the end

cos i really couldn't be bothered posting the rest of this crap on separate days, but felt i should at least finish it, here are the last eighty odd entries in one hit.


day one hundred and ninety three

Well, how long has it been matey? Yeah, about that long, eh. A lots happened since then, a new year to start with. Two actually. Been nearly two years to the day since last time, eh? Lots happening, eh? Got a real job now. Yeah, working at Parliament, eh? Still got me real nice girlfriend, eh? Nearly two and a half years, eh? Nearly a big pop star, eh? Writing really neat pop songs, eh? Playing some pretty good guitar, too. But I ain't got no band, eh? Sorta holding me up on the stardom trip, eh? But so it goes, eh? One day, eh? You know, it still feels the same. Well same as it did yesterday, eh? Can't really remember how it felt last time. Too long ago, eh? But I guess it ain't. It just feels it. God life can be so fucking mundane sometimes. Holiday's are cool though. Just been on one. To Marlborough. It was great. Rental car. Wineries. Me girl. Money to spend. No worries. Then we get back home. Back to work. Back to mundane. But that is the way it falls I guess, eh? Never mind. Yeah, bollocks.

day one hundred and ninety two

Well, how long has it been matey? Yeah, about that long, eh. A lots happened since then, a new year to start with, practically half of one actually. Comings and goings, just come back, matter of fact. House-sitting. Has it moments, ups and downs. Oh, I have lived some more too. Has it moments, ups and downs. You know how it is. Nah, I don't suppose you do really do you? Got me a real nice girlfriend too, and a job. Yeah, marriage counsellor for an old school friend. Nah, he ain't old, it is just an expression that is all. Oh, shut up. Been back at varsity a while. Has it moments, ups and downs. How could I forget, Dad lost his job, got himself self-employed, but applied for other jobs, still waiting for words though. Really not much has changed, but a hell of a lot. Oh, buggered if I know what it means, it just sounds good, now shut up. 'Til next.

day one hundred and ninety one

Oh the fun. Oh the excitement. Oh the joy. Oh the bloody boredom. Oh the fucking tedium. Oh the monotony. Oh it's life on the dole, of course. Lethargy, boredom, apathy and all that. Christ this is dull. Get up, go to bed, get up, go to bed, and I've only been doing it for one day. Better luck in the next one, mate (life that is).

day one hundred and ninety

Do you know how disturbing it is to have someone who likes going around shouting about how strange they are say "I wish I was normal" in the middle of a conversation with you? I do. I have had it done to me. Frightening. God I'm glad I'm unique.

day one hundred and eighty nine

A friend of mine worked out a concept which could save democracy. As a concept it is brilliant. As an actual practical idea it has its downfalls. His idea - get rid of Party politics i.e. have people standing as independents, with their own ideas and views. Sounds fair when you compare it to the democracy of today whereby we have the right to choose who is going to stuff up the country, but have absolutely no say in how the country should be run (except by basing our ideas/opinions on pre-election promises which may or may not hold post-election). The only people who do actually have a say in the running of the country are the politicians, and Party members who help decide on Party policy. It is hardly democratic at all. Party politics do detract from democracy, because if you are in that party you are compelled to agree with everything they do, and if you are in the opposition you are compelled to disagree with everything done, or fair losing face. Party politics detract from democracy, so get rid of Party politics and save democracy. It makes good sense. The main problem, as I see it, with this idea is that most politicians are to some extent egotistical. This would mean that, in the case of New Zealand, you get 94 egotistical people running the country, each with their own views on how the country should be run, and not being able to accept others views, be they right or wrong. That, in the long run, or even in the short, would not be in the least bit beneficial to the country, which is not good. Try the idea on a smaller scale, like an island with a very small population, and it may work, but on such an island, democracy probably already exists in a form better than elsewhere, so it would be rather pointless really.

day one hundred and eighty eight

No I haven't been sleeping with Philippa you crude bugger, it's just that my sleep is spending a lot of time with her.

day one hundred and eighty seven

I've got to go to bed to catch up with my sleep, because it's been spending a lot of time with Mr. Happy lately, and Mr. Happy has moved in with Philippa.

day one hundred and eighty six

Yeehaa! Sucked all you others who haven't. That is all I have to say.

day one hundred and eighty five

You know earlier I told you that I was psychic, well it's true. There's no denying it. The stories I could relate about psychic experiences of late. But I can't be buggered, so I won't.

day one hundred and eighty four

Isn't stupidity a wonderful tool?

day one hundred and eighty three

I'll show you a real man.

day one hundred and eighty two

Well, well, well. Wot 'ave we 'ere then eh? A nice little you know wot, ain't it just? You boys better watch yourselves. You don't know who might come up 'ere and want some, do you? 'Specially them copper type. Right lot of bastards them. I know a few, and they are right little bastards. So you boys just better watch this stuff, and maybe get rid of it, before I call the station. And if you don't, we'll be splitting it between us, and you won't get none. And don't come complaining, none, cos the chief will tell you where to stick your bloody problem, and you won't like that none, cos 'e's a right mean bastard, 'e is.

day one hundred and eighty one

So the sheep have taken over, and been ate by corn cobs, but at least they can't feed or else there would be trouble, and the insane mightn't be, so everyone will think wrongly and throw up, because conformity is a disease of human nature. But what will be done about the likes of you and me and me and you and you and me and you? It will be genocide, mass destruction of illogic and stupidity and Pythonesqueians. A sad loss to the apes and cucumbers, not to mention the flatworms and microphages. Oh dear, I just don't know what to do. Maybe someone can save us, maybe someone can't. Never mind, we can just eat him instead.

day one hundred and eighty

Well that was fun.

day one hundred and seventy nine

Just recently I have been writing some letters to this person in Christchurch whom I don't know. I thought I would share with you my latest sacrifice, because it has the ability to go down in
literary history as one of the stupidest letters ever writ.

Dear Julie,

I must thank you from the depths of my proboscis for the delight and insomnia I received via your lovely words of wit and wisdom. You shall never know the misery of my sanity.

Your abilities astound me. Very few people know about Schrodely Manchi Fresqau III, and we're all of them (well sometimes I am, other times I just forget). But Schrodely doesn't like pink, in fact he detests it, although I rather adore pink things, especially tutus, although I try not to wear them too often. Schrodely is actually lavender, with large cucumber lamp shades, and tends to remain rather prostrate when I try to ride him, so we just do other things together (but I daren't go into the details here).

And by the way, I really love peanuts, especially those ones that bite, but I haven't had any for a while. I think Wellington is in short supply. It's those cannabilistic silicon brain plates which I really hate. They hurt, and make me bleed. I don't like that. Maybe we should stop breeding.

I hope all those lovely, wonderful Canterbury persons are treating you adequately, and that the beautiful Avon doesn't come in your dreams and wash them off with daffodils, for that would be a tragic injustice, not to mention a damn shame, against one so unknown.

Would you please give my love and regards to dear old Hagley, for I miss him dearly. We were once so close, but then he became a tree and multiplied, and I did one or other, but which I never could remember.

I wish you one thousand three hundred and twenty six peaceful and contented arachnida poda in your submarine porridgy stuff. And I have asked my brother's second father-in-law's cousin's (thrice removed) mother's aunt's nephew's bestest friend, Dangermouse, to protect your left arm from any poisoned balloon-shaped thingies, which you may happen to walk upon.

May your life be full of joy and happiness and strange men. May your bed not be (get to know them first).

Yours, very faithfully, with lots and lots and lots and lots of admiring, unrequested love, and a bare knee

Andrew

PS - the broccoli and goldfish sandwiches were very tasty - please send more.

PPS - William also says hello

PPPS - Just before I forget - I'm so glad that you have been waiting all your life to hear from me. I was beginning to lose hope with this world. It's good to know that there are still people out there who care. I'm going to see the bank manager tomorrow about the mortgage, and the ring should be with the couriers.

day one hundred and seventy eight

I could be in love, I don't know. We went out again today. I could be in love, I don't know. It's one of those funny feelings, not really anything, but something good. Not really anything, but something confusing. Not really love, but something.

day one hundred and seventy seven

George Bush isn't such a big a bastard after all. Sure, when it comes to Iraq he is still a bastard, but he is making history (again). He has taken some very important steps to full nuclear disarmament, and it makes me feel so good. All that is needed is for other nuclear armed, and capable, nations to join the party. All hail CND.

day one hundred and seventy six

Life is full of If Only's.

day one hundred and seventy five

If only I could find someone to spend the rest of my life with in peaceful harmony, then I might be happy. Then I might stop dwelling on that particular 'if only', and have more time to spend on all the others.

day one hundred and seventy four

Life is full of If Only's.

day one hundred and seventy three

Last night some of us sat on a beach. It was really nice. We talked and flirted and drunk (real tequila) and walked and sang and ate and danced and laughed and cried (well you can skip the crying bit). I sat with a very nice liberated female for two hours apparently (it seemed like half an hour). We talked about death. It was incredible, and very personal. I find myself quite attracted to her, but we won't go out or anything. If only we could. But we won't, because I won't let myself, and she probably won't let herself either. Anyway friendship can be much more satisfying.

day one hundred and seventy two

It's happened. Denver the last dinosaur from hell has removed Danger Mouse from our TV sets. Oh the angst. Oh the tyranny. What ever shall we do? Denver, Satans henchman, kill him, kill them all. If only DM were here to help us. He would know what to do.

day one hundred and seventy one

Oh the fun. Oh the excitement. Oh the joy. Oh the bloody boredom. Oh the fucking tedium. Oh the monotony. Oh it's the holidays, of course.

day one hundred and seventy

Holiday time again. Time to catch up on all the work you didn't do during term because you were too busy socialising and holidaying. But that's life, and I don't care if today is too nice a day be sitting inside studiously studying like a student, because it sure beats being outside and enjoying yourself, doesn't it?

day one hundred and sixty nine

I saw Monty Python's The Meaning Of Life yesterday. It didn't answer any questions.

day one hundred and sixty eight

I just heard that some guys I went to school with died in an accident last night. They had been drinking. It sort of hits home when it is people you know, and not just names you hear on the radio, or read in the paper, who might just as well not have existed for all you care (oh dear, more dead drunks, never mind). But I knew these guys. I talked to them. Some I would even have referred to as friends at the time. I haven't seen them for a couple of years, and now I won't ever again. Such a waste of life. What's the whole bloody point to it all? Why?

day one hundred and sixty seven

I am not a prat!

day one hundred and sixty six

I forgot something, not that you need to be told, because you all know that Stiletto is a double secret triple agent working for us, them, and two other people (although we are supposed to believe that he is a triple secret double agent working only for us and them). And you all know on days off he works with his quintuplet siamese cousin, Alfred, to help in decoding the entire ancient calligraphic writings of the purple Monaquichian flying water shrew of Outer Inner Omogadomphodan. But what of Nero, I hear you ask. Well, he is just Nero - a stupid fuzzy white worm,with an IQ nearing mine. Inconsequential really, wouldn't you say? But still we must warn DM. Maybe Agent 27 could help (it is Tuesday after all), but first we must find him, or whatever he may be today. DM must know, or how will he save the world from the tyranny of evil and chaos and coffee drinkers?

day one hundred and sixty five

Emergency. Tragedy. I just worked it out. Penfold and Greenback are really twins brothers. Someone should tell DM, but who? I can't, no one would believe me, me being hedonistically insane and all. But DM's life could be in mortal danger. Penfold could turn on him at any time. And Penfold can have some nasty turns, I know, I've seen him. (Yesterday he turned into a girl.) And what about Colonel K.? He really works for the antarctic sea gorillas as a caffeine egg, and we all know what that could mean! Someone has to warn DM that his closest allies aren't, and that he could be cut at any time. Please someone tell him, please, just so that I can retain my sanity, please.

day one hundred and sixty four

I am not a poet any more. I am a writer of short stories. What does that make me? A short-author, but I am six foot tall.

day one hundred and sixty three

I will not write any more of this until I write some more. So there.

day one hundred and sixty two

I have not written any words lately, have I ?

day one hundred and sixty one

Well did you ever?

day one hundred and sixty

I have just come back from a uh let's see, went away Monday, come back Thursday, uh four day holiday. It was fun, just four guys (i.e. me and three others), some drink and nothing to do. A good experience of the 'male bonding syndrome effect'. I would like to tell you about all the really marvellous, crazy things we got up to, but I can't remember a thing after we arrived at the lake (Ferry), and walked inside the cabin and opened the first of many (I assume) Speights (the superior piss enjoyed in the great hotels/hostels of the south), and the time I crawled up the stairs to my bedroom. I do not know the reason for this amnesia, but never mind because it was felt good anyway. P.S. if I ever do decide to illustrate this book you may see some of the artistic photography I did.

day one hundred and fifty nine

I am amazingly tired, partly because I have not had much sleep lately for no particular reason, and partly because I am amazingly bored. I am going away tomorrow to get amazingly pissed as a newt and pholisyphical, but for now I am just going to go to bed. Good noight.

day one hundred and fifty eight

You really have no idea do you, just no idea whatsoever. Where have you spent all this existence? Trying to dig yourself out of all your pig swill, no doubt. Try getting a brain that works next time, you must be due for one surely. I mean how many have you had? Two, that is right, two. And how many lives have you had? Yes twenty bloody seven. You must be getting a proper brain soon, unless they hate you so much, that they are going to make you a camel next, or more likely, a round worm in some Africans intestine. But it will be a step up for you anyway.

day one hundred and fifty seven

To thyne own self be true. Well I try to be.

day one hundred and fifty six

Knowledge is only what society finds acceptable as explanation. It does not mean that society really knows anything.

day one hundred and fifty five

How can you pretend to be knowledgable, when all you know has been told to you by people who are no more knowledgable than you?

day one hundred and fifty four

How can something exist if there is nothing there to see it or feel it?

day one hundred and fifty three

How can something make a noise if nothing is there to hear it?

day one hundred and fifty two

A little while ago I told you about a question I often pose myself. A question along the lines of: when a tree falls in a deserted forest, does it make a noise? Ah, you remember, good. Well I would like you to empty your mind as you contemplate the answer, and when you find it tell me, and I will say that you are wrong (unless of course you are right, but a prefer the left maybe).

day one hundred and fifty one

I have been a housewife today. It was not too bad. Get up about ten thirty-ish, after reading for an hour or so, have a shower, make myself a hearty brunch of scrambled egg and bacon, do some washing, hang it out, bake some shortbread and chocolate slice, perform some minor veterinary surgery, and do the dishes. I enjoyed myself.

day one hundred and fifty

I was just thinking about someone I know. His name is Richard. He is a very strange person, with an obscure taste in food. But I suppose it is better than being a strange food, with an obscure taste in people.

day one hundred and forty nine

I met an old school friend yesterday. His is really stupid because he is working, and not bumming around as a university student, but it was his decision. But I must admit his job does sound fun. He works for the ANZ as a professional bank robber. It is his job, or so he tells me, to travel around the country, and rob branches of the ANZ. For his sins he gets paid good wages, full travel expenses, and a team of top class lawyers (just in case he gets caught). Apparently he has to inform the heads of where he is intending his next hiaste, just so they know it was him and not some real crim. He really enjoys it, and it does sound like fun, really keep you on your toes and thinking, but he does not like the fact that he has to return the cash as soon as possible, so he is now thinking of doing a big job and then taking off to Brazil or Switzerland for a holiday. I might join him if he remembers about my request.

day one hundred and forty eight

Nothing to write, nothing to say. This is the end, my only friend, the end. Thanks Jim, inspiring words. Words that make you want to get up at dawn and put your boots on, and pick a face from the ancient gallery, and walk on down the hall, and kill your brother and kill your sister and kill your father and rape your mother. Really awesome stuff, Jim, really bad.

day one hundred and forty seven

Yeah, what a weird sensation, killing yourself when you are already dead. Man, what a buzz, I think I will do it again tomorrow. I need today to recover, you see. I am never doing drugs or alcohol again, I will just kill myself when I feel like getting high, it lasts longer. Eternally, I think.

day one hundred and forty six

It is true, honest, this book did get burnt in the fire, it only exists as a clump of wet, soggy, black ashes. Man am I annoyed. All that effort, all that time, wasted, for nothing. Now no-one can appreciate my true brilliance, because it has all been burned. It is so depressing, I think I will kill myself. Good bye cruel world, I am leaving you today, good bye, good bye, good bye. P.S. I actually died in the fire with all my inspiration and creation.

day one hundred and forty five

I am sorry, I must admit it, but Richy Archibald-Graisophilis does not actually exist, and neither do his policies, well all except the last one, that was a bit of electioneering by me. I have informed many people of my defence policy, and shall be appointed defense minister in time, I can assure you, and the world will love me for it, and I will get my fourth Nobel Prize, and become even more famous and loving and caring and obnoxious.

day one hundred and forty four

Well thank you for all those better suggestions, it is a shame none of them dealt with the situation I was writing about, but many of them were very good. For example, Bailter Blowfish of Te Awamutu wrote in suggesting I baste my trout in a vinegarette of white wine, egg yolk, cinnamon, orange peel jalapeno peppers, and a sprinkling of road tar. I will remember it next time I cook some trout. Another suggestion I got was from Mr. Alfred Blank of Takapuna, who suggested that we kill off all the damn realty agents so that he could sell his wife and family. A nice idea, but somewhat idealistic I feel, especially if your wife and children are as disgustingly insipid as mine. I received a grand plan from Richy Archibald-Graisophilis who lived in Waimaruku, concerning the upcoming elections, and how he wants to start his own party and become PM. He has all his policies well thought out, which is good, and his economic policies are going to be a life-saver for this country. Firstly there would be no Social Welfare, all those on benefits would be flown out of the country if they could not find a job. Employment-wise New Zealand will return to full employment, with subsistence farming and encouragement of small business growth, especially in the areas where there are export chances such as home-brewing, drug crop production, and money laundering (and if you can not get a job you will be exiled). And the one I really like, the budget for the Armed Forces would be slashed, and all personnel armed with water pistols. This would serve the dual purpose of saving money, and being a great offense against possible invasion because who would want to invade a country wish is stupid enough to use water pistols as its main defensive weapon? You would think that the whole population is completely crazy, and therefore likely to withstand any invasion attempts, so you might as well not try. I was astounded, at last an intelligent, logical politician (well would-be politician anyway). There were lots more fantastically impressive ideas, but I lost them when I burnt my house down yesterday. I also lost all my manuscripts, and everything I owned. It was a bummer, the happiest day of my life.

day one hundred and forty three

Can you remember a few pages back, I told you about this song I wrote, but could not find the title? Yeah, good. Well I found the title, when I was not looking for it of course, and it is perfect for the song. But there is a little problem with it, and that is that the only person I know who can pronounce it is unlikely to be involved in my recording career, which means I will have to take a recording of Pip introducing the song to all my gigs, and that could be very annoying, especially if I should lose it. If you have any better suggestions, please contact me. P.S. the title is actually 'Floccinaucinihilipilification'.

day one hundred and forty two

Do you know what I saw today? Of course you do not, so I will tell you. I saw three people sitting down reading this book. I was really amazed, so I just forgot about it,and started thinking logically for a change.

day one hundred and forty one

I know.

day one hundred and forty

Well, that makes a change.

day one hundred and thirty nine

O.K. son, just this once, mind.

day one hundred and thirty eight

Well can I?

day one hundred and thirty seven

I did.

day one hundred and thirty six

You never.

day one hundred and thirty five

If it was not for me, you would not be writing this book.

day one hundred and thirty four

Let me have the last bloody word you bastard, after all it is my book.

day one hundred and thirty three

You do not have to like it

day one hundred and thirty two

Well I do not like it.

day one hundred and thirty one

I am allowed to. Parents rule 355, subsection (c)., you are always allowed to do whatever you tell your children not to do. When you reach my level of maturity, it gives you automatic right to be a hypocrite.

day one hundred and thirty

Why, you used it before.

day one hundred and twenty nine

That is enough of that language son.

day one hundred and twenty eight

Likely story, anyway, I told you to leave, and never come back, or as some people say, fuck off and don't come back.

day one hundred and twenty seven

You asked me a question. I was just answering it.

day one hundred and twenty six

There you go again. You have got to have the last bloody word.

day one hundred and twenty five

Sometimes.

day one hundred and twenty four

Always have to have the last word, don't you. You never let me finish a conversation do you?

day one hundred and twenty three

Oh yes you will.

day one hundred and twenty two

No, I mean it this time, go away or I will never let you back again, and worse still, I will never speak to you again.

day one hundred and twenty one

It is my duty son, to fuck you off as much, and often as possible. You will discover that on day my boy. One day, if you become a father, which is highly unlikely, but never mind, eh my boy?

day one hundred and twenty

Did you really have to tell them that just when this was getting interestingly confrontational? You really like ruining my life don't you?

day one hundred and nineteen

Get stuffed son. I am your father, it is my duty to look after you in times like this.

day one hundred and eighteen

Look, go away, or I shall be forced to ring the Police and complain about trespassers.

day one hundred and seventeen

No it is not.

day one hundred and sixteen

Oh, thank you very much, that is the last bloody time you will appear in anything I do, you ... you ... you You.

day one hundred and fifteen

That is alright, anything for a mate, you wee little filial of a drosophila wheel.

day one hundred and fourteen

Thank you for that highly intelligent comment, you stupid pillock.

day one hundred and thirteen

Total and utter nonsense, that is what I say, talto adn etutr snseonen.

day one hundred and twelve

Every word above was true, or I am not the man that thinks he is not the man I am not.

day one hundred and eleven

I was just thinking to myself, well it is a bit stupid to think to someone else is it not, that you have not actually read any of my marvellous pieces of poetry, unless you have been intelligent enough to go out and by one of my books of poems which is highly unlikely because none of them have been published yet, and that is a real shame, because some of my poems are just so fantastically astounding that you would never know that they were written by an insecure, paranoid, untalented little git like me, but that is part of the wonders of art, the fact that anyone can write anything they feel like writing, but only some have the true creative ability to make total and utter confusion out of a blank piece of paper, a confusion so confusing, so perplexing, that he, and only he, can know the true meaning behind the psychedelic, drug-crazed images he paints out of the simplest words and phrases of the most uninspiring language ever to exist, and yet he can still remain semi-sane while he describes the pathetic world of depression and drunkenness he sits in while getting aroused by the flames of virtue he sees in the lives of his strange and obscure friends that exist only as figments of his dreams and desires, or the passions of hunger he feels when watching rats crawl across the kitchen floor chased by partly flambed cockroaches to meet their doom at the hands of my kitchen wizz food processor, and when that all gets to much for me, I just slip in a couple of tabs, or pop a few pills, and get really out of it and imagine a life of reality, and that can be amazingly heavy sometimes, let me tell you, and then I try to concentrate on the things happening around me, but it is difficult because of the effort and brain capacity needed to attempt such a crazy feat, so I just slip into unconsciousness and dream of trees falling with no one to hear them, and then things start happening to my mind and it opens up and words flow out through my pen onto little pieces of paper lying around the place, and a poem takes form based around an idea and I get really excited and confused at what I am saying because it never makes sense until the last line, which is always the hardest one, when I collapse in a state not unlike sexual orgasm, breathing heavily with sweat pouring from every pore of my body, until I relax and then disappear from this life to see how the rats are cooking, and say gudday to some mates I met earlier in my affair.

day one hundred and ten

No letters yet. Are you all as confused as I am about the strange happenings that occur in my head? I really need to know what exactly does take place in my mind, just so that I can feel like I have at least accomplished something in my life, instead of just sitting around and contemplating everything like philosophers do. I am a scientist, and I need to find the answers and have proof of these answers. But there is just one slight hitch there, and that is that fact does not exist. A theory can never be proven, only disproven, and that really cocks up life does it not?