Ordem e Progresso

Everything I keep denying... Order & Progress. Another Brazilian night. Last second decision to join. Eye candy too sweet to resist. Service sucks. No fucking lemon, mate? No lime? Tequila's pointless. No fucking orange juice means no vodka either. Far out. A real reason to whinge.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you, from the deepest hell — Mr Jim Beam and Mr Johnnie Walker. It's to be their night and their night only!

Trying my best to have fun, giving up only when band starts playing Bob Marley. It's been too much. I have to make progress, for god's sake.

"A party that is not extraordinary is unworthy of being a party at all" — someone hints with a grinning apology to Oscar Wilde, and I humbly tend to agree. Checking two more joints in a quick succession, both packed with Lebs and wankers. No avail.

This night is doomed. Won't pick up even Madeleine Albright's uglier sister. Won't get anywhere. Time to head home.

Saturday's too hot for anything but staying in bed. Reading, watching videos, catching up on sleep.

Finally time for order and progress.

Movies - February 2007

Again, a reference list. I had to flick through a calendar to get it right, as I can't recall all. Only a handful of them, but I haven't seen anything since mid-month. Still, not bad (or too bad?), considering February is the shortest of them all.

1. Leonard Cohen I'm Your Man (2005) (charming)
2. Blood Diamond (2006) (strong)
3. Triumph des Willens (1935) (astonishing)
4. Hotel Rwanda (2004) (sad)
5. Babel (2006) (depressing, yet awesome)
6. Little Miss Sunshine (2006) (bitter-sweet)
7. Children of Men (2006) (pretty hard to dig)

Saw almost all Oscar-nominated movies what generally means I had too much time on my hands and instead of enjoying myself down on the beach I was stuck in dark pits staring at moving pictures like an idiot.

Update 08/03/2007: Good month, wasn't it?

Friendly afternoon chat

– Did you ram that chick, bro?
– Yeah, did.
– Any good?
– Kinda.
– How's her kitty?
– Not even a runway left, mate, like a seven-year-old.
– Holy shit. You boned a fucking lolita, you son of a bitch.
– So what.
– Fucking lucky loser.
– Go fuck yourself, you pathetic fag.
– Fuck you.
– Fuck you, too.

I can't get no satisfaction

This is a strange summer. And I am in a strange state of mind. Doing so much, yet yielding so little. Basically nothing. Emptiness. That's how I qualify it. Doing nothing important (for self, of course, gave up saving the world at the age of twelve), getting nowhere.

Priorities are unclear. I wonder if I even have some. Maybe to settle, I guess. It is a great idea, really. One of very few that crossed my mind lately.

The issue is that I don't know where to settle as I love planes & cars too much (I hope somebody will notice a slight touch of sarcasm in that statement). Plus, what is even worse, I have no clue who to settle with. That really sucks.

And on top of that, I am facing a question of how ready I am to be with someone. How ready I am to give up that emptiness I am flying in.

It's as crazy as it's sad.

I can lock myself in, or go out and browse through awesome laid-back beauty of Woollahra and Paddington lanes, can go to and/or throw multiple parties with hectolitres of fire water poured through my throat, go to picturesque Bondi & just breathe the air, or go to a bar anywhere around, pick up a chick and give it to her. That always makes me shut up for a while.

How cool. How appropriate.

Only not satisfying.

What the fuck should I do?