Freethought | Freeform

Redirecting...

2009-12-21T15:13:00.001+08:00

You are being redirected to the new home of Doctor Gill.

Let it load.

~love yourself~

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum...

2009-12-08T15:49:00.001+08:00

Ladies and gentlemen,

Doctor Gill is back!
(with a vengeance)

REcent updates are :

1. www.redblacklabs.com - site is finally up-ish!
2. wisdom tooth needs to be removed! (Update: got the fucker out. Will post pictures.)
3. face hurts
4. Got free publicity at work!
5. One of my videos is being sent directly to Peter Gabriel. (Google him, bitch.)

And...

It's Christmas!

That's right, the time of year has come when we all get to spend an uncomfortable amount of time with our families. It's not really supposed to be this messed up. Things are said, things are thrown, fists fall hard, verbal slams and hard bangs topped off with an unnecessary amout of liquor.

(sounds like a trip to a bad dentist)

Anyway, there is always something about Christmas that stirs in most people. As much as we love the 'idea' of Christmas, which entails love, unity, giving, forgiving, sharing, caring and all the other ideals that we can pick and choose to follow, we also feel the other thing...

The other is that of resentment. That burning sadness. That tiny glimpse of what is to come is almost overwhelming.

Sifting through crowds all with the same goal as yours: to get that special lady that special gift that will shut her up at least until Valentine's Day.

Breaking up arguments between the older members of the family while keeping the younger ones at bay. Child worship, I don't mean Jesus. I mean little nephews and nieces dressed as angels and Santa Clause.

And, possible the worst thing:

When all the little children are playing with their new toys that you suffered to buy. When you bump in to your cousin Eckel at the bar. He says: 'Hey, buddy! How's it going? Merry Christmas!"

You start a conversation which leads back to the conversation you had the year before at Christmas. At the same butt-fucking bar of that asshole uncle who has the party in his house and complains about it all year and fucking hosts the party again at Christmas!

...

Yeah, so you end up discussing what you were discussing last year.

And you soon find out that all those ridiculous goals that Cousin Eckel had set last year, which you supported him for at the party and laughed about the rest of the year, have been achieved.

And all the goals that you set, you end up setting again. You sad, sad fucker.

And you look at Cousin Eckel. He and his trimmed hair, his pressed suit, his gold watch, his stumped leg, hairlip, degenerative hairline, neck brace and an on hand insulin pack and you think to yourself:

"that lucky sonovabitch. Got everything he needs. Probably never worked for it, either. Little bastard. He's using taxpayer's money that I don't pay."

And, you soon realize you are in self defense mode. And you hate accepting that even with all of his disabilities, his parent's spontaneously combusting at the wheel and the car spinning out of control and smashing into a bus for handicapped children, leaving his in debt to society for millions and then his wife leaving him for another WOMAN, his kids snorting coke from a giant biker's hairy ass and his pet dog, Dragonshit, dying mysteriously, he still has it all.

In the end, your a bum.

Feel bad, bitch, I demand it.

hehehe.

Nah, I'm just painting a bad image for you. Hopefully, you'll appreciate what you already have.

Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.

On Twat, on Panzy,
On Sinful and Faggy,
On Shithead, on Bozo,
On Crippled, the hobo.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all

~love yourself~

You're a fucking douche.

2009-11-20T18:33:00.002+08:00

That's right.

Once again, I'm back, I'm tired and I'm not as lonely as I used to be. I have a lot of office work to do.

So, today's little experiment is to find out what it means to be a winner surrounded by losers?

Not a conceited thought, just a thought.

Imagine:

You are a wealthy business man, let's say you sell condoms to rapists or something, big money, you know? Anyway, you're that big important dude, you deal with big fat clients everyday, you make millions with a few hours of constructive work. You're important.

You pack up your briefcase, kiss your secretary goodnight and go home to your wife. (Yeah, the secretary, you're an important guy, that entails tail.)

So, you go home. Your friends are there.
Billy, Bob and Dick.

Billy has been complaining about how hard it is to get a job for the past eight years. But, his idea of trying to get a job is lazing around your house and eating your food.

Bob wants to be a successful rocket scientist. The closest he's ever been to research on that matter was when he painted his dick that way for Halloween.

Dick. Dick is well, a plain ol' dick. His only friends are you, Billy and Bob. Why? Because he is a dick. Not an asshole, a dick. Two different things entirely. And therefore can't get a job and refuses to admit he's a bum.

How does that make you feel?

Do you feel you have to look out for them, advise them, teach them?

or

Do you feel you should grab Billy by his hair, grab Bob by his foot and grab Dick by his ... penis and proceed to throw the fuckers out of your house. Followed shortly by the pet dog, Brewster, and your bitch of a wife?

hehe.

Well, how would you feel in that case? If that was your life everyday?

Comment now, let me know what you think and please do

~love yourself~

Unforseen Circumstances

2009-10-30T12:24:00.004+08:00

Note : The title of this post doesn't reflect the 3rd chapter of the famed Half-Life video game. You fucking geek.

Instead, I am wondering about certain things in life that kind of seem to be completely out of your control yet sort of totally in your hands, but at the same time out of them.... wait...

Okay, it's like this:

There's an apple you need to eat. Not want, you NEED to eat the apple. You can get to it, and you can eat it. However, the apple is poisoned. And you only grow aware of the poison recently. However, you still NEED the apple.

Now, you can grab the apple and eat it, and in turn you will die.
But, there is nothing you can do to un-poison the apple.
The poison in this case is simply the unforeseen circumstance.

See? In your hands, and out of them at the same time.

My case is similar. If I go to that item that I 'need' then a lot of things will fall out of place around me, however, without it, I am going to be just as fucked anyway, and the only reason things will fall out of place is because of circumstance.

Fuck circumstance.
Seen or unseen.

So, what are your thoughts on this. Have you similar issues in your life? Does circumstance influence conclusions? Share your opinion here, motherfucker. SHARE IT! SHARRREEE!

Well, fuck, shit, asshole, cunt. What a puzzle life can be sometimes, don't you think so?

Peace out, and don't forget to

~love yourself~

Giving men wings.

2009-10-28T12:35:00.002+08:00

Fear, in my opinion, is man's worst enemy and greatest motivation of action.

It is fear that gives men wings.

Hate, anger, frustration and emotional attachments have similar results. But, to me at least, the greatest motive generator and extreme result bringer is, indeed, FEAR.

Fear goes well with pride.

Let me explain.

You > Fear > Pride > Results.

You are driven by your fears, and your pride entices you to face adversity and in the end you will come out on top.

That's how procrastinators meet deadlines. Really.

My story with fear is this, I realized that fear gives man wings when I had to face mine.

It was 2005, I believe, around 7:30 in the morning. I was skipping school and heading home. There was a house with a rottweiler. Never bothered me, barked alot, but no issues. Except that now, the owner had put in a large dog house. The dog saw me walking by, jumped on to his dog house and over the damn fence.

Now, if you know me, I can't run. I don't like running, I hate running.

I ran.

For everything it was worth, I ran. The walk home was usually around 45 minutes, I cleared that in less than five minutes with a crazy fucking dog behind me. I didn't make it home. I got to the highway I had to cross, stopped, couldn't run anymore, couldn't breathe. Turned around to see the dog closing in.

I braced myself.

Breathe, I thought. Breathe!

The dog leaped towards me, and without the slightest bit of hesitation I swung my fist as hard and as fast as I could. I hit that fucker right in the face. The dog fell, scrambled, yelped and ran away.

I fell on the pavement, caught my breathe.

FEAR gave me wings. FEAR gave me strength. FEAR pushed me. FEAR consumed me.

Do not be afraid to be afraid. Face your fears, pussy.

Doctor Gill says

~love yourself~

I am everything, I am nothing

2009-10-26T15:55:00.002+08:00

From the gate, you betta watch ya muthafucking mouf.
- The Wu

Hello,

Doctor Gill here with another pointless and addictive post. How was your weekend? Mine was good. I discovered the closest I can get with a girl at a house party is when she's running out the door. Serious. True story. It happened. It was sad and hilarious at the same time. Oh well. What can I say? I am a doctor in many things except a doctor of love. I leave that to Gene Simmons.

(KISS reference)

Anyway, I have an announcement. It's been bugging me.

I have a very very small fan base. People sometimes post a comment. Sometimes, despite me asking them to post a comment. Sometimes.

Well, usually the comments are not relevant to the post.

See, when I ask you guys to comment, I don't mean comment on me. I am quite aware I am a freakie-deakie fuck.

I. Do. Not. Need. You. To. Tell. Me.

So, when I write a post and I get a comment that says "You're a retard," it has no effect on anything. I want to read your point of view on the topic, or lack thereof, in the post. Not me.

So, go back and re-read some of my posts that you liked and write a real comment. Come on, people. This blog is to watch you watch me, not watch you judge me. Though that is welcome in moderation as well.

My next post will be on racism. Enjoy. bitches.

Oh and do

~love yourself~

The ever friendly poopsicle

2009-10-24T12:55:00.002+08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, and ladies.

I am making it, people.

www.redblacklabs.com

And there you have it. After years of trying to save and scrounge and not having the time and all that, I finally, finally, finally have a registered website. My own dotcom website. Yes, yes y'all! to the beat y'all! Non-stop, y'all! Making it hot y'all!

Shout out to Prabz. He be one o'mah homeboys who hooked me up widda site, 'chall.

It's kinda empty now. But, once I have a free moment to myself when I'm not in the office or in transit, I will plot and plan an actual launch. But, still muhfucka, I done gots me a site!

In the mean time, you can see some of my work here

redblacklabs.wordpress.com

Oddly enough, the day after I made this wordpress site; I got my domain. Strange how things work out, huh?

Anyway, I'm off to ponder more nonsensical nonsense that emerges from notorious notions inhabilitating the noble nothings never to be networked under the near yet far noon sun, nearly drowning in the nearest possible nether region of null.

In short, you can call me N. N for Nutsak.

(For those of you who haven't figured it out, that was a spoof of V for Vendetta.)

The point is moot.

~love yourself~

bitches.

Softening the blow, or blowing harder?

2009-10-23T12:12:00.009+08:00

Doctor Gill : And the results are in!
Patient : And?
Doctor Gill : Well, based on the blood test, cat scans, two dozen needle samples, 1400 hair samples from every hair cluster on your body, twenty-eight nail clippings, sixty-two -
Patient : Just fucking tell me!
Doctor Gill : I'm sorry to tell you this, but, you'll be dead in not more than two weeks.

Doctor Gill's eyebrows raise at the same time his patient's does.

Patient : Wha- what?
Doctor Gill : Yeah, sorry about that.
Patient : Well, what is it? What's gonna kill me?
Doctor Gill : We're not sure. We've never seen anything like it.
Patient : What's it related to? Blood? Skin? WHAT GODDAMMIT! WHAT?
Doctor Gill : Calm down, buddy, you'll be fine.
Patient : But, you just said -
Doctor Gill : Yeah, I was joking.
Patient (Shocked): What? You asshole!
Doctor Gill : What? Come on, it was funny. You should've seen your face, it was-
Patient : You son of a bitch!
Doctor Gill : It was a joke!
Patient : You'll hear from my lawyer!

The patient storms out. The door slams shut behind him.

Doctor Gill : Well, now he'll never know about the cancer.

.....

Greeting fellow fuck-wits.

I have been pondering a question while taking massive dumps for the past week. When is it okay to soften the blow of bad news?

In the instance above, it was not okay. But, still for personal amusement it was hilarious, unfortunately my patient didn't see it that way. Hehehe.

So, if say, there's a person you know. We'll call him Bob. Bob Titts.
And you, through some divine method, discover that Mr. Titts has an ulcer in his colon. Not just any ulcer, this ulcer is placed nicely on a fist-sized tumor.

You know this information, and somehow, fail to find the appropriate time or situation to tell Bob Titts. Bob's mental and physical condition is now suddenly tossed in to your hands. Why do you have to deal with it? What the fuck?

Now, to make things more difficult, Bob's fiance, let's say her name is Jane, Jane Vulva (though, she used to be known as Jeremy Shaft, but, you'll tell Bob about that later.) If Bob heard the news from Jerem - sorry, Jane, he may take it better. That makes sense, yes?

What would you do? You and Bob Titts go back fifteen years. Highschool, prom, first gang bang, first time getting gang banged, all the good stuff. Jane and you go back a to a few years before he/she and Bob met, you know, when she was still Jeremy. Who would you tell first? Well, to save you valuable thinking time, I went and thought out three possible out comes.

OUTCOME ONE

You tell Jane.

Jane tells Titts.

Jane : You have an ulcer in your butt, honey.
Bob : Butt honey?
Jane : Err... Yeah, and there's a big ass tumor attached to it.
Bob : Butt.... Honey...

(I may have forgotten to mention that Bob is slightly retarded.)

Jane : It could possibly kill you, baby.
Bob : I see. Thank you for telling me.
Jane : We'll get through this. I love you.
Bob : I love you too, honey.
Jane : Too ... Honey...

OUTCOME TWO

You tell Bob.

You : Hey, Bob.
Bob : What's up.
You : Remember your pet dog, Dragonshit?
Bob : Yeah, I loved that dog. He was and forever will be the coolest dog on the planet.
You : Remember when he died? We found him under the tire, his stomach squeezed out of his ass, fucking brains all over the place, his tongue unrolled next to what was left of his head.
Bob : ... Yeah... I -
You : His intestines spread out. At least forty something feet of it. That's how we found out it was a girl, because all the puppies she was gonna have were thrown around like RAG DOLLS! REMEMBER?!!
Bob : Yeah, I -
You : Dent in my fucking bumper.
Bob : What? Dent in your -
You : Never mind that, what I am about to tell you will be less painful than that.

Bob finds out the truth and decides he will live his life as best he can before he dies a horrible and slow and painful death. Forever pondering the mystery of Dragonshit's death.

OUTCOME THREE

You tell Jere-- fuck, JANE.
Jane can't stand it.

You : Yeah, he's probably going to die.
Jane : How can this be? How could he do this to me?!
You : Well, he's not doing anything to you, per se...
Jane : That sonuvabitch! I hope he dies.
You : He will in time.
Jane : I hate him! I can't stand it! This is so bizarre! How could he not tell me?
You : He doesn't know.
Jane : He kept it a secret! We're going to get married!
You : He doesn't know!
Jane : That rotten bastard!
You : You're not listening you dumb bitch!
Jane : I hate secrets!
You : You haven't told him you're a guy!
Jane : That part of me died years ago in 'Nam!
You : You've never been to 'Nam!
Jane : Besides that's not a secret! You know!
You : But, he doesn't!
Jane : I'm not listening! I'm not listening!
You : You have to-- ahh... fuck it.

So, now you have to tell Bob that he has a tumor with an ulcer and his fiance is leaving him because of it.

Bob : Hey.
You : Jane is a guy.
Bob : What?
You : I thought you should know before the wedding, remember my friend Jeremy? Well... yeah.
Bob : Are you fucking kidding me?
You : No. AND.... you have an ulcer in your butt on a giant tumor. You're going to die.
Bob : What?
You : You heard me.
Bob : This is too much man! Too much to handle all at once!
You : Well, at least you know that Jane really loved you.
Bob : I guess that's a little comforting.
You : Yeah, but don't get excited she's leaving you.
Bob : What??
You : She can't stand your ass tumor. Specifically the ulcer on it.
Bob : I'm freaking out! I'm fucking freaking out!
You : It's okay , buddy. I got something that'll cheer you up. It'll be less painful.
Bob : Yeah?
You : Remember your dog Dragonshit?

The conversation continues...

The next day you are at Bob Titts' funeral. He got frustrated trying to open a can of baked beans. Got out his gun, shot the can open. He thought: that was fun. He put the gun to his head... He held it there, thinking if it would hurt.

He thought long and hard. He realized it would hurt. He put the gun down and grabbed a bent piece of the can and slit his throat. He stumbled around your kitchen, that's right, he's your house-mate, spraying blood all over your new cupboards. In that time, he noticed that his bleeding throat hurt like hell. So, he grabbed the gun and shot himself twice in the foot to distract him from the pain. Then, he hopped and slipped on his own blood and slammed against the fridge and the loose cutlery fell off of it and stabbed him repeatedly. Eventually, after about forty minutes, he managed to get the gun up his head with three fingers missing. Before he could pull the trigger, he slipped again, fell thirteen stories to his 'untimely' death. Meanwhile, you and Jane were exchanging butt plugs via penis in your room.

Guilty yet?

.....

Well, those are my three outcomes, please, comment and write your own. I am curious to see how you would do it.

Oh and remember to

~love yourself~
the way Bob Titts loved Dragonshit, the dog, before you brutally murdered it.

Meine Blog?

2009-10-03T16:27:00.004+08:00

Meine Blog - A riveting musical

Ohhhhhh.... the moon calls out,
to my shiny shiny butt.

END.

(Please, hold your applause.)

It has come to my attention, that even though I do not get many comments on this little blog of mine, there is still a 'possible' large number of people that actually come here. I was convinced it was just my buddies and the occasional person who shows up from a link on Face Book.

However, [name] told me that someone else had directed [name] to my blog quite a while back. Thing is, I had just met this person a recently. And, comparing dates, means that [name] had found my blog before I met [name]. I am shocked. Really. I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything, I was busy trying to get laid and meet deadlines. You know, the usual.

Deadlines met, dick unused. Ah... the world stay on it's predestined axis.

Anyway, I ask you to do me a favor. If you come to this blog, no matter who you are, just leave a comment on this post. I want an actual look at how many people actually come here. So, if you are reading this, leave a comment with your pseudonym name and whatever details you want, a link to your blog or site, whatever. Just comment, let me get a good clean look at all the beautiful people who I have the honor of teaching how to

~love yourself~

Ah, Doctor Gill has missed this place.

This morning

2009-08-05T09:21:00.003+08:00

COX-2 - the enzyme for pain.

Okay, there's a little science for ya.

Today, I was in bed, curled up so comfy, it was freezing cold and I was just feeling so perfect. But, I thought I've got work today. Believe this: I got out of my comfort state and took a shower and got dressed.

I have to admit, that is something different for me. Had it been any other workplace, I would've said fuck it! and rolled over and knocked out again. What's even stranger is this: My alarm didn't go off today, yet I am up, I am awake and I am ready to kick ass and chew gum... but I'm all outta gum.

:)

On a side note, the wait for Duke Nukem Forever is really bugging me. It's been 13 years I think since they announced it. It took so long the company fucking went bankrupt. Damnit. Apparently, it went on so long that the CEO of 3D Realms was receiving death threats. Damn.

I will wait vigilantly, though, as I have for 13 years. Fuck me, 13 years is a big part of my life. Cocksuckers! Release the fucking game! At this point the fans don't even care whether it's good or not, we just want to play the fucking thing!

Since 3D Realms went the way that Windows will soon go, I believe Take Two Interactive is handling the game. I say, give the rights to Rockstar and Rockstar North. They'll pump out a high end, visually gorgeous, and interesting game in about a year. Maybe less. AND, their story will be dirtier, grimier and more interesting... I'm pretty sure of it. Because, aside from the fun free roaming in the GTA series, I actually enjoyed all of the stories, from the unnamed star of GTAIII ( actually his name is Claude Speed...kind of a shit name huh?) to Tommy Vercetti in Vice City, to Carl "CJ" Johnson in San Andreas and lastly Nico Bellic in GTA IV. Not to mention the Liberty City and Vice City stories games on the PSP. Played those though and through, no cheats!

Great gameplay, great story. Truly enjoyable.

Anyway, I'm off to my new work place. Catch ya'll bitches later.
Oh, and dont forget to

~love yourself~

And I'm back!

2009-08-04T21:35:00.003+08:00

Okay, just in case you're wondering, the Louis Bentley journals will be updated in between my normal posts. More insentive for you guys to keep coming back.

Anyway, my first two days at (name) have been just great. The first project, the software, the organized system, the Wonder Woman thing.... ahhh....

Apart from all the women in the company thinking I'm a weirdo (because I like feet), everything's been going swell. Wish I could have taken some of my friends with me. Aside from the different type of work, I'm sure they would've enjoyed it here. But, I have no doubt that they'll find places much much much better than where they are now. I pray they find that place soon, too.

Now, on to the mandatory unnecessary cursing that's prominent in my blog, probably why you peckers come back anyway...

I present this weeks vulgar rant!
Those ass licking cunts at [name] and that bald fucking pecker faced rabid twit named [na-curse-me] fucked me and my entire posse back at [name]!

Accruals! Accruals, you fuckwits!

accrual (accruals plural )In finance, the accrual of something such as interest or investments is the adding together of interest or different investments over a period of time. (BUSINESS) n-count usu sing, oft N n (=accumulation)

That basically means that our cash should have been kept aside in advance, not passed on when Pecker-face makes a cum-riddled threat! What happened shouldn't have affected our income at all! Really!

I hate math. I am bad with money. But, even I have enough sense in me to understand more than THEIR FUCKING FINANCE DEPARTMENT DOES!

But, other than that everything's been pretty peachy.
[insert widened smile here]

On another note, Pope (my cousin) has been hanging out in my place. He just came back from Australia, he's on holiday now. Having him around has been great, I've missed his tall pudgy ass.

Well, I'm off to study something for the new project I'm on.

Take care, and remember

~love yourself~

Doctor Gill

Louis Bentley's Journal 01

2009-07-18T18:08:00.004+08:00

The following is entirely fictional. Any similarity is entirely coincidental.

Louis Bentley - Case Files

Episode One

Louis Bentley’s Journal.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But, it wasn’t as lucrative as I thought. Besides, I didn’t have anything to write about. Over the past thirty years, however, I’ve come across a lot to write about. Too much actually.

I’ll start with one of my more recent cases.

June 3rd. The case of Emily Blonde. She was a thirteen year old girl. Kidnapped and held for ransom. Her family was rich. Father had some government connections. The police weren’t involved. They weren’t even informed.

Somehow along my thirty years as a private eye I had developed some sort of reputation catching cheating wives and husbands and interfering with police business on certain homicides. That’s why the mother came to me. She was beautiful. Mid thirties, long slender legs and her waist was thin. So thin, that her hips stuck out in a sexy way. I could balance my coffee mug on her ass. She came to me with the news that her daughter, Emily, had been kidnapped. She had explained how she knew it was a kidnapping. Quite simple really, a ransom note and her husband knocked out and tied up in the trunk of his own family van. Apparently he was picking her up from a soccer game when the kidnappers nabbed him and got the girl.

They had threatened the father with something political. She didn’t go in to details, but, from what I understood, a lot of big people would end up in small jail cells. He told his wife to remain calm because he’d find a way to get her back. He told her to be strong, and believe in him, and most important, to keep her mouth shut. He couldn’t pay the ransom; apparently he didn’t have that kind of money to throw away. Amateur fucking kidnapper’s asked for a ridiculous amount. Word had got to them that Mr. Blonde had recently been given a large amount of cash to hold for a political body. Problem was: he had to show statements of his bank balance. So, he couldn’t use that money. Kidnappers didn’t care. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Without my help, little Emily was guaranteed dead. There were possibly two or more people involved in the kidnapping. One, without a doubt, would be a pussy and start to worry too much making the other two consider what they’ve done. In the end, because it’s their first kidnapping, they’d kill her, against the one pussy’s wishes, simply to “cover all their tracks and leave no evidence.” I needed to act fast. If she was lucky, they’d get stupid and kill each other.

Mrs. Blonde lasted three days, no news from her husband and three calls to Emily’s teacher, lying that poor Emily hadn’t gotten over that bad flu, had finally taken a toll on her conscience. After that, she had lost faith in her husband’s capabilities and came to me in secrecy. She offered big money, but, that wasn’t why I was in to this case. Something about young girl and kidnapping with a side order of possible rape makes me sick to my stomach. I jumped at the opportunity to get involved before my friends at the station caught on to the disappearance. They’d be nothing but a nuisance. The reason I left the force: too many idiots playing Rambo, but, basically just getting in my way.

It took me a whole night of watching the house of Mr. and Mrs. Blonde before I figured out that no one was coming here to monitor the parents. Weird, usually they would send one person to watch the home from a distance. Just to make sure there was no police getting involved. Usually the worried pussy was the candidate to send. Just to get his whiny ass out of the way. I could imagine three masked kidnappers arguing on what to do next. Makes me laugh a little. Idiots.

No luck at the house, I ended up going to the school. I couldn’t go through the proper channels to get permission to view the security tapes. So, I broke in and stole them. I had standards when I started this business, but, I realized over the years that sometimes it’s easier to just break the rules in order to get a job done. After all, Emily’s life was in my hands now. I had to do what I do. The school would report a break in and security tapes being stolen would trigger a police response. They’d look at charts and find students absent from school and they’d find out about Emily. Mr. and Mrs. Blonde would receive a warning note from the kidnappers. Faggots wouldn’t have the balls to kill her yet, besides, they wanted the money. So, a warning would do fine for now. The newspaper would find out and it would leak in to the general public, the kidnappers will begin to freak out. I’ll find them and take them down and rescue the girl before the police do. To cover up the break in at the school, I will plant the stolen tapes in the kidnapper’s hideout. It’s wrong, I know, but it needs to be done. I will not go to jail for saving a life. So, I’ll lie to save my ass. All this from a small break in at a school. It’s good to know how these things play out.

I reviewed the tapes for around six hours. I got the EC-32 camera tape. EC-32 meant Exterior Camera number 32, for those of you wondering. This camera had it all. Mr. Blonde pulled up to the sidewalk in his van and waited for Emily to come out from the school. While waiting, a beautiful young woman with sunglasses and a baseball cap with long black hair running over her shoulders, probably a wig, tapped on his window. He rolled the window down and she sprayed him with knock-out gas, probably homemade, he fell limp in his seat. A second accomplice ran up on along the passenger side of the van and got in. The black haired woman pretended to be talking to the driver while her body conveniently covered the window from the view of the school doors. Emily emerged from the school and the black-haired woman glanced over her shoulder at her. Emily assumed it’s a friend of her father. She approached the woman. As soon as she’s close enough, the black-haired woman side stepped quickly, the accomplice, who had moved Mr. Blonde to the passenger seat already, sprayed some more knock out gas in to Emily’s face. Emily stumbled back, too shocked to scream. Suddenly, she begins to wobble as the drug kicked in. The woman held on to Emily and brought her around the back of the van where she shoved her in to the trunk. The woman got in to the backseat and the van sped off. It was quick and simple, but, still amateur. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. As for the van, they obviously switched later, leaving Mr. Blonde tied up in the trunk. As soon as they sped off, another young girl stepped out of the school and watched them disappear around the corner. She ran out to the road shouting at them. No sound on my old hardware. From the look of it, this was one of Emily’s friends. It is possible that she was supposed to hitch a ride with Mr. Blonde.

I made a call to Mrs. Blonde who gave me Emily’s best friend’s name: Sarah Ashe. Mrs. Blonde left a photograph of Sarah under the doormat of the house. That way her husband wouldn’t find out she had gone to me. The next day, I had to find a way to talk to Sarah in school without looking like a pedophile.
I caught about an hour’s worth of sleep and headed to Mrs. Blonde’s house to get the picture. Then, I made my way to the school entrance and waited for Sarah to show. The girls started arriving at the school at about 8:15 a.m., Sarah showed up promptly around 8:45 a.m. She was the same girl from the photo, shorter hair now. Classes started at nine. Before I could get to her, she was in a group and already inside the school. I had to catch her alone at some point. I felt like I, Louis Bentley, was going to school for the first time again, difference was: it was an all girls’ school. It was going to be difficult, I knew that much.

To be continued…

When you least expect it...

2009-07-17T14:48:00.004+08:00

When you least expect it, the world shovels another pound or two of shit on you.

You'd think you get used to it after 21 years, but, no. It still sucks like a bitch. Makes me wanna beat the hell out of a glove compartment. Why a glove compartment? Because, fuck you that's why!

[Pause]

For now, I will have to suffer the wrath of my financial adviser as he rips a new asshole in to the center of my face and proceeds to fuck it. Oh, what a cheerful image. What can I say? I am bad with numbers. I've tried on many occasions. It's not rocket science or quantum physics, it's simply in and out. Shit, I have problems with basic math.

In the meantime, I will pass my time by doing what I do best: writing fictional tales of people suffering through their own problems. No matter how severe; their lives always seem better than mine. Or, at least, their problems are more interesting.

I've shaved sugary silver droplets of crap before, looks like it's time to pull another rabbit out of my ass.

Good grief, Snoopy! You look like shit!
Fuck you, Charlie Brown! I sleep on top of my damn doghouse!
Why do you do that?
Because your mother won't get out!

Another chunk of brain droppings.

Sigh, I guess it all comes down to faith again. I believe. Without a doubt. I've just grown weary of the tests. Mother says it's the devil trying to hinder us. Well, he better stop before I go down there and fuck him. Mafia style: Bitch, where's mah munney? Don't make me ask you again, muhfucka! Where! Is! Mah! MUHFUCKIN' MUNNEY, muhfucka?

Until I find time to write again, I say goodbye to my faithful following of readers, and while you're here, please comment.

Doctor Gill says

~love yourself~

Fuck Snoopy.

PACHO : A Brief Look at Parkash Singh Gill, My Father.

2009-07-08T23:17:00.025+08:00

Today, 9th July 2009, is my father's death anniversary.

I wanted to post a long story, but, I decided instead to keep it simple. I'll show you my father, and you'll see how much better looking he is than my bother and I. When we were growing up, he used to call my brother Beta, and he used to call me Juju-mujhe. He was hard on us growing up. More on my brother, I learned from my brother's mistakes. Example being : DO NOT PUT KITCHEN ON FIRE and you won't get your ass handed to you. But, before anything, he looked after us. And I think, most important, is that compared to alot of people my brother's age and alot of people my age, my father Parkash Singh Gill taught my brother and I how to be men and not boys. To carry our feet when we walk. To shake a hand with a firm grip. To raise our chins to any challenge. Fear nothing. To be humble. To show respect. To be respected. To pull out chairs. To open doors. To love. To help others in need. And most of all, to never give up. Never surrender. And know how to lose with dignity, no matter how painful, as long as you gave it your best.

This was my father's basic nature. I can only hope I can live up to it as he did.

He was a good man. He is greatly missed. And we love him. As always.

I present:
(all images can be clicked on for a higher resolution image.)

Pacho. My father.

13th July 1968, my father at age 16.

Left: My father, September 1973. 21 years old. He had more facial hair than I did at that age.

Right: I'm assuming my father was in between age 21 - 25 here. Probably in India.

My father and his friends, I am assuming this is in India as well. Or maybe somewhere in Malaysia.

Left: Dad is on the left, and this is one of his college friends I think.
Top: Dad at a beach party trying to get a fire started I think.

Left: 1965, my father's parents. Sohan Singh and his wife Puran Kaur. My grandparents.
Middle: My father at (I'm assuming) a party. He looks cool.
Right: My father holding on to my brother and my eldest cousin, Lisa. He loved kids.

My father holding on to me. He looks happy that he had another son. I look, well, like a blur little boy.

My elder brother. My father's firstborn.

Left: My beautiful mother, I think roughly around the time dad fell in love with her.
Middle: My father, at the stern as he teaches a class.
Right: Work hard, play hard. Dad, having a good time.

Last but not least, is my favorite picture of my father and I. I hope it makes you laugh as much as it makes me laugh.

That's a cigarette in my mouth by the way.

My father had a few things that he used to say often, here they are:

"The truth will always prevail."
"Shoot to kill."
"I am Sohan Singh's son!"

So, I say it proud, as my father said it proud:

I AM PACHO SINGH'S SON!

Don't you forget it.

Love you, Dad. Miss you like hell.

- Julian Gill.

8 Days and Counting

2009-07-08T13:03:00.002+08:00

I'm bored.

It seems I've been doing the same thing for the past three days: trying to get Premiere CS4 to fucking work. Pain in the ass. Really. Can't wait to start the new job. Also, looking forward to the 15 day free spot. Catch up on some backdated personal projects.

Oddly, I thought my last few days here would be more epic than this. It's the same thing. I'm trying to finish the job before I leave. But, I don't know whether that's possible given the circumstances.

On a good point, I won't have to deal with that fucker [name], the sound guy. He's been giving problems these past few days. Infuriating. He behaves like a child. Sometimes, I wish he was a child so I can punish him by taking away his candy and watching him cry till he realizes where he went wrong.

Fucking punk.

Saw the legendary Raging Bull film last night. Superb. Scorcese's best film, they say. I might agree. To me, Scorcese's best film was and will always remain to be Goodfellas.

But, enough of that. I have much to do. I think? It is quite repetitive to sit here and wait ridiculous amounts of time for a project to load, even though when it's done loading, if ever, it crashes immediately.

The people at Adobe are following in the same footsteps of Microsoft. There's no customer support for these major issues. Forums suggest I am not the only guy facing these problems. Looking forward to using FCP on a Mac. The new job is giving me a Macbook. I am usually anti-mac, but, the idea of getting one for free makes me a little bit horny. Besides, if it can edit and play games and let me write with no problem, then maybe I'll make the total switch over to the white side.

But, I doubt it. As bad as Windows is, I just feel comfortable with it.

GENERIC HOST PROCESS for Win32 Services has crashed. Hmm, there goes audio till a reboot.

sigh.

Doctor Gill says:

Be a chimera and choose a 'self'. Hehehe.

~love yourself~

sideways.

Another Dream

2009-07-07T14:10:00.009+08:00

I woke up breathless. Heart beating furiously. I lay back in my bed and sighed relief. I got out of bed, grabbed my last cigarette and entered my smoke chamber (bathroom) and relived the dream in my head...

I crawled in to bed and put my head on my pillow and before I knew it I was out.

The dream started simple, like any other. I was in Subang, as usual. The streets below the office. I wandered around in the streets and ended up in my room again. With a friend, no names mentioned, he was trying to roll a weed blunt. He did it successfully. I was cleaning off my desk wiping loose strands of tobacco from the wooden platform.

I said goodbye to my friend as he stoned off on my bed, and headed outside again. Back to the streets of Subang. Walking through Subang Square and out to the other side where the shoplots are. For some reason, there was a very nice outdoor coffee shop in the corner lot, where the TBS building should be. Oddly, the entire mood and scene reminded me of a romantic evening in France streets. Anyway, I walked through the coffee shop and headed right around the corner. In the distance, along the row of shops, I noticed a bun shop named 'Happy Times Buns'. It was obvious to me the shop was a weed spot under cover of a bun shop.

I entered and saw people feasting on their toasted butter buns. They sure did smell good. Reminiscent of Rotiboy. I looked in to the kitchen where the bun makers worked endlessly. Lab coats and surgical masks on with hair bags. Look more like a science facility than a bun kitchen.

Near the back of the kitchen was an older Chinese gentleman. He looked at me expectantly. I gave him a slight head nod and he understood why I was there. He made his way toward me with a smile on his face. Pointing at the buns on a tray he asked "any order?"

To keep it a nice pleasant visit, I answered " yeah, give me two toasted buns." He smiled and he shouted the order over his shoulder to the chefs behind him. He moved behind a counter and picked up a phone, he dailed a number and looked at me waiting for my other order. That's right, apparently, I was buying weed. Odd. He asked me how much I wanted with the gesture of an empty palm.

I thought for a second and said "dua orang makan." He didn't hear me over the sounds of chefs and amchinery in the background, so I said it again, louder.

"Dua orang makan."
"Maka," he asked.
"Makan," I answered.

He understood now what I wanted. A small amount enough for two small blunts. A moment passed and the old man walked back to his position at the back of the kitchen. His son entered after him and stood at the counter. His son was a tall Chinese guy, 23 or 24 years old. He was decked out in red modern Japanese/Hip-hop wear. The kind of clothes that make me think there's no such thing as men anymore. Either way, he smiled and reached in his pocket and notioned for me to come closer to the counter.

I went there and asked, "how much?"
He calculated roughly in his head and said, "the bun I give you free, la. So, (Chinese number cruching), ah sixty."
"Shit," I answered. I looked in to my wallet and saw the only realistic thing so far. One ten Ringgit bill. I looked at him and said, "ATM. I'll be right back."
He laughed and agreed to wait.

I headed out of the shop and back on to the streets. It was very very cold outside now. Like I was in Russia. Dim lights illuminating the street corners. People bundled up in jackets walking hand in hand through the snowy street. That's right, during my time in the bun shop it had snowed in Subang.

I headed back down the road I came. It seemed to make perfect sense to me in the dream that the nearest ATM was near my house. But, unlike how I came to Subang, going back was different. Especially when the sky grew dark and heavy rain began to pour. Lightning shoot through the sky with loud thunderous clatter following after it.

Now, to my understanding, Subang where the bun shop was on an elevated hill. To get back down to my place there was a small little metallic bridge that went horizontally off the hill and had a ladder going down to the base.

When I say it was a small bridge, I mean small. It was an industrial metal plate with bars running across the sides for support. Just before the ladder there was a wider spot with a roof covering. As I jogged out on to the metal plank I saw two very Jewish men. beards, hats, long black coats. The whole Jewish outfit. Curly sideburns included. As they walked towards me on the slippery metal plank I noticed in the wider spot of the bridge that there was a large rattlesnake just watching them pass. I heard his tail shake. Sends shivers down my spine. Heavy thunder sounded and and lightning shot.

The snake rose as it spotted me. Now, I was scared but I thought I'd be out of the snake's range if I ran. Not really the case at all. I sprinted pass the snake on the other side to keep as much distance as I could. The creature leaped at me and I jumped forward in fear. It hooked on to my shirt. Missing my skin with it's fangs by a millimeter or two. I fell on my side and began to pull it off. It's muscles tightened. And, honestly it scared the hell out of me. Thunder and lightning. The hiss of the creature and the rattle of it's evil tail. I pulled on it so it would get off but, it's fangs were stuck in the threads of my shirt. I knew, that even though I pulled it off, it's probably be on my again before I could get up.

I managed to rip it off my shirt and flung it against the wall. The ladder was right next to my head. Wet floor. Darkness. If I fell down the later it was an easy two or three hundred foot drop. I tried to get up but my elbows were slipping on the metal. The snake gathered itself and looked at me. I stopped, looked back at it. I could feel the venom that it shot out earlier trickling down my rib cage. Thank God it didn't get me.

We sat and looked at each other for a very intense moment. Each of us beckoning eachother, make the first move. The snake, eventually, realised he was faster than my chubby ass and lept again.

Mouth open, fangs erected and ready to penetrate. Slithering body twisting behind it...

Black.

I woke up breathless. Heart beating furiously. I lay back in my bed and sighed relief. I got out of bed, grabbed my last cigarette and entered my smoke chamber (bathroom) and relived the dream in my head.

I finished the cigarette and tossed it into my toilet. I stepped back in to my room. And there she was in my bed. Facing the wall curled up and sound asleep. I crawled in to bed next to her and put my arm around her. She woke up and turned her head to me. Looking at me over her shoulder she whispered : "you okay?"
"Yeah," I answered, "just a bad dream."
I kissed her shoulder and fell asleep.

This is where I really woke up. As in, when I woke up earlier and had my smoke, I was still dreaming.

Now, what's scary is this.

Number One : I don't share my bed with a woman. I can't put a face on the girl, or her voice. I do not know her. She reminds me of no one that I know.

Number Two: Before I went to sleep that night, for dinner, I had an apple. The snake, and apple. Biblical? Maybe.

Number Three: Considering how I was dreaming when I had the smoke, when I woke up for real. I needed a smoke and realised that, the one last smoke that I had saved for the next morning was gone.

Which parts was I awake. Damn it. It was a weird dream.

What do you think? Comment please.

~love yourself~

It is finished, and it has begun.

2009-07-05T20:25:00.015+08:00

Today, what a beautiful day it is.

I've finished writing the pilot episode of my soon to be hit television drama/comedy. Can't wait to present it to the corporate heads of every single production company in the country. Then, I sit back and watch them bid. Hehehe.

I do hope this works out, as it has been a long time dream for me. But, something tells me, it will. My Lord, I believe, has got my back on this.

In the mean time, I've began the mind maps and charts for the motion picture I've been planning. Can't wait to start that either. I've already proposed the idea to a friend of mine, who happens to be a director, and he is excited. He seems to like my approach and idea. I hope the rest of the world feels the same way.

Make or break, baby. This is it.

I'd love to write some information about these two projects, but, for my own safety I can't. Not yet. In time, perhaps. So, when the time comes for you to find out more about these projects, I'll compose a new blog post revealing air-times. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Woo!

On a side note. I am growing rather impatient. Mein herz brennt, I believe fits well here.

Number one, is my job status. I have resigned, *** (will resume)

sub note:
Resignation felt so motherfucking good. I swear to you. It was one of the most satisfying things I've done all year.

Side note to Mathieu:
"Yes, Clarice, I can hear the screaming of the lambs."
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

***(continued)

and am waiting further confirmation from the new place. (No names will be posted.) I don't really blame the recruitment person, (name) told me that (name) had just started there and had a lot to catch up on. I just hope (name) remembers me during (name)'s heavy workload.

Number two, is mein herz. Ah, yes. Not to say I'm impatient really, but, I would like to be able to move it along a little more. Perhaps having a car would help speed up the process. It's kind of hard to arrange a meet with (name) when I'm completely dependent on my empty wallet and public transport. Pain in the ass, public transport. By the time you get where you're going you smell like an anchovie's cunt. (RIP George Carlin. You were a true influence, and you are greatly missed.)

Number three, is the ever annoying tick-tock of the day passing by. Not many things to look forward to on a daily basis, but, things in time. There are things that I am looking forward to. But, as I said, the forsaken yet independant tick-tock of father time is beginning to annoy me. But, I suppose, good things take time to formulate, and I am thankful they are there. So, I must learn to be patient. Ironic, I am a very patient person, but off late, I seem to be losing my control of that particular virtue.

Diagnosis : Stalemate.

Tun up the bass, please. I don't think my prostate can feel it yet.

Eagerly waiting for Monday's update from my padawan younglings in (name). That's right, people, I've resorted to Star Wars references.

I'm going to go slap myself stupid. Please excuse me, oh and do

~love yourself~

Oh, and it has come to my attention that people who carry the MC1R gene are growing extinct. That's right, people with naturally blond hair are slowly disappearing. Is this good or bad for the human race? I've always found blond women attractive... until I try to talk to them. So, is this a good thing, or a bad thing? You decide!

As A Third.

2009-07-03T21:08:00.002+08:00

As a Third.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that. But, relax. You’ve been worse. Remember the eight? Even the ten? Remember RM60 on a M.C. for a slight case of diarrhea? Blood pressure shooting through the roof? Nineteen years old with the blood pressure of a fifty year old man. That’s what he said, remember? The geezer behind the desk. Reading you through charts before even asking your name. Shocked and bewildered when he realized you were only nineteen. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Neither could you.

Nissan.

“How much did you pay him to do it”, the cunt asked. Twitching as it sensed its own presence. Conceited bastard.

Nissan and TCM.

Those sordid, unimaginative, irresponsible fucks. Couldn’t decide between hash codes of #000000 or #000003. Idiots.

Uh oh. The twitch is back. Not the one under your left eye. Not the right inner ear vibration. The one near your right eye. Right next to your temple. Yes, that one. The weird one. Feels like a muscle twitch. Oh, and the veins in your skull, firmly pressed against the left-back side, feels like they’re clogging. Reaching up to the pinnacle of your dented dome, but, never really going anywhere.

Left ear starting to have a slight piercing feeling. Like there’s a very large, very blunt needle pressing against the beating drum so softly you can barely feel it. But, it’s there.

Exhaustion. Feels like something that you’ve done before. Hands off the keyboard, my friend. Your stumpy, ugly fingernailed fingers shouldn’t be typing. Index and middle of the left limb, softly pressed against the right limb’s soft spot just below the wrist on the inside.

Beat.
Was that it?
Beat.
No, there it is.
Beat.
Beat
Beat.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
Yes, there they are.

Uncontrollable they seem. Quick as well. Pumping furiously to almost no avail. Seems useless in this context. Weary now, your eyelids are heavy. The song repeats again. Bass, bass, kick, snare. Sub-bass, snare, kick. You know the drill; it’s on its third loop now. You can feel it on the soles of your feet. Maybe that was the beat you felt earlier.

No, what you felt was the real beat, wasn’t it? It’s your blue-red life juice. Shifting with every reptilian brain impulse. Another synapse shoots crooked splinters. Pump, pump, pump. It’s keeping you awake.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that.

You’ve survived worse. Don’t think back too much, though. Your brain is brooding too fast now. Unnecessary issues are coming in to the blurred view of the ever seeing, unblinking eye. Ironic, it too is a third. Hm, you think, almost missed that one.

Chug, chug, chug. Blurred. Straining whites soon to bleed red. Sharper than a butcher’s knife, they say.
They who?
They. The ones who say.
Say? They? Satay?
Figuratively.
Asshole.
Ever the charmer, aren’t you.
Indeed.

Waiting to hear that familiar tone? Which one was it again? Ah, yes! That one! You do like that one, don’t you?
Question, why are you such a prick?
You haven’t figured it out yet?
See what I mean? Prick.
Aha. I see, now, what you mean. Are you implying that you yourself aren’t one?
I am. But, not like you. Never like you.
You are what you seek. Think about it.
I don’t understand. What is it-
What you seek is what you are, and what you are is what should change.
The fuck do I-
Seek? Pussy, Herr Julian.
You really are a-
Prick?
Stop interrupting me.

Grin. Ear to ear.

Who is that?
Hmmm.

Ah, yes.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that.

But, you’ve been worse.

Forty-two sends his regards by the way.
I don’t think he said ‘regards’.
He is yours to keep, you know?
I am his to leave.
Nice turn with that. Opaque, yet, intriguing.
Big words, huh? A losing battle?
I laugh at your idea-
Prick.
… You don’t stop do you?
I’ve said it before. Some people don’t like to hear it.
The famous one?
Yeah. The one they don’t like.
That one is in rather bad taste.
Sure as hell sounds cool, though, don’t it?
You are right about that.
Tell forty-two this : I’ll sleep -
When -
I’m –
Dead |Dead.

You’re really not that pleasant when you’re like this. The twitch is back again.
I noticed.
Why don’t you rest your eyes, friend?
Why don’t you shut the fu –
You never miss your shots. Always on cue!
I come prepared.

…

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that. Goodnight, dear friend. Until our next chat, I bid you adieu.
You’re not French, asshole.
You’re not Italian.
Good call.
Good night.
Don’t come back, okay?
I never misplaced my keys.
Door’s closed, fuck off.
See you soon.
As a third. As always.
As always.

Leather, leather, pumpkin feather.
Something’s carried beneath the weather.
Foul stench, it plagues so far,
Underneath these shining stars.

Get off my porch! I ain’t got no more quarters, asshole!

~love yourself~ | ~flesruoy evol~

Hello there, Julian. It’s been a while. Forty-two sends his love.
I don’t think he said ‘love’.
Did you miss me?
Ah, shit. No sleep for the wicked it seems.
Indeed.

Until the end of time. So to speak.

2009-07-01T15:15:00.006+08:00

Two words:

Quantum Physics.

Yum.

Apparently, that is the most basic calculation.

This is a fun topic. I've trying to go back to one of the most enjoyable books I've read, Timeline, by my all-time favourite author Michael Chrichton. Rest in peace, my friend.

Anyway, if any of you saw the movie. Just remember it doesn't do the book justice. It's not a bad movie, but, the book was amazing.

M.C. has a good habit of gathering factual research and journals and putting them in to his novels. reading his novels, I learned so much about DNA, quantum physics, space-time, psychology, animals and so on.

So, the idea of quantum physics inducing time travel is not impossible. Instead, the references given in the novel make it seem entirely plausible. Faxing a person through time is the general idea.

In essence the 'device' will break you down to a molecular level and perhaps even to sub-molecular levels. Once you're in that form, you will be 'faxed' to your preferred time travel destination. How the research team stumbled upon this discovery was through their intention of 'faxing' objects instead of copying sheets of paper for print. They wanted to fax containers. The problem was, in the tests they did, their object would disappear for hours and never appear on the other side of the device. Instead, it would reappear eventually in the same position it was 'faxed' from.

So, they repeated the process with a camera. When the camera came back they got footage of trees and a lush green forest. So, they aimed the camera up. It came back with images of the night sky. They traced the stars and mapped their positions over the course of history and realised their 'fax machine' was temporarily faxing things to the past. Around 1300 A.D. if I remember correctly.

However, time travel is not really what was going on. In Michael Chrichton's theory, it was a series of multiverses.

That's right, multiverses.

Instead of having you go back in time, you go in to a different universe where time is moving slower. Yet, somehow, it still is on our current time line. So, even though it's a different universe, it can still affect ours. So, if I were to go back in time, and say, slay Hitler before he was born, I could have either changed history, or history would have continued with simply a different name on the face of Nazi-ism. Either way, I'd effect our current time.

This shit is just fun to talk about, make me feel smart and shit.

Some links for your reference in case you want to learn more

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_mechanics
http://www.crystalinks.com/timetravel.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_(novel)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multiverse

So, do enjoy these little trinkets. They can be entirely factual or as fictional as you see. I, personally, would like to think that it's possible, but, even God hasn't ordained it, then it ain't gonna work.

But, still. It's fun to look in to this shit. Oh, and do read Timeline and Sphere by Michael Chrichton. It's good stuff. Especially the latter. Superb.

Doctor Gill says take 17 ambutols, 13 ACMPD3N7 inhales and grow the fuck up.

ACMPD3N7 -Family of genes controlling aminocarboxmuconate paraldehyde decarbolase.

ACMPD3N7 modifies responses of the amygdala and cingulate gyrus in th ebrain; potentiall link to neurodegenerative disease, thought that neurodegenerative disease were a result of disruptions to the maturational pathways in the brain.

Basically, it makes you mature.

~love yourself~

3+ hours to go

2009-06-29T14:38:00.009+08:00

Today holds no bearing but tomorrow.

Ponder that a minute as it sets in to your brain and calls forth the juices that bring about thought. Your synapses jump and shoot. Sending signal after signal. Until your blood boils and your muscles constrain and twitch and all the little hairs on your body grow erect making it feel like a large featherweight paint brush has run a course over your spine.

Over the past few days I've watched, in order, the Hannibal Lecter films, excluding Red Dragon. My favorite being Hannibal. The sequel. Ridley Scott, Anthony Hopkins, Julianne Moore, Gary Oldman, and of course, a very under appreciated and under cast actor: Ray Liotta.

Superb down to the last detail.

That being said, I'd like to bring to the stage the psychological elements involved in the film. I've always enjoyed psychology. It is an art form. It is where the truth lies (to quote the tagline from the famed MadMen series on HBO).

Psychology is something I always found interesting. I've spent many days parked in a seat watching people fail to use the senses God has given them. It is very amusing to watch. For instance:

Quite a while back, I was sitting in a shop having a cup of coffee and pondering why women don't like me. I looked at the path infront of me where people would enter the shopping gallery through large automated glass doors. Directly in front of me, approximately 3-4 feet infront of the glass doors, sat an upright, bright yellow, triangle signboard which read : CAUTION! Wet Floor.

Now, I knew, that this would obstruct the blind ones. Indeed it did.

One after the other people walked in and tripped over the sign. Like sheep with out a shepherd. Until, eventually, the signboard fell. But, it didn't stop there. Lying flat on it's side, it was even more dangerous. One after the other, again, people got their feet tagged on it. One guy, fucking idiot that he was, actually stepped on it. The board slid on the floor and before he realised it, he was looking at how his shoelaces were tied as his feet met his eyes and he hit the slippery floor. His student papers settling around him soon after.

I pondered whether I was wrong to have not warned him and came to the conclusion that, as every guilty man says, it wasn't my fault. He was a complete fucking moron. the sign was there. He should have seen it.

So, your opinion please. Should I feel bad for letting that stunad hit the floor, or should I just relish the fact that I witnessed that stunad hit the floor?

It still makes me giggle.

Comment please.

O topic, where art thou?

2009-06-28T15:55:00.008+08:00

No specific topic yet, but, I'll see where it goes.

So, my dear friend Mathieu is in France now. He seems to like it there. It's definitely good for his wife and boy. Little Louan (not so little anymore) will have a better education in France as compared to the mediocre attempts of schooling here. His wife, Len, can sleep better there. And, the standard of living is so much more enjoyable.

I do pray that everything works out well for them. So, oh-river! (Au revoir!)

I finally saw the 2009 remake or re-imagining of the famous Friday the 13th film.

It's good and bad at the same time. Being an avid fan of good old Jason Voorhees, I was surprised to see him move so fast and silently. It kind of ruined his essence as a big thumping and seemingly clumsy mass murderer.

But, decent direction, decent sound and a rather pointless plot like all of it's predeccessors.

It was not nearly as good as the Halloween reboot by Rob Zombie. Being an even bigger fan of Michael Myers, it was good to see that Rob followed the story and added a little bit of his own darkness to it. Beautifully directed and shot, gritty and disturbingly violent and brutal.

Delicious.

Eagerly looking forward to the sequel and final installment of the Zombie reboot. Shouldn't be bad. Honestly, I can't see any way that Rob can fuck it up at this point. House of 1000 Corpses was disturbing, so, I wasn't eager to see the sequel, The Devil's Rejects. However, I found the sequel to be better than the first. So, given his history of sequels outdoing the originals, Halloween's sequel should be great.

A lot of let downs from Hollywood recently, (Max fucking Payne) so, I'm trying to keep my hopes down. But, I have faith in Zombie's skill as a horror director. He too is a big fan of Michael Myers.

Speaking of Max Payne, let's all mourn the death of Mark Wahlberg's carreer. And, let's rejoice in the fact that Max Payne's third installment is on its way from Rockstar Games' bowels. Looking forward to that.

You know, I'll come back and start with a real topic later... Hope you enjoyed this rant, and if you didn't well, go fuck yourself.

:)

~love yourself~
-Doctor Gill

Is it really?

2009-06-18T15:31:00.001+08:00

There is indeed a seperation,
in between the operation,
suffering from irritation,
scratching violently at cremations.

Among the tattered torn,
the new age was born and
fellow melodies, under all these,
was formatted and conformed
simply to be reborn
as the original tattered torn,
with a twist, it was confirmed that
MUSIC is DEAD.

You understand my frustration, yes? Let me break it down for you, okay?

The 'freestyle' above is just something random that came to mind as I typed tirelessly in front of dual monitors. It is not a quote so don't get excited.

Music has come a long way since the caveman days and has evolved to a beautiful crescendo of magnificent styles and formats... until we latched on to those formats and became an assembly line of crap being spit out of big corporations' ever erupting, Mordor resembling, anuses.

Hip-hop is dead. It became this techno-syndromed-RnB shit we have today.

There are only a few selected legends that hold on to the hip-hop reigns.
Wu-Tang Clan, DMX, Jay-Z. Not even Nas. He was good in his time, but, now he is a follower.

The heavy metal and rock scene was never appreciated and as such there are less and less great bands.

Classical is no longer created in abundance as used to be. Instead the old tunes of origin are being replayed over and over with heavy drumkits and electric violins.

House and techno have maintained themselves well, but, there never is much change in that genre anyway.

Jazz is dead. Chillout is dying. And fads seem to last longer than ever.

I cannot listen to the radio. Track after track that the Dj spins, I hear, the same shit over and over. Young teenage girl trying to be a tough independant woman, young man figuring out he's in love, young girl screaming at the top of her lungs, some audio mastering required, about how she was hurt by a relationship. Then there are the modern RnB/Hiphop/Techno songs. Such as this hit number .... throw your hands in tha a-yer! A! A-yer! A-yer!

Sing that tune and as you sing the tune get a friend with capable timing to sing this famous piece of shit : applebottom jeans, boots with the fur, she had the whole club lookin' at her. She hit the floor! Next thing ya nkow, shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low.

See the resemblance. They mix so well together, why is that? BECAUSE THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING THING! And it goes on and on. The list never stops. You steal a beat from me, I add a hip melody on top, someone takes the melody and the beat, and adds a super sub bass kick to front of each bar, some one else takes that and scratches it with a vinyl player, someone else takes that, spits out repetitive lyrics about some girl in a club who basically is coming off as a whore on first impression, and there you have it... a masterpiece-of-shit.

If you're going to make a shit song, at least let the lyrics stand out?

Oh, and I wanna make love in this club, while all my friends stand around shouting "OH!" sounds like a severe case of date rape, Usher. Really, come on.

Hate me now, love me now.

Prove me wrong world, I dare you.

No, really, if you disagree, prove me wrong and I'll see for myself. Not looking for a fight, looking for new music.

~love yourself~

~love yourself~

2009-06-18T01:41:00.000+08:00

love yourself.

It really is that simple. Now, if you know me, say, as a close friend, or have known me for a long time then you might have caught this in my work, or in my designs or tattooed on a wall by means of amateur graffiti:

love yourself.

In almost all of my productions, at some frame, at some random time in the duration this message will appear for one, maybe two frames. It is a perfect subliminal message to completely mind fuck whoever spots it.

The reason I say it's a mind fuck is because of its meaning. It all depends on you.

The way I see it is, it's a positive message or a funny message born out of a positive message.

Okay, I'll explain.

Positive in a sense that, shit, how hard is it to figure out that love yourself is a good thing?

Funny in this way:
consider 'love yourself' a sarcastic polite way to say 'fuck yourself'. Then, giggle about the idea a little bit, and agree that you should love yourself. Be it, giving yourself a hug, patting yourself on the shoulder, or rubbing out some knuckle babies in the shower before work on Monday morning.

In all fairness, 'love yourself' is just a positive hidden message. But, enjoy the other ways you can look at it from my distorted camcorder viewport.

Oh, and it is also used as a synonym for masturbation. So, on Monday morning when the rest of the household is banging on the bathroom door, because you're holding up in there, and your mother, or father, or spouse is screaming: "Jimmy! What the fuck are you doing in there?!!"

You simply rinse off your hand in the cold shower you're taking look over your shoulder and reply:

"loving myself!"

See if they see it the way the WE now do. That's right, we. By reading this post, I've put a little bit of me into your head. A new perspective.

just be happy its not knuckle babies.

~love yourself~

Doctor Gill says...

2009-06-17T23:37:00.000+08:00

Welcome to the freethought | freeform message display unit (aka a blog).

Consider this a warning,

There will be things that I post here that may seem wrong, stupid and just plain ignorant. Please, comment as you see fit. But, remember, this is a freethought | freeform blog. For those that do not understand what that means here is a breakdown :

freethought
the ideas are freethought.
Written at the moment the idea/complain/message/theory enters my mind as I am writing. So, nothing should be taken personally, nothing should be justified. So, when you post your comment, remember that inside your head, sometimes, just sometimes, there are things that even you don't believe that creep in to your die-cast, inpenetrable fortress of pink cushion you call a brain. You may dismiss the ideas entirely, but, you cannot deny the fact that they creeped in there in the first place. So, comment intelligently, and mind your manners.

freeform
the method is freeform.
No particular writing style, other than the one which is what defines my 'writing style'. So, if I drift from topic to topic don't be surprised. Simply go with it, and enjoy the ride.

So, there it is the two basic ideas behind this blog. I am not much of a blogger, but, I am hoping to change that. So, enjoy yourself.

Oh, and before I forget, I will say 'fuck'.

Signed,

Doc Gill

~love yourself~