you staring at? Am I not supposed to try and be
-You looking at me-
-me reading Kafka-
-you wondering what I'm doing there-

As if I'm not supposed to have ambitions and ideas? Is my place in the great goddamned hierarchy of society not worthy of opening a book? Questioning our existence?

Jack London wrote of the education/acculturation of a young man named Martin Eden. Martin began as a sailor, a "work-beast", with many of his experiences notched onto his belt and a burning inclination to better himself. With the help of various people, he became a well-seasoned writer and intellectual (even so far as giving public speeches on Socialism). All his life he had pined for things that were just out of his reach. Upon finding them out of his reach, he stretched himself further in order to attain what was most treasured.

With that analysis out of the way, should people really have an innate desire for self-improvement? Is it worth it for a person "of the abyss"(to allude to London yet again) to strive for something better? To look at their daily life and ask, "Is this it?" Many people would agree with me when I say "Yes, it is a worthy cause, mainly because it gives people incentive to change their lives....and in essence, change the lives of others."

Where I'm trying to go with this, is that nobody should be stereotyped and dismissed as useless just because of their place in our modern dog-eat-dog society. That can be attributed to the tried and true maxim "Expect the unexpected". Nobody should rely on predisposed notions, because you could be easily caught off-guard.

Halloween is coming: Time for RolePlaying

Posted 8 October 2002, 4.36 pm by Shaggy

This piece is an entity, and must be read entirely in order to fully reach the power that I hope it has. It was brought on by a deconstructionalist theory of supplementation, in which binary oppositions are reversed, thus making the negative more privileged than positive, darkness more valued than light. Thus, I embrace my negative, evil, dark, sinister appetencies, and allowing them their perspective.

I stare down at them, for they are under my feet. They are lost, cold to me as if they were nothing more than an illusion. What does it matter that they fall? What does it matter that I rule over them?

Can it not be said that they are at my control, and thus subject to my temperament, for better or worse? My conditions are vague, but strict. I will accept no power unless it is absolute, and this I enforce with an iron fist. I am not worried about an uproar, for the commoners are nothing to me.

What does it mean, when they say that I am not a proper ruler? What does it mean to me when those underneath me say they have not enough food, or not enough drink? They believe in me as a ruler, and yet they doubt my ways. Is that any way to treat a ruler? They should be content underneath my boot, for it is a glorious position. It is better to be under my feet, under my control, than to be an enemy, which can fall at my fancy. Is it up to me, then, to see that my friends are fed? I do not believe so. In fact, I would rather worry about my enemies, of their fancy. It worries me more when an enemy wants my head, for this is everlasting. However, it is not everlasting when a friend wishes my attention, for fleeting is the attention of the human kind. Rather, I take pleasure not in the pleasures of others but of my personal gain.

I am a tyrant, and I admit it to any who wish to listen. The world is created on the backs of the weak; this is the manner in which the Wheel of Destiny conducts itself, for fleeting is the will of power. Just when man has his head above water, just when things are beginning to take form and to prosper toward the common pride, something explodes in fire, disrupting what has taken centuries to build. The sweat of man, along with his slaves, is as delicate as a flower; have mercy on the fellow who crushes this sweet thing underneath his cleats, for he is on the path to something great.

Something terrible is in my mind, and I admit that I cannot control it, for it controls me. I am the monster that I admit myself to be, I am the creature that watches as his enemy sleeps, waiting for a chance to strike and to taste of blood. I am ambitious; I am greedy. I am that which makes the populace frown in disgust, and I am proud. I leave a trail of blood in my wake, and I enjoy it profusely. This is my destiny, to destroy and to cherish the blood of the whore.

I lift my friends above my eyes, so that they may see my greatness. I cherish their power as they are above me, I cherish the pain that they relish as they step on me and crush me, and I delight in bringing them down, crashing. It makes them cry, and I laugh.

I am horror, and am distinguished from the rest of the world by the fact that I am not afraid to shed blood, mine or otherwise. I hold this within my fingertips, it is not wasted as I take each drop with pain and suffering. My hands are blistered, my heart is frail and broken, and I shed my wounded.

I cry, so that others might laugh at me. It aggravates me, and this is an emotion that I decidedly enjoy. My teeth clenched, my heart throbbing against my rib cage, and I am ecstatic in it all. To be honest, I would not have anything other than confrontation, for it turns on the inner truth. Conflict and opposition are defined in me and define me, for it is the negative that I enjoy and conquer.

Disdain is the word of the day. It rolls off the tongue like blood, sweat, and tears. I speak it with love, and it enjoys me.

I am negative and positive, alpha and omega. I am both brutal and kind, and my wrath can be exquisite in its flames. My limbs are heavy and thick, my teeth are sharpened to a point, and I quiver with it all. I am powerful, I am the phoenix that will lift itself from the burning ashes, ashes that are thrown unto the bonfire of love and passion. I am terrible and loving, and I bring my followers to tears with my power and beauty.

I am rich in blood; indeed, it overflows and drips from my ears. I feel the world slip inside me, and I am terrible.

As I place my head on the pillow, my cathartic ramblings still hold venom at the tip of my tongue. My eyes are still filled with tears with my frustration, and the tiny crescents of blood on my palm begin to burn. I have shed something terrible, I feel it dying as it is brought into the open. I feel hatred, as I am only human. I do not pretend as if I am some benevolent Christ, only capable of love and healing. I am tainted, and I am original sin. To deny oneself is a great sin indeed, and I do not enjoy lying. So, though these words be powerful even stretched out of context (as they are by default), the imagery presented is often brought to my mind when I cannot take my anger at the world any more. I do not pretend like I enjoy the murder-porn that the daily news has turned into (or perhaps always was). I have to have some escape, or I fear I will go mad with the injustice that this world presents itself, when you dig into it. Though I attempt to make the best out of who I am, to help and heal those that I may, I am not perfect by any respect. I believe there is only two perfect creatures, one human and the other surreal. I love my girlfriend so much that her faults are not seen by me, for she is faultless in my eyes. There is an entity, some call it Truth others God others still call it many names, too numerous to contain herein. This is the only other perfect.

I am purged of Satan. He is now trapped in the words above this explanation, and I can destroy him. He is channeled through my anger, he exists in my wounds. I can now print the beast out and tear him up, or consume him. He is my slave, subject to my will.

He is out in the open, in the eyes of God, and subject to the warrior angels, who protect us everyday. Now that the devil is out of me, I can sleep.

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.

Posted 7 October 2002, 2.00 am by The_Roach

Errors in judgement, we all make them. Sometimes it's something as simple as choosing the wrong pair of slacks to go with that shirt, or perhaps even buying that garish Hawaiian number in the first place. When we're lucky, the mistakes that we make don't affect anyone but ourselves. We can gingerly extract the toenails from the roofs of our mouths, shrug our shoulders, and smile with the hopes that not too much blood is dripping on our teeth. Sadly, things are not frequently that simple.

Whenever something goes awry that involves another person, however, we have to take a step back and think. We have to take into consideration the reactions of those people who are directly affected, even those indirectly affected. We have to judge what's important to us, determine if the feelings and motivations of those people make any difference when the house of cards comes tumbling down. Sometimes we have no choice but to swallow the bitter pill of humility and beg forgiveness for the wrongs we have committed. Others, it's just better to cut your losses and walk away. I'm far more skilled at the latter.

There is a firm policy that I have always tried to live my life by. I have no regrets. For every time I've pushed someone because of my foolish pride, people that only wanted to help me, or to love me, I have no regrets. For any instance where I have fallen short of the expectations placed upon me, I have no regrets. For every friend I've hurt, those that forgave me and those who could not, I have no regrets.

Don't mistake this for not being sorry for the transgressions I may have made thus far. Loathe as I may be to admit it, I'm not the emotionless automaton that I like to portray. I know what empathy is, and when I hurt others, I hurt myself. I'm also aware that when we allow ourselves to dwell on the wrongs we have done, the wrongs done to us, we never become better people. You can plead for a pardon only so long before they throw the switch on the chair. If you don't get it by then, you never will. Every once and a while, you have to abandon all hope (ye who enter here), and make the most of what you have left.

I can't imagine looking back upon my life and thinking about everything I've done wrong, wondering where I would be if I had done this or that differently. I hope that I'll never have that kind of time on my hands but, if I do, I'm sure that I could find a better use for it. Even so, it's those mistakes and what we take from them that makes us the people that we are. I can't fathom being any other person than I am today. There's no amount of conjecture that can tell me what tomorrow may bring, and I seriously doubt that I'd want to know.

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In 2018 I started painting again. This was one of a series of acrylic sketches I did to relearn techniques and revisit my skills from art college.

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Hey Cris, it's as busy here as it was at the end - which is to say, not at all

I wish I could new you guys was here in the beginning of 2020 LOL

OMG I was feeling nostalgic and I can’t believe that AKP is still here! So how’s it going ?

Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness


80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.


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