Kulax

Wanna save the world from an awful, terrible, heat death as a result of global waaaaarming?

You gotta target the main greenhouse gas, fools! WATER VAPOR WATER VAPOR WATER VAPOR.

And while you're at it, rid yourselves of volcanoes and urban heat islands too. IT'S THE ONLY WAY.

lol lol lol lol lol

I swear I can taste celery powder in my steak spice.

Ew ew ew. :/

In an effort to improve my health somewhat I walked to the shops and got myself enough fruit to make myself a proper fruit bowl. Not only is it aesthetically pleasing but it's tasty too!

I attempted to do some skipping/lunges/general exercise this afternoon as a break from study.

My God, my limbs have all atrophied! No wonder I only have the energy to stay awake for about 12 hours every day.

I think I need to break this habit before my body ceases to be able to stand upright.

Also, my poor heart. ;_;

I sort of ragequit WoW during an Arathi Basin battle. After being ganked by one too many twinked rogues I yelled "I'M COMPLETELY BLOODY SICK OF THIS", typed 'I am wasting my life' into guild chat and alt + F4'd.

Felt pretty good.

What I really need for my as yet undisclosed project I'm working on with Rob is some sort of spinning wheel. This wheel shall be called 'The Wheel of Blame' and will have on it all sorts of things that current affairs shows and the media at large like to place blame on instead of whom or what it should really be blamed on.

Things like -

Violent Video Games
Unemployment
Shonky Builders
Lebanese Gangs
Somebody Else
Fox News
War on Terror
Depression
The Parents

etc, etc.

Basically, when I lampoon a story presented by A Current Affair or Today Tonight I will invite someone to come up and give the wheel of blame a 'spin' (Spin doctoring? Anyone? No? Meh...) and whetever it lands on will be what the problem is blamed on. I'd like to get either the Plucka Duck music or something equally cheesy playing while the wheel is spinning.

Back to study. ;_;

I finally figured out where I stand on everything. Contrary. That's how I roll. If everyone thinks one way, I'll automatically think the opposite, for no reason other than to be contrary. It is for this reason that I want to make a capitalist fascist club and hang signs for it next to the ones for the communist collective at University.

I find it hilarious that the Flying Spaghetti Monster has it's own belief structure. It was cute and intriguing when it was just an idea, but now there are churches for it, people are taking FSM Masses and suddenly we're flung right back to the beginning. Idiots, all of them.

I hate Centrelink. I mean, it's not policy to send feedback on how an application goes but just to say 'NO MONEY FOR YOU LOL', so I had to go down IN PERSON to discern exactly why because I COULD NOT GET THOUGH ON THE FUCKING PHONES. EVEN AFTER TRYING FOR OVER AN HOUR.

This outbreak of reality brought to you by Luka's bottled up frustration at the retarded decision to pour $600m into a ticketing system that doesn't work WHEN THE PEOPLE DESPERATELY NEED MORE PEAK HOUR SERVICES AND BETTER CONDITION TRAINS. They knew the public transport system would be taxed five years ago and yet this fucking myki system gets the go-ahead? WHY WHY WHY *headdesk headdesk headdesk*

Ah god I need to stop writing.

Fights I like healing:

Loatheb (Calling out who I'm going to heal during the three-second window is actually really fun)
Thaddius (Best fight concept evar)
Gluth (Because Beacon on myself and a Holy Light Crit on the Skeleton tank after a Decimate is love...)

Fights I hate healing:

Grobbulus (Because the fight is annoying)
Maexxna (Spiderlings adore me for some reason...)

Haven't done Raz, Harvester, Horsies, Frosty or K'T yet.

*crosses fingers* Oh pleeease, let me get this particular job...

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
 
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.
And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in
the tidal destruction
the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers
the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
your suntan does rapidly peel and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.
 
And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame.
 
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.
 
See there!  A son is born -- and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll
make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him
to play Monopoly and
to sing in the rain.
 
The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.
 
And the youngest of the family is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside.
 
The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have
all gone into service and
are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.
 
And the oldest of the family is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.
 
What do you do when
the old man's gone -- do you want to be him?  And
your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.
 
LATER.
I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.
 
You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone -- you meet the stares.
You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers and
your downy little sidies and
your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.
 
So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well!  Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.
 
You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.
 
So!  Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.
 
LATER.
See there!  A man born -- and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We'll
take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.
 
QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
cats are on the upgrade
upgrade?  Hipgrave.  Oh, Mac.
 
LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and
good old Ernie: he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled
in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun.
 
Do you believe in the day?  Do you?
Believe in the day!  The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night -- and fully pregnant with the day,
wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?  Do you?  Believe in the day!
 
Let me tell you the tales of your life of
your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red -- while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with
the blood of the fools and
the thoughts of the wise and
from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So!  Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See!  The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be
the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear.
So!  Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super-crooks and
show us all the way.
Well!  Make your will and testament.
Won't you?  Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.
So!  Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.
 
OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

Just as the longest journey begins with a single step, my journey into the realms of prop armor-making with craft foam has begun. The heater in the front room is an amazing heat source.

I am using this guide.

And here is my magnum opus.

At a glance, it looks...well, impossible. I might give up on this at some stage, I might not. I have ideas, and I always experiment with things before making stuff.

I need to wait until Halloween is a little closer before I am able to source plastic skulls of different sizes for the use of sawing faces off, removing jaws and painting silver. At last count I'll need...ten skulls. I'm not planning on making the shoulder skull, and the ones on the toes I'll shelve as well. So, seven. Duuuuude.

The furry lower leggings are going to be fun, planning on using white fur but I'll need a little guidence on using fur...*prods the more fur-inclined*

The elements that are meant to resemble plate armor are thankfully few. I'm planning on making the shoulders from paper mache, layered and layered and layered, sanded down, and layered again. The spikes and little round bumps will be made of ploystyrene shapes you can get at craft shops.

Not sure yet what I'll make the chainmail out of.

Looking forward to making the cloak as well, hurr hurr hurr...

The helm...I have no idea about that. I don't want to think about it too much. o.o;

My Battle Smasher's hammerhead is almost too shiny due to the way I made the finish - just silver cardboard, shaped to fit around the head. It gives a nice flat angular look but makes the thing very shiny.







My hand is included in the last one for scale...also...shinnnyyy! Now I gotta make another one that looks the same as that one, and then figure out how to fill the tiny gaps left by the silver card being slightly too small. This is noticable in the last picture, just below my wrist.

I had a wide variety of David Firth inspired nightmars last night, but I struggle to refer to them as such...they were more like very disturbing dreams. That in some small way I enjoyed. I can recall having something important to say to a certain Salad Fingers, but when I opened the door to tell him I seemed to get freaked, pointed at him and started to throw up uncontrollably. It was strange. I also seem to recall working in a slave labor pie factory with elements of Sweeny Todd, trying to fit overflowing pies into moulded boxes but they seemed to have one too many dimensions and I couldn't get them in. There were many, many more delights but as dreams do, they're gone from my mind, flushed from short-term memory as addresses are called upon for waking hours' usage.

So, I've tried a few ways of making my prop Battle Smasher and the best way seems to be corrugated cardboard cut or notched to shape for the hammer heads and headpiece. I'm only working with the head at the moment, working with a lathe to make a really ornate handle comes a lot later when I find someone with one. *laugh*

The dimensions of the thing will be -

Length will be 80 cm to 1m, haven't decided exactly...from this, the following ratios can be gleaned in any case.

The handle is 5/8ths of the length
The head, then, is 3/8ths the length.
        The head's width is 7/16ths of the total length at the longer width and 3/16ths wide at the shorter width.

The heaxagonal hammer facets were a slight challenge, without a protractor to work out exact angles I'm going to use the old method of tracing a circle and going from there. Other challengs will include the lion emblems and the pommel. I'd better get back to drafting designs.

Does anyone know what Siera/Ciera/Sierra(?)'s livejournal is? if she has one, that is.

WHO WANTS A MICROWAVE? It's free if you pick it up! I do stress that it comes AS IS. It does work, but the turntable doesn't turn and the inside is a little dirty. I will be cleaning it up though if someone wants it. ANY TAKERS? I really hate throwing away electronics that still work, it feels so wasteful.

In other news, the house is now CLEAN FOR TEH FIRST TIME IN MONTHS. *dies from 7 hours of cleaning*

So there's not really much time to go before Manifest really. I'd like to recycle the Organisation XIII coat for a cosplay probably, which makes me all kinds of failure-tastic really - I only have a few options of members that I'd like to cosplay, although to be honest doing Organisation Roxas might be kind of cool because of the whole thing there of me thinking Roxas is about one hundred many times cooler than Sora, and nobody knows what I'm talking about anyway so blah blah blah...

I'm not really into any anime or games these days that warrant me wanting to cosplay anyone particularly badly. HOWEVER that may change when I get closer to the date and get into a few shows/manga that people havce been recommending. We shall see...

Soul Calibur still has epic cosplay possibilities though.

Also One Piece/Ragnrok Online/World of Warcraft stuff.

MUSICAL INTERLUDE




AAAAANYWAY, I'm at my parents' house for easter. Amongst some of the more fun moments have been Scrabble (always an event in our house, the dictionary or 'Peacemaker' is inevitably called upon and YES YAK IS ALLOWED), and a board game version of Spicks ans Specks. It was actually amazingly fun, so tomorrow we're going to have a larger game with teams of 3, girls vs. boys.

I helped in a huge clean-up this afternoon involving furniture moving, dusting, mopping and garbage throwing (into the neighbours' yard). It gave me a good opportunity to listen to some of Dad's many records though, something I always enjoy doing. Delights sampled were original pressings of The Clockwork Orange soudtrack and Jethro Tull's 'Thick as a Brick'.

The back room is looking cleaner than it's been in a while though, so my efforts were fruitful.

...man, my livejournaling exploits are reeealy boring these days. *sigh*

Maybe I should go sleep.  I'll just make myself grumpy if I stay up all night.

*foams at the mouth*

AQUALUNG IS ON THE SETLIST FOR ROCK BAND 2. YB*T)^ Y*TY*() T@*)$CT*@ )BT*(BGXNG@(BNCY 

PFFFFFT THAT GUITAR SOLO IS THE BEST THING EVER AAAAAARGHH

HAPPY HAPPY HAPPPPPPPYYY

Essays can suck a potato through a straw.

EDIT: I figured out what I'm going to call my epic Luka party.

LUKAROK or LUKAGEDDON. Both have a distinct end-of-days flavor but one is Norse and the other is more general.

Hope's throwing out random titles with the word 'Luka' in them.  I like 'Luka Hell'...