Im drunk.

As I lay here in this decrepit old bed I begin to wonder. How is it that connections can be so easily made? How can two souls connect so freely, when even sharing a common language can be a momentous barrier?

Conversing infinity with a glance. A lifetime exchanged with a flutter of the eye while skins become intertwined with fierce agility.

We are Omega. We are Alfa.

Rise to the occasion people, because its about damn time.

Bzzzzzzzzzzz

This entry is dedicated to the one mosquito that keeps hovering around my ear. Please stop, because you are slowly driving me insane. Your buzzing, although hypnotic in its own way, makes me want to drive a hammer into my skull.

I have tried killing you with quick cat like movements. Alas, they have failed, and it is out of pure frustration that I write this, an attempt to appeal to your reasonable side. Mr. Miyagi would be proud.

Don’t you have anything better to do Ms. Mosquito? Maybe some friends that you can meet up and have sex with? I mean, that is what mosquitos like to do right? Drink human blood and fuck? I can understand you wanting a taste of my delicious Indian juices, but every goddamn night and for hours at a time? Are you serious? Get your life together Ms. Mosquito because as I understand it, its not a very long one.

Perhaps you should take up the art of lawn bowling, or poker. Perhaps even knitting as I have heard it is a very effective way to relieve some boredom. Now, these suggestions may not be that helpful to you, a six legged flying insect, but at-least I am trying damnit! All you do is sit there, smug grin on your fat face, sucking my delicious delicious blood.

STOP IT.

All I want to do right now is sleep Ms. Mosquito, so tell me, can I go to bed yet?

Where do words come from mommy?

I imagine the land of literature in the most vivid sense. A place where “its” and “thes” frolic freely. Where the, I before E except after C rule doesn't apply, and a thief can hold hands with a protein without any judgements. A world where syntax and grammatical structures release their iron clad claws and let run on sentences be run on sentences.

However, even in this mystical playground, some words just tend to gravitate toward each other. Like lovers holding hands, they stroll down the lane lost in each others gaze. Everything is right between them. There is no awkward pause nor will there be any half step. In unison they sway underneath the pink willow tree, lips locked in tight embrace. To their right below the guava tree, the hard husk of a mollusk breaks.

Perfection.

I wish writing were always this easy. Sometimes great inspiration can hit and next thing you know, you are scratching the blank canvas in a frenzied state because your brain is moving much faster than your fingers could hope to keep up. Other times, its anger. Slamming fists onto porcelain keyboards throwing fractals of glass into the air.

Its a tumultuous relationship which is satiated only by the occasional piece of work that draws a smile onto a face. I hope one day to be such a skilled writer. Turning air into water within one succinct sentence. Its a long painful road that I don’t suppose ever ends, but goddamn is it ever fun.

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

Ernest Hemingway

R.I.P all my music.

Its gone.

All of it.

Every single ounce of my 84 gigs of music has vanished. Im not going to go into a convoluted story as to how it happened, but ipods were exchanged, itunes were updated and certian db files were corrupted.

Motherfuck.

This is an incredibly disheartening experience and is the first real "downer" of the trip. Where else am I going to get my fix? I had so much good music on there. From the obscure, to a WICKED Justin Timberlake remix album. I shit you not, great beats on that one.

Sigh. I want to sing the blues.
I want my regina spektor. I want my spoon. I want my burial. I want my Of Montreal. Where else am I going to get to listen to some John Frusciantie? Or Dylan? Or Xaviar Rudd? There will be no one with Explosions in the Sky, or Godspeed, or Books in their library, I can gaurantee it. Even my Beatles and Floyd collections were unparalled.

There are few that can touch the scope or scale of what I had on that Ipod. Just from the sheer amount to the VARIETY of music I had; Obscure jazz, shoe gaze, rap, pop, true indie, rock, alt-rock, neo-classical, electronic, house, drum and bass....

Another huge goddamn sigh.

Listening to music is a very very large part of my life, and this is the first time in a long time where I will be without any. To not have music at my beckon call is equivalent to me wandering the desert without water.

Am I being melodramatic? Sure. Does this change the fact that I had something very important ripped away from my being? No.

I need a hug.

This is for all the Small asses in the world. United we Stand.

To all my fellow brothers and sisters in the world afflicted with the small to no ass syndrome, I feel your suffering. I know what it is like to walk down the street, pants barely hanging by the minuscule arch of your bum. I know the pain, the suffering of having no real booty to check out. I understand.

I have heard it all over my almost quarter century of a life.

"Why do you wear your pants so low?" - Almost everyone at work.
"Do you have a cardboard piece in the back of your pants, or do you just have NO ASS?!" - My sister.
"Hey there no bum." - The Dalai Llama.

Look, I am sorry I dont have the genetic fortitude to "shake what my momma gave me," but its no reason to be so damn cruel. Isnt it enough to exist in this world with generosity, love and an above average penis size? Apparently not.

So I write this in an attempt to stop all the hate and judgement that gets past upon us, the posteriorly inflicted individual. We must stand together my people, and bring down the institutions of animosity that exist in the world today. For one day we will stand on top of it all and laugh.

Laugh at your jiggle.

*Edit: I apologize for writing this, because upon further inspection it is REALLY fucking retarded.

Sometimes I wonder what its like to break down completely.

To have absolutely nothing left. To become a lump of walking clothes filtering in and out of a indifferent crowd.

No friends. No ambition. No emotion. An empty shell of what once was. Where even the memories of better times don’t matter. A complete and utter resignation to the idea of pure apathy.

I wonder what that would feel like? Would guilt still exist? Would it be a concious act to remain in this state? Or would it be something that just happened. No effort, just a mentality of “nothing matters, so why even bother?” Where emotion ceases to play any role. A survival mechanism that has run its course.

I wonder.

I just had the scariest idea.

"Imagine punching somebody so hard that they turned into a door. Then you found out that's where ALL doors come from, and you got initiated into a murder club that makes doors. The stronger you punch, the better the door. So there are super strong murderers who punch people into Venetian doors and shit.

I dont think Im going to be able to sleep tonight."

- Wax12 Luelinks.

The Mundane to the Profane.

A life being lived through measured madness.
Some may peek into my window and gasp at its haphazard arrangement.

"Thats not supposed to be there you asshole! What kind of self respecting human being boils his water in the fireplace?!"

I have been called a fool and I have been called a lost little boy. Some go even as far as to say, I know nothing. A withering idiot who refuses to accept a good thing when slapped in the face with it.

Perhaps its true. My mind doesnt work like most peoples, this much I know. I see patterns, I see paths, I see trails. If you give me A, I will find Z. Maybe this frightens people, or maybe I am nothing but an idiot. A simpleton existing in a fantasy world with just enough know how to survive this reality. It is conciveable.

I am however, a jumblefuck of many things. A pragmatic, an optimist, a cynic, a pessimist. There is no definition to me. I exist in a perpetual blur and enjoy coloring outside the lines.

Why? Im not entirely sure. Maybe it has something to do with my childhood. Living in a world where extreme hate exists only because your parents told you to believe in this god. Where men, women, and children slowly die and collapse in onto themselves. A place where the indocternation of ideoligy is so strong that even questioning is frowned upon.

Or maybe it has something to do with my adolescence. Growing up around people that have it so good, they have to make up reasons for people to feel sorry for them. A place where societal conformation requires the need to create a personality, only to have it stamped on so you can once more fit in with the rest of the ticky tacky boxes.

I am a culmination of all of it. And yet I remain an outsider. I dont fit in. I never have, and I dont think I ever will. I am glad for that.

There are times when I want to just accept. Turn my brain off, eat my KFC and nod.

"Yes sir."
"No problem sir."
"It will be on your desk by 5pm today Mr. Jacobs."

But I cant. I wont.

I have always had issues with authority. The police (no I dont steal cars jackass), teachers, "neccesary" institutions, parents etc. Its not that I dont/cant listen to someone who has my best interests at heart, its the fact that you PRETEND to know what my best interests are. Dont ever, EVER think that you have me understood. As close as I may be to you, you dont. And you never will. Please do me this one favor and I will always extend it back to you.

The only reason so much hate and anger exists between humans is because we think we have each other figured out! If you are always a mystery to me, then I am always in awe of you. You are a prisim with an infinite amount of facets. Whatever you are willing to show me I will accept graciously and explore with unbridled tenacity.

We are who we are. To have shame in that is the greatest folly one can make. Relish in your moment, because you are beautiful.

And now I drink. lol.
Im pretty sure I just negated everything I wrote down with that last sentence.

Do you know what one of my favorite things in the world to do is?

Eating a gigantic bar of ice cream, and then washing it down with a big cup of cold water.

It is so ultimately statisfying it makes me wonder what would happen if everyone did this atleast once a day.

Can you imagine presidents and world leaders taking a break from deliberations about peace and world hunger to have this snack?
Having every cell in their body being satiated for however a short of a period of time. Alowing for a cool head (lol get it because its ice cream), to prevail over situations where the egos and shells often tend to over ride?

And all because of icecream. Maybe it is that simple. Maybe chocolate mint and a cup of ice water can one day save the world.

Maybe.

Its so easy to forget.

Forget what is going on in the world when you are wrapped in your own little bubble pretending to understand.

In the end you know nothing. You are a fool trying to plod your way through an infinite mess of misery and happiness. Trying to make sense of a world that you will never fully grasp.

We have forgotten who we are. It is not so easy to remember, but we must try. Remember the beauty and subtlety of a fingertip on your face. The gentle caress of a soft lip.

We must try.

Remember all your bad dreams, for they are not far from reality.

This is an apology for all the shampoo I have been stealing.

I am writing this in an attempt to clear my karmic state for all of the dabs of shampoo I have been stealing from people.

I am sorry.

Its just your shampoo(s) are so much nicer than I could ever hope to buy. Sometimes its fruity, sometimes its dandruff free, and often it just has a really nice color.

I relish in your infinite tints of golden, red, blue, yellow and white . I bath and froth my hair in your myriad of different smells. I am an addict, and probably need some help.

While I have your half baked attention, let me indulge you gentle reader, in a tale of a German shampoo. A shampoo so great that it brought a tear to my eye and a gentle tingling sensation to my scalp.

The bottle was what caught my attention at first. It was shaped like one I had never seen before. Gentle sloping arches inter spaced with sharp corners set in the perfect places. It was almost as if the bottle had been crafted knowing that one day a half man, half brown boy would be stealing some of the nectar contained inside.

I had to try some.

Eyes widening in anticipation, I grabbed the container. It fell so right in my hands, it was dare I say... shampoo destiny? My life's path it seemed, had led me to this moment and there was no way I was going to let it go.

Opening the cap and turning the bottle sideways I remember feeling a quick pang of guilt. However, I shrugged away my consciousness in a superficial attempt to satisfy my own curiosity. The silky smooth golden liquid oozed out onto my hands. I knew I had made the right decision. This was meant to be.

Running the beautiful solvent through my hair was almost (almost) as satisfying as sex. Soft, lavenderish odors gently caressed my nostrils. Even my sideburns screamed with pleasure. As I rinsed and toweled off I felt a sense of loss. I would never have another shampoo experience like this ever again, this much I knew.

So I wept. I shed tears of pleasure and loss. Then I stopped because I hadn't washed my face off too well and a little bit of shampoo got in my eyeball so it started to burn really bad. You know the feeling.

Goodbye you amazing German shampoo who's name I dont remember. You will be missed.

This started out as a sort of apology didn't it? And I also cant believe that I wrote a novel about me stealing shampoo. What the hell.

PS: I opened up a bank account today. The middle aged indian lady who was helping me, kept making inappropriate comments. Listen, I'm sure your nice and all, but NO I don't want to have sex with you. For serious, it was a little unnerving. Like all I wanted was to open up an account and not be propositioned with "a drink at my place after work", by a haggard old woman.

k. bye.

Here is to you Goon.

You terribly delicious box of shitty wine. I tried you for the first time last night. When you first touched my lips you were an abomination to all I hold dear. Disgusting, repulsive, even obnoxious to my senses.

However, there was something alluring about it all. You, you horrid spirit had some deep seated charm that had yet to be explored. I had to have another sip. Your bitter sweet melancholy of flavors flooded over my tongue. I felt confused.

"Clearly this must be god's piss," I murmured to myself as a sudden violent urge to expel my dinner overtook me.

"Ugh," I gasped. This cannot be good for my body. I knew I had to make a last stand against this vile drink.

"I WILL NOT DEGRADE MYSELF ANY FURTHER WITH THIS MONSTROSITY", I cried out as I stood up from the table in what could only be described as firm authority.

The entire hostel fell quiet. Anxious eyes watched me and the trembling cup wondering what would happen next. Clearly this was a night where serious decisions had to be made. The course of my Australian drinking career would be decided within the next twenty seconds. I could feel it within my bones.

A hand fell upon my shoulder.

"What the fuck do you want Billy?!?" I screamed, eyes filling with madness.

"Give the goon a chance my son. Appreciate the sweet nectar of all that is Australian Box Wine. Plus, its cheap. Its oh so cheap."

"Listen you yellow tailed pygmy fuck," I growled, "I don't need you or anyone telling me what to drink."

"Its $12 for 4 liters Husain," said Billy, apparently unfazed from my vicious insults about his appearance.

This jolted me back into reality.

"Twelve....for FOUR....," I managed to sputter out.

"Yes my son," replied Billy as a smile creeped onto his lips, knowing his work here was done.

I glanced down into my coffee cup where the white liquid sloshed around in a hypnotic circle. It had to be done. The time to put all judgements aside and to to appreciate this drink was at hand.

In one gigantic act of heroism I gulped the entire contents down in two sips. I stood there, empty cup in hand not knowing what to feel. Sadness in that I had betrayed good taste for the sake of budgeting, and anger that Billy had finally managed to one up me (pygmy fuck).

"Say something," whispered a voice from the corner of the room.

My brown eyes flicked up from the floor. Every single person was watching me like a hawk.

"What needs to be said," I croaked, "FILL UP ANOTHER CUP!"

A cheer arose from the crowd. Confetti fell from the ceiling and much gallantry occurred. I knew I had found my australian vice.

So here is to you Goon. May you always treat me well and never cause me pain and suffering. For if you do, I will switch back to beer.

Amen. I think.

Its still cold. Leave me alone :)

Welcome to the faternity to the Alfa Beta Gaga.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=APaQyzjnCww 

This song just happens to describe my mood perfectly right now. 

I feel good. Going to have some dinner out by darling harbor tonight. Should be OK. Ill have to turn up the charm and gussy my face up because there could be a job coming out of this dinner. Nothing is for certain but a little cologne and some pearly whites never hurt anyone ya?

I'm not going to layer the bullshit (really cant be arsed to these days), but I might talk a little and laugh at jokes that arn't particularly funny. Sometimes pretension can be useful, lets hope however that I don't need to use it as a real tool. That would make me a little sad actually. 

I'm all for the "this is me, fuck off if you dont like it", mentality these days. Know what I mean? I have been employing this train of thought for quite a while now, but never with such ferocity as I have here. I'm not sure that is entirely a good thing. I have no one here to say:

"Husain, your being an idiot. Stop it."

or

"Get a grip douchebag."

So I'm not sure where my boundaries really lye. I suppose Ill just have to make do by continuing to observe others and how they react to me. When I start to expel people simply by being in their presence I will know that I have gone too far.

On that note however, I really haven't been talking too much. The usual chit chat I suppose, but not nearly the same amount as alot of people here. I hang out with the other packers sure, but general mindless banter about women I have fucked, drunken nights out, or "check out the tits on that one", don't seem to interest me. Is Husain growing up and actually referring himself in the third person? Fuck.

Some real solid connections have been made here however. Artists...the British and Irish. Lol. 

Alas, I must go. I waste too much time on this thing, but what can a man do when its raining and be forced to don a purple hoodie? 

Oh Sydney you dirty dirty girl. 

 

Cold days and Micheal Douglas.

Its a cold day in Sydney today. Nothing better to do than to hang around and watch a lot of movies and shoot the proverbial shit. Its a nice feeling actually. This hostel is a small place which provides a comfortable family type of vibe. Lots of long term packers sprinkled in with the ones who need a place of respite from the onslaught of constantly moving around the country.

Traveling for an extended period of time can be any of the following things:

1. Exciting. 

2. Adventure filled.

3. Boring.

4. Exhausting.

5. A pain the ass.

This place however seems to provide relief from all of that. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but the atmosphere sucks you in and refuses to let go. It's a dangerous concoction of comfort, tranquility and stagnation. 

Myself personally know I have to move on. I refuse to stay here, because there are much nicer places in the country to widdle my days away in. I'm going to give myself to the end of the week. Sunday night at the latest. 

There is however the question of money. I have to sit down somewhere and find work. There is some potential in Melbourne working in the health care field yet that is nothing but another city. I want the beach. I want the small towns. I want the dreads. Ok, maybe not the dreads, but I'm craving that hippy, smoke a joint and talk about life mentality. I also cant help but feel that I should blow all I have and come back home because there are people that I desperately miss. I'm not exactly sure if the feeling is mutual, but I cant deny what the heart wants or at least attempt to do so. 

I'm not so much scared anymore (as mentioned in the last note), but apprehensive. It will all come as I want it to, I'm sure, but the waiting is killing me. Sitting on my ass twiddling my thumbs with soldier like vigilance. I just need that window to open a crack and I'm going to run through; Eyes open. Shoulders ready. Granted its only been one week but.... patience man... patience.

From reading what I just wrote, it may seem to anyone paying attention (lol, all 3 of you) that I am having a miserable time. I assure you I'm not. Writing this blog has turned into a sort of therapeutic release for me and as with any psychologist it is usually the negative that gets brought to light. 

But to quell any fears of my "good times and rock and roll" I will list all the fun things I have done over the last week.

1. Met some very cool Swedish, dutch, french, British, and Aussie folk.

2. Been to the beach and got minor sunburn. lol.

3. Snorkeling. No stingrays however. Alas, my dreams of dying like my hero Steve Irwin will have to wait.

4. Eating some good kebabs.

5. Not been drinking that much, but when I have its always been good times. 

6. Its only been 6 days, 3 of which I was jet lagged or feverishly sick. Gimme a break :)

Ok. Thanks for listening yo. 

Oh and my new cell phone # is 0416389037. Pretty sure you have to put 011 + 61 in front. Call me. It would be nice talking to you. 

Love in music.

Music in Notwist.

Find them. Listen. More specifically "Neon Golden".

Im scared.

Since I feel especially honest today, I feel like I should be getting something off my chest. Im scared. Terrified. I dont know whats going to happen to me. This is one of the few times in my life, where I am genuinely at a loss for what to do.

I want to feel like everything is going to be ok. I want to feel like I have nothing to worry about, but I cant. My hand is trembling as I write this.

I have no safety net. Its either break through, or bust down in a crumpled heap. The worst part is, I know the polarities are going to be that extreme. My stubborn ass refuses to accept any less. I had a good thing going on in vancouver, so why did I leave? What innate drive within me is constantly pushing for something more? What am I searching for? As much as I like to say that Im content, I know Im not. Should I be searching? Should I always be wanting? Perhaps thats my ego making its last stand. Lord knows Iv beaten it everywhere else. Maybe this is a ceaseless battle within myself that is never going to be resolved.

A wise man once told me, if you recognize truth; everything becomes easy. Know, you cannot reach truth through logical constraints. Know truth encompasses all.

But does the feeling of utter hopelessness also dissipate? The feeling of waiting for something that will never come? I would have to concede the fact that perhaps I do not know truth. Maybe I have caught a glimpse and then filled in the rest of the picture with what I think it should be. Or maybe truth does not exist. An imaginary friend created to piss away the rainy day.

I just want to be held. I want someone to say its going to be ok. This however is not going to happen, so I have to place armor upon myself. Plates of the strongest metal. Become a warrior. A chink will allow any sword to drive through and shatter a heart. I cannot let this happen.

Faith. Life. Believe.

One.

FINISH IT!

You need to finish this resume husain. Comon you rat bastard. FINISH IT. You need the money. You need this resume. 

.

Fuckin.

Screw it. The beach sounds better. Or a beer. 

Maybe both?

Ohhh....what a life.

On a sidenote, I bought a phone today. But it needs to charged and activated. This "blog" is going downhill fast. 

I fell down in the bathtub taking a shower today.

For a moment there, i didn't know if I was going to survive. I took a step to turn the handles off and my right slipper [its a backpackers bathroom, slippers are a necessity] slipped on something. I teetered on my right leg, my hand desperately trying to grab onto something solid. My life flashed before my eyes. Memories of playing with Lego men and monopoly flashed before my eyes.

I knew I was going down.

There was only one thing I could do, and that was to take the fall as tastefully as possible. As I turned my shoulder to take the brunt of the damage I failed to compensate the position of the hot handle. A knob hit behind my ear and a knee hit the edge of the tub. Thus, I fell from grace. A man, no longer in the lap of the bathtub gods. A man forsaken by cleanliness. Oh why great Zeus?

Alas, I came downstairs, dejected and sad. How could I make this tragic start to the day fall onto the right path. Then it hit me. Peanut butter and jelly toast.

So it was written, so it was done.

Rugrats and full grown emo men.

I sit in an airport with tired and sullen faces staring at me. Dark dreary eyes sulk to the floor with an aura of ambivalence permeating through their flesh. Seriously though, people look straight up tired man. Connecting flights, a last tiff with a loved one, not enough cocain for breakfast. Who knows. Maybe I should stop observing the lonely emo guy in the corner. I don't think he would appreciate the criticism. DONT CRY EMO BOY! I still believe damnit. You don't HAVE to be an hero. Although, truthfully it would be kinda entertaining. Until I get shot up that is. 

A child in orange shoes just ran by me. Laughing, jumping, making that face where you stick your tounge out and put your thumbs in your ears while wiggling the rest of his pint sized digits. His mother of coarse was right in tow watching, smiling, knowing that her baby boy was having the time of his life. I hope my wife is like this. Seriously. Thats just cool.

Is this a blog some may ask? Or the better question being, why the fuck am I reading this rambled mess? Well bob, let me tell you.

1. This is not your typical blog. Its going to be mostly something to do when I am bored and alcohol doesn't seem like a viable option.

2. Your reading this garbage because you are also bored out of your mind. Alcohol for you however is ALWAYS a viable option. In fact, it is strongly suggested that you be drinking some if you plan on reading any more of this. 

Anyways, I started this in LAX but now I continue while sitting in Sydney. Screw continuity. 

Its hot. Im wearing a beater and shorts, eating a banana and loving life. I checked my email and I had a nice surprise waiting for me. My work visa application went through! So I am fully certified to work in the country for one year. FUCK YES. Take that government. Sticking it to the man, while kissing his ass at the same time. Some may say its physically impossible, I on the other hand suggest that taking meth makes anything possible. There is a surprising amount of drug talk going on here.

Anyways, tons of cool people. The usual backpacker crowd sprinkled with a lot of young Aussies working around the country. Good stuff. 

Much love to anyone who gives a rats ass about me. Sometimes It may not seem like it, but I miss you all. Some more than others, but you know who you are. :))

Wishing myself the best of luck (you narrcisistic fuck), ADIOS. 

PS. I swear alot when I write garbage and dont bother to edit. Sorry mom.

PPS. I think I packed too many clothes.