He's Dead Now

Rob Myles

As mentioned in a previous life, in the dungeons beneath the Plaza de Mayor, as mentioned when we trailed intellectual strings through lifeforms across the galaxy, as mentioned when we set up the connection: go and get lost you absolute bastards. 

He was furious with them.

Furious with the time wasted. 

Furious with life lost. 

These miserable gits who had tormented him so. 

Still it ran through his mind, the vicious bastardy of it all. The times when everything had come running; towards him, away, squirreling into distance. There could be no peace in this quiet life. He was about to drum the ancestors; and still they waited, been and gone in an instant, not safe, not safe.

They were monitored, these fragments, trails if you will, which crawled themselves through so many lives, trawled for experience, thoughts, resolutions, anything that could be used to build the greater good. 

Oh wise one. 

LOL. Laugh Out Loud.

Old mates were on the drugs and drink in Asia and rang him occasionally.

At the local, there was an eighteenth birthday party for one of the students from Bulahdelah High.

Most of the girls were already massively overweight.  

"What gets me is how they can be so ugly so young," he said to the manager behind the bar, and she tried not to laugh.

"I shouldn't have said that," he said. 

And she suppressed another laugh.

Fast forward to their mid-twenties and they would be even more ginormous, these overweight girls with their whippet thin boyfriends.

The men were active, they burnt it off. 

The women sat on the coach with their latest sprog nestling into the rolls of fat and grew bigger with every passing year.

Even here, in the furthest of reaches, he could hear the thugs in the security organisations calling him a "poofter". It was all a bit academic at his age; but everything was lost on these lower lifeforms. 

He hated them. Truly hated them; these people who trailed him and harassed him. While their numbers had diminished, while the surveillance had grown more distant and smarter, he hated them still. 

Rue the day he ever met them. 

The mission is not to despise them; it is to destroy them. 

Good night you dogs. 

Unleash the drills. 

In a letter from the spring of 1870, shortly after his thirtieth birthday, Tchaikovsky writes:

I am sitting at the open window (at four a.m.) and breathing the lovely air of a spring morning… Life is still good, [and] it is worth living on a May morning… I assert that life is beautiful in spite of everything! This “everything” includes the following items: 1. Illness; I am getting much too stout, and my nerves are all to pieces. 2. The Conservatoire oppresses me to extinction; I am more and more convinced that I am absolutely unfitted to teach the theory of music. 3. My pecuniary situation is very bad. 4. I am very doubtful if Undine will be performed. I have heard that they are likely to throw me over.
In a word, there are many thorns, but the roses are there too. 

From Maria Popova's ever wonderful Brain Pickings.

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Senior NSW Liberals said it would take a "miracle" to win the Wentworth byelection, labelling a damaging email smearing independent Dr Kerryn Phelps "the final nail" in the campaign.
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Liberal candidate Dave Sharma called the email "vile" and supported Dr Phelps' demands for it origin to be investigated by the Australian Electoral Commission.
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In a last ditch appeal to disillusioned Liberal voters, former Prime Minister John Howard on the hustings in eastern Sydney's Double Bay on Thursday, in a bid to drive home the message that a strong protest vote would have dire consequences for the federal government.
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