http://www.randomboo.com/Rss.xml The latest updates from RandomBoo.com en-uk Copyright of RandomBoo Productions 2009 random_boo@hotmail.co.uk Wed, 14 Jul 2010 01:21:36 GMT Wed, 14 Jul 2010 01:21:36 GMT 60 http://www.randomboo.com/ToKillAMockingbird.html http://www.randomboo.com/ToKillAMockingbird.html Wed, 14 Jul 2010 01:21:36 GMT David, David! What’s that you’re doing with your sister in the basement? Your Id is your ego, which then is influenced by the oppression of society, society being the misinterpreted ego of mass. Some daydream’s foreplay conceived a subjective superego, and now translated by an orgy of craven clay-brained conformists, man is ruled. “And the pup bit the hand of God, and God saw that the pup was evil, and in forty days and forty nights he drowned the entire litter, for God is a gentle, patient, and loving God, amen”. God never changes his mind, unless he changes his mind, God is everywhere, God is, oh, hang on, Able has gone missing again, I’ll ask Cain. I must tell him that it is bad to eat the apple that gives him an understanding of what bad is, and then he can eat cream and honey. Once upon a time, a book of ethical guidance was required as part of a healthy diet for the developing disposition of humanity. Now it is the day before tomorrow, and humanity is past the setting of dawn, said progression is due a surge. The cultivating of the third eye is the flicking of a light switch to a room that is, until now, best kept in the dark. The Roman Empire is unified, scaremongering children has concluded, and there is no longer a savoury sin to basin wash your odiferous brow. Leave the auriferous pipedreams for them that hold the pitchforks. RE: Christian Fundamentalist groups (which are about legion as the atheists) Please stop, just stop, with this “must be a God; it says so in the bible” stuff and inflicting your hostile and sadistic attacks on the opinions of thinkers. Self-elected goons representing the American Christian male community, who spend all day on the internet masturbating over a keyboard whilst searching YouTube for fights, you should be hung like the sodden rags you are. Ha, I have your SunnyD, drinkless, what you going to do about it you creationistic parasitic cretin, how you going to pretend to be drunk now? Get back to Mummy’s house and tidy your stained-Cliff Richard-poster-riddled-room, you left-winged hippie, you left your Velcro shoes in the middle of the hallway again haven’t you, you artless fuckwit? You lily-livered, Beano reading, bootless, barnacle, referring to your online Facebook friend linked acquaintances as ‘heads’. You’re the result of a drunken back-seat grope-fest and a broken prophylactic, yet you consider yourself my saviour. So bloody go to Heaven then, and swap knitting patterns with your hymn singing, turtleneck reindeer jumper wearing virgin friends, maybe they’ll let you watch Spice World, oh, you have it downloaded do you. Well congratulations, you’ve somehow successfully managed to make piracy gay! You’re the kind of person that applies to be an actor and ends up playing the flamboyant policeman on Balamory, you quartz-brained puny ninnyhammer, you vexing helminth with your Art collage bus pass and Chris de Burgh music CD collection. Go and prance about on the M6 in the dark you moronic wannabe, you’ll soon see the light. Do you really think God would approve of your dogmatic internet-gangster routine? I know I should just let you get on with it, but it irritates me. It’s like a Jack in a box; you turn the crank, a puppet jumps out, everybody cheers, and I die a little inside. http://www.randomboo.com/TroubleAtMill.html http://www.randomboo.com/TroubleAtMill.html Mon, 14 Jun 2010 18:23:16 GMT Numerous born and countless dead, in a world of dreams and nightmares, it’s crowded in here. Put the milk in the cup first, your divergence is the testimony to your madness. Pick a cat and provoke a fight, hands on table, lips pursed, and, go! Retreat, then, into the hours of night, which is your deluded haven, “be polite”. Society is a symphony of logic, but only on paper, it burdens the creative individuals that can potentially generate the spark, which becomes the flicker of light in a room of darkness. The weirdoes become eccentric, the eccentrics become geniuses; don’t underestimate what you cannot evaluate. Time continues regardless, you don’t, so ‘heads up’, judgement day is a comin’, accept the leaflet, and donate the two pounds. You know how to whistle, don't cha Steve? Heaven is paradise, but for who is the fantasy tailored? Oh, and duck! Ha, you actually believe something sympathetic can willingly conceive a concept such as Hell? Lies! Lie more times than a cheap Japanese watch. God, you are submissive to the oppression of mass, fear not the Spanish Inquisition. Mackerel sky and mares' tails make lofty ships carry low sails. All the cats will go and the million pigeons remain, ready to be hooked on new religions, clip your wings and fly to Daddy. Existence is a toss of a nickel. The fizz is in decline, gulp it quick or slurp it flat; you can’t quantify life, don’t squander it in trepidation. They do do though don’t they though? Patriotic vitriolic potatoes in uniform make horrific cheesecake. The field is overflowing with sheep, thank you Mr Jintao, don’t ask Reagan for help; he has a cold. Four horsemen with an arrow of time, good show Friedrich Heine, shame about Thor, must have been looking for North. Welcome to the Oscillatory Universe; are you ready for The Crunch? Look in my bag of entropy, there’s a Big Rip; you can blame Caldwell for that. Uh oh, St John is on the punch again, oh look at who’s the messiah; “it’s all who you know”. It’s getting hot, no cold, HIV, HMV, oh mind your step, there’s a Meteorite there, just push the red button and it’ll all go away. Say what you see Mr Chips, “fat lady singing?” and so our survey says *uh uh* No sorry; death is not on the ‘to do’ list. Just row your boat down the stream, life is just a dream. And in 2012, when you’re up to your knees in snow sunbathing twenty-four foot under the sea, raise your glass to the invading aliens and say “chin chin old chap”. http://www.randomboo.com/EvilMonkey.html http://www.randomboo.com/EvilMonkey.html Fri, 29 May 2010 23:10:18 GMT I couldn’t care less if your mobile phone could err, sharpen pencils! My phone can call people, which is odd isn’t it, considering that is why I brought the dame thing! It’s quite depressing that I’m the one considered ‘odd’ in a world full of trivial monkeys nervously shouting “that’s Spartacus there!” Whilst, like illuminated crickets, they text people stood next to them ‘did ya get me txt?” Materialism is a burden on your disposition, like baggage of ‘this is me’; like vomit in an ASDA plastic bag with one of them paper miniature umbrellas that you usually find in cocktails. With the aforementioned yoke carried, you’ll fail to fall through the self-sieving that is, what is, the development of constructing a constructive experience of your experience, err, hang on. Your glass maybe half full now, but there is no escaping the fact that the glass is also half empty. Happiness is a temporary distraction. Every distraction and every obstacle is a cause of concern and an obstruction in your will, that is, by you, labelled ‘evil’. He whose desires are in difference in comparison to yours is wrong; he who blocks you from your destination is ‘evil’. Revenge is wrong and unnecessary, unless said act is committed by you, apparently, by your innate logic anyway. Man serves himself, and his neighbours loathe it, as it interferes with their self-interest. What is ‘evil’? Do you think, really, that the universe has any concept of ‘evil’? If in musical chairs you lose, then you lose, and that is ‘life’ as they say, whoever ‘they’ are, presumably a bunch of haughty, overpaid, overfed, triple chinned hermits sat round a table inventing job titles. Praying to a God for a ‘get out of jail free card’ is simply just being arrogantly delusional. You are naturally polarising your perception by naively ranking yourself above standard on the goodness scale, stop it! You are not God, kinda. The dichotomy of good and evil is either a lack of knowledge or a refusal of acceptance; crowning one evil is the equivalent of “ask your mother” in this dynamic world of bigger houses and noisier cars, where charity is collateral, and love a token unity. Rivalry is the mother of development, but development is then the product of envy, thus unjustifiable outrage is the frustration of man and the architect of war, thus rendering the ignorant monkeys forever belligerently unsettled. Ok, to some, life is a game, and to win a game, everyone else must lose! True, but, unlike the duration, life is not relative, define winning before you throw the dice. http://www.randomboo.com/ThatBoyNeedsTherapy.html http://www.randomboo.com/ThatBoyNeedsTherapy.html Wed, 12 May 2010 13:10:18 GMT If man was a train, society would be the track; a predetermined result of compliance for the leader of the pack. Unfortunately, it’s as encouragingly meaningful as the religious tale of the crippled sheep. “But why?” she said, “why not?” he responded, “if, as I stand here, in line, waiting to be served at the ASDA checkout, I decide to rub my fingers in circular motion around my nipples, then I will” well what could she say; he had a point. You can’t derail yourself from the tunnel, but when you see the light, you can make sure you’re brighter. A ghost has no concept of time, correction; a ghost has no concept of our time, but then time is relative to everyone anyway. The corpse is nothing more than a husk with the spirit elsewhere, the ghost is the spirit, the ghost is living, or an echo, but we’ll conveniently avoid that bit. Death is nothing more than a transition, and thus you live forever, that is, if ghosts are real. Unless your husk once housed a nut, then you believe in religion (same thing), and therefore believe in heaven, even though it clashes with the ideal of every other living organism on this hanging sphere; I bloody hate harps, and discussions on the calories in Philadelphia light. I don’t want to be rewarded for my inhumane ignorance and arrogance by a creative version of Mussolini. “Is this banana flat?” pondered the monkey on drugs “let’s publish a seven hundred thousand word essay about it” said the other monkey, which had an empty wallet to fill. Now do that tie up, otherwise you’ll trigger the disapproval of our leader *points at sky whilst doing a woo noise* No; you refuse too? Then I’m afraid expulsion is the only answer, it’s the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane! http://www.randomboo.com/ToPokeADeadBird.html http://www.randomboo.com/ToPokeADeadBird.html Wed, 05 May 2010 00:10:18 GMT Advertising, political propaganda, and uninformative dogmatic newspapers! ”A bag in the river may have contained The Cheshire Cat” of cause it did, it may have also contained a handful of self-adhesive tapeworms doing the cancan whilst wearing tutus. Can you get a tutu for a tapeworm? Oh yes, skip the cancan bit because that’s perfectly self-explanatory for a legless tapeworm! Who said it was legless? Alas, unless the idea was injected into the insentient regions of the void that is your mind, you will not conceive the notion. You hear what you want to hear, but when combined with what they want you to hear, they can sell you Trebor Softmints to cure testicular cancer. Like Dr Hoffmann of Stuttgart and his leech farm, like a headless budgie to a blind kid, like New Labour, like Lambert and Butler lights, Hellboy computer games, Sunny Delight, and Push Pops, these are not stilts for midgets but a plug-in air freshener for a conservative voting aborigine living in Scotland. A talking parrot is not much better a source for wise advice as is a cracker from a country that thinks failure is the mother of success! Don’t read the dribbling whining from stargazed decrepit charlatans at the Daily Mail. Don’t fritter your time on politics. Don’t buy a Henrietta for twice the price of a Henry. And don’t ever, ever, poke the dead bird with a stick. Do you have a mind of your own? Use it, or someone else will use it for you. http://www.randomboo.com/SociallyAcceptable.html http://www.randomboo.com/SociallyAcceptable.html Thu, 22 Apr 2010 23:28:18 GMT A sphere of cheese illuminates the darkness of night as the piercing beams of dreams of light stab the sky like an invasion of glittering monster thingies with the waving things and err, whatever. “What time is it?” said the cat, little did the cat know, that as like insanity, time is as relative as a ‘darks’ washing load. Like an apple spiralling through the velvet sheets of lust and madness, time is the dimensional observation of the observing observations of observation, err, what? QED; It’s just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right. The picture is framed like a bird in a cage, because you framed it! Don’t be piloted by a plague of locust, ridden by a deity with a face like a bulldog licking piss of a nettle. Don’t you people judge when the preface of your deluded vomited conclusion is “you know what I think?” Don’t vent your spleen on me because you’re a faceless quartz minded sadist with gonorrhoea that is as ingeniously useful as a snooze button on a smoke alarm. Eat what you want, drink what you want, and love who you want, and disregard all the superfluous tokens spent by the dogmatic bible bashing monkeys with syphilis riddled pointing fingers. Are you alive? Yes? Good, then you are doing just fine. http://www.randomboo.com/Dead.html http://www.randomboo.com/Dead.html Wed, 14 Apr 2010 01:18:48 GMT “Ha ha, you’re dead!” she said, but the joke was on her, for I’ve been dead for years. Life is like having an eraser on both ends of a pencil. The unquenchable ineffable ecstasy of overwhelming desire renders me alive and controversially, dead simultaneously. What is the point, really? You are born alone and you’ll die alone, yet you pathetic monkeys dance around deluded, with this forged concept of an inclusive spiritual feeling of oneness, and I am so jealous. I was happy once, but now I question if once was too much, I can’t be loved or love, my own family only ‘love’ me because it’s compulsory. The most beautiful thing in the world is a snow flake, yet, you try and catch one and it melts instantly in your hand. I can see that for some, love is a delightful feeling of security and requirement, but for me, love is now nothing more than a horrid reminder of everything in life I’ll never have, and I’ll never feel. http://www.randomboo.com/Muchness.html http://www.randomboo.com/Muchness.html Mon, 05 Apr 2010 22:50:08 GMT “I have something you want” she said, “I don’t know what it is you have” he said, “I know” she said, “That’s why you want it.” Wink wink nudge nudge, kiss kiss bang bang! The natural drug, that is, and every concept of, what is, and held by you as, enjoyment, is, forever being spoilt. Satisfaction is a cycle of surging boundaries that ultimately renders your present fulfilment in swift demise. The value of money, like your value of anything, is relative, and thus, immaterial and irrelevant to the structure of your overall ‘happiness’. You think tomorrow, you will be happy? Well sorry; but you’re as likely to see that tomorrow, as you are as likely to see the Loch Ness monster milking a rocking horse. Don’t stare at him though, you might die, then again, don’t worry about it, you’ll die either way. Happiness is an addiction that can’t be fulfilled, sure, you can be ‘happier’, but any child with an imaginary pocket full of chocolate stars, can tell you that nothing is great, if something is greater! http://www.randomboo.com/RubADubDubMetaphysics.html http://www.randomboo.com/RubADubDubMetaphysics.html Sat, 20 Mar 2010 00:03:08 GMT “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, bang, bang, you’re dead” I said. “No I’m not” she responded. “Neither one of you exist” shouted the talking biscuit. “Time for bed” interrupted Zebedee. However, how can you trust a man with a moustache, or trust a man with egg on his face? Or people that eat eggs! Jesus Christ! It’s not even a food; it’s a chicken’s period for Christ’s sake, stop eating them! Suddenly, or a little time after suddenly, the sun fell off the sky, and the worms took over. I hate people; I hate people that leave the cap of the toothpaste thus leaving it to go hard. I hate people that tie the plug chain around the tap fingers. I hate people that say things like “I tell it as it is” or “whatever” whilst attempting to create a double-u sign with their hands. I hate people that re-use teabags. I hate people that shop in their pyjamas. I hate it when people use Metaphysics to assist them in labelling their beliefs as scientific theory. Metaphysics will never be regarded as a true field of science, as Metaphysics appears to be nothing more than a very large bucket, for idiots to vomit their views into, with little, if any, requirement to scientifically justify their incoherent dribble. Thus, I’m leaving you Metaphysics, it’s not you, it’s me. (Meaning it is ‘all’ you, you bigoted hermit) http://www.randomboo.com/ConsciousnessesConnection.html http://www.randomboo.com/ConsciousnessesConnection.html Sat, 20 Mar 2010 00:00:02 GMT “Yes,” I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He sort of smiled, and I could tell that he was genuinely pleased with my response. I didn’t actually have a clue what it was that he was trying to say, but in my years as a person, I’ve learned that people prefer the response “yes” to the response “no” From the Big Bang to Quantum Physics, all the consciousnesses in all of times and spaces, are one! Can you not feel it? No? It’s broken, like a dead cat, a dead cat late for tea, I might add, I might not. Independence is the key here, six and a half billion people are trapped here, and you’re alone? The connection is jam bread; you killed it! You desired this and now you desire that. Desire is a paradox; you desire the option you didn’t take, regardless of what option you did? But, do you want to be connected anyway? I’m a bad person; I’m self-centred, and thus have little, if any, interest in the world that, from my position in space and time, does not exist. Alas, people as generalized, tend to willingly follow, in believing, what they believe, should be believed. The problem is society has progressed no further than the days of the witch hunts in the sixteenth century, like a mob in search of Frankenstein’s monster. A person has a mind, but a mob doesn’t. Home sweet home is like a dentist’s waiting room, Death is just eating his breakfast, climb out the bathroom window! Time is elusive. I, us, you, them, is best ignored, a swing is made for swinging, but don’t expect to be pushed. http://www.randomboo.com/WhyIsARavenLikeAWritingDesk.html http://www.randomboo.com/WhyIsARavenLikeAWritingDesk.html Mon, 15 Mar 2010 10:05:13 GMT You pretend you know what you’re doing in life, you don’t. I’m on to you; you’re just making this stuff up as you plod along. Why do you behave immorally sometimes? Err, some combination of instinct and learned behaviour. Conscious thought has almost nothing to do with it. Usually, I rationalize a reason only after I have already performed the action. Alas, I have seen other people reflected in mirrors, but my mirror always reflects me, very disappointing but it is correct, but, in summary, I’ve spent very little time in writing this summary! Don’t look now Ethel or you’ll miss it, but there’s that thing behind you that disappears when you look at it. In conclusion: Everything is undefined. You may disagree. “Everything” is defined in the dictionary, after all. But there is a problem: words in the dictionary are all defined in terms of other words in the dictionary. If you want to know what “everything” is, you’ll first need to know what “the” and “a” are, which in turn depend on other words in the dictionary, and so on. Eventually you’ll get back to “everything.” That’s the infinite curiosity loop. Of course, this is hardly a problem. We all know what the word “everything” means without looking it up in the dictionary. We learned it from experience. As long as all the words we want to look up are defined in terms of some basic words we know from experience, we won’t be stuck in the infinite curiosity loop. Of cause, ambiguous words defeat the object anyway. Our knowledge comes from two places. The first is our experience. The second is our derivations, which are just rearrangements of our experience. Then to be more original, it helps to have a unique experience. He didn’t look happy. I have stuff to worry about, he said. He then furrowed his eyebrows. Shit, he said. Fucking shit. This went on for a while. And then: Oh no, he said. Oh no! What? I said. Shit! he said. He was really into it. So I was hula hooping naked whilst singing Surfin Bird by The Trashmen, just like I do every Sunday morning, when a woman started staring at me from across the street. Seriously, she just stared for a good 10 minutes. Why do people have to be so weird? When children are young, they learn what it means to be inside or outside of their home. Food can be inside or outside of the oven. Dogs can be inside or outside of their kennels. It occurs to them that “inside” and “outside” are terms with wide applicability. So what is outside the universe? There are monsters, hungry monsters, which eat little children who ask too many questions. And rightly so, children are horridly spoilt now, new car, caviar, what did I get as a child? Chicken pox is all I can recall. My religion says you have to conclude that your own ability to conclude things is faulty, she said. That’s the only way any of it makes any sense. I conclude that your religion is faulty, he said. She concluded that too, but she concluded that her conclusion was false. So you believe in it too? she said. In the words of I, even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day... http://www.randomboo.com/ExistenceOfReality.html http://www.randomboo.com/ExistenceOfReality.html Fri, 26 Feb 2010 19:45:13 GMT Time, and the very existence of everything that is the human concept of reality, is the measurement of what is potentially, immeasurably potential. Emotions, fear, hate, pain, joy, love, and so on, are conceived to sustain the organism’s existence, and are required to develop what is better known as ‘experience’. Consciousness is the ability to observe what you think is reality. We’re intimately hooked into the very existence of reality, without observation there would just be, this, expanding superposition of possibilities, with nothing definite ever actually happening. Every attempt spent on studying particles beyond a certain level, is flawed by the very act of studying. There is no one electron; an electron or any elementary particle exists only in relationship to other particles, or even the universe at large. This means that deeply enough, when you dive down into the nature of matter, everything we know about the everyday world dissolves. There are no objects any more, there are only relationships. There is no locality anymore; there is no time anymore. The more you look at something in detail and what we think of as solid matter, the less solid it begins to look. The only realities we know are the ones our brain manufactures. A brain receives millions of signals every minute, and we organize them into holograms which we project outside ourselves and label reality. Everything you smell, taste, feel, and see, are simply electrical signals interoperated by your brain. However, it is this very said ‘hologram’ that creates what is, although not, essentially real; what you see as existence, is so because you observe it as, what is, existent. The fabricated reality is reality because you defined the observation that you have presented yourself with. A spatula has the ‘potential’ to turn into a pink elephant, it doesn’t because of consciousness and its perceived concept of the reality it is presented and collectively responsible for. So, more interestingly, what is then the raison d'être of our consciousness? Is sustaining the existence of what is existence to us the meaning of life? http://www.randomboo.com http://www.randomboo.com Sun, 14 Dec 2009 00:05:13 GMT *posted on Facebook: RandomBoo discussion area* Well it’s here again, the annual Christian holiday commemorating the birth of some guy, who never had a shave and wore nothing but sandals and a bed sheet. He pranced about, going on and on about how great his dad is, and how he owned everything, and made everything, like some big-headed obnoxious six year old. I know it’s Christmas because I appear to be receiving countless bits of card with meaningless greetings from unnamed neighbours who, for the other 364 days of the year, are as joyfully approachable as a crocodile with toothache. Oh how wonderful it is, that they took the time to dribble their name on one of twenty identical cheap cards from a box of a hundred and vomited it through my letterbox, and everyone else’s letterbox, spreading their ignorant festive dogma like a virus. “Oh look dear, them at number 23 aren’t dead yet”. I’m then pressured to respond with a card! I’d much prefer just to buy a box of a hundred from Poundland and give them that, “here is a card for every Christmas for the next one hundred years, now fuk off you pestilent vandal!” Why do people do this? It’s so meaningless. I feel so pressured to reply; I can picture them in my head thinking “Oh how rude, he never sent a card back. Let’s never speak or smile at that bad man again” http://www.randomboo.com/DemocracyIsTwoFoxesAndAChicken.html http://www.randomboo.com/DemocracyIsTwoFoxesAndAChicken.html Sun, 14 Dec 2009 00:05:13 GMT Democracy is like two foxes and a chicken deciding what to have for dinner; righteousness is distorted by the vote. By marches the band of fire and fury; logic sold for popular acceptance. You read the papers, you buy the brands, majority defeats minority despite the apparent truth. You sentence death and brainwash offspring, vomiting a growth of a production of bodies, into a politically ungoverned democracy of the masses opinion. You are an angry mob; you vend and vent your judgment for a momentary alliance of response. You are the angry mob; a plague of ignorance. Two wrongs make a right in a democracy of an idiots vote. Torch his house and kill his goat, rape his wife and cut his throat, slay the cat and wear the coat, drown the misfit and watch her float. You are the angry mob; you’re a society allowed; you pursue aloud, you trail proud, as you perpetually follow the crowd. http://www.randomboo.com http://www.randomboo.com Tue, 09 Dec 2009 11:49:33 GMT Two short stories wrote by Steven Mullaney are now available for all to read at RandomBoo.com Elisabeth - http://www.randomboo.com/Elisabeth.html The Inner Quiver - http://www.randomboo.com/TheInnerQuiver.html http://www.randomboo.com/WhatYouSeeIsWhatYouGet.html http://www.randomboo.com/WhatYouSeeIsWhatYouGet.html Wed, 02 Dec 2009 11:49:33 GMT Time so bitterly desolate and so essences are mislaid to a demising existence. A forged reason is born in the heart of the mind, like the piercing light of the moon in the night of the sky. Well you have worn out your welcome; your pathetic concepts rub of like a disease. You live to work; you work to live, in a time, of a mind, of a rhyme you outlive. You’re lost in the sublime mime of reason, in the crime of self-treason. The liberating density of a mind that is a soul trapped in a moment of peril; the suicidal thrill. What are you? Why are you here? Reflect of circumstances for yourself! In a world of dying monkeys, the mind is all you have! Why continue this mediocre charade of feeding time your only possession? To live is to think, to think is to live. Life can be beautiful, for life is a concept, and concept is a mind; what you see is what you get. http://www.randomboo.com/WhatNow.html http://www.randomboo.com/WhatNow.html Thu, 24 Sep 2009 11:31:46 GMT A thunderous roar rumbled as a thread- like flash of light cracked and shredded the dark canvas of the sky. Rain plummeted from the heavens like razor-sharp rocks. And yet, within this shower of pitchforks I felt at ease, almost meditated, like a shell of solitude shielded me. Don’t get me wrong, given the choice of walking along the gutter of a spineless country road or being at home snug in front of the fireplace; the latter would be the preference. Alas the current outcome of the time was not optional but pleasantly, home was the destination. I remember all I could think of was her, or should that be ‘it’. The fiendish mischievous little parasite that left me empty like a husk! Unfortunately this inconsolable husk missed her; her smile that creased up her face and lit up her half-mast eyes, the way she stroked the side of her lip when deep in thought, the way she touched my arm when she laughed. I could understand her wanting more than me, but I could think of nothing more than her. I remember when I first met her in college when I was studying art. She was new like me but unlike all the other single girls there at the time, the other men didn’t harass her for attention. She was not your page three pin-up girl material so everyone just left her alone. I always thought it was the imperfections that made her perfect, she was real, and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. No one else could see this; it was like she was my little secret. However now this nostalgic reminiscence is slaughtering me within, it’s like that inner quiver you feel just before you cry, your heart drowns in its own defeat as you wonder, you ponder, like a philosopher in a godless world asking, what now? http://www.randomboo.com/ http://www.randomboo.com/ Sun, 13 Sep 2009 10:30:42 GMT Elisabeth is a short story wrote by Steven Mullaney that was this week published by First Edition magazine. The First Edition magazine is available now labelled as an October edition in all good WHSmiths stores nationwide. Alternatively you can purchase the said magazine online at firsteditionmagazine.com http://www.randomboo.com/Reflextion.html http://www.randomboo.com/Reflextion.html Sat, 29 Aug 2009 00:00:42 GMT The mind is eternal, infinite, and spiritually potential. Unlike the encompassing body, it exists outside space and time. The body is not eternal and infinite, but instead decays and is webbed into the delusional reality matrix of now and here. My reflection incarcerates me, envelopes me in a nauseating consciousness. Why? It nauseates me because I’m no longer free; I’m no longer infinite. Infinite means having no limits, and having no limits means beginning and ending nowhere, encompassing everything everywhere always. Therefore, from the point of view of an infinite being, nothing exists but it; it is totally, absolutely, and unconditionally everything and all that there is. To an un-reflected me, there are no others, not even the concept 'others'. No 'me', no 'you', no 'we' no 'they' no 'this', no 'that', no 'these', no 'those'. There is only 'I'. In the entire Universe, there is only one identity, and it is 'I'. It is that, no matter how many things may seem to you to exist, from the point of view of an infinite me, there exists only one thing, in only one place, at only one time, and all of that is and always is wholly itself, I. By definition, I is mind and mind encompasses, or includes, or is, everything that there is, and therefore there exists -- there can exist -- no thing, no where, and no when, which it is not. Whatever is, it is. That is what being infinite is; living in the mind, means: Having no limits of any kind. No beginning and no end, no fixed centre and no circumference. No boundaries of any kind, neither in time nor in space, or in any other dimension; no specific form, either physical or conceptual, no name and no shape. In order to make proper use of a mirror, a viewer must be able to distinguish himself or herself from everything else reflected in the glass, not to mention from the glass itself, and the room in which it is located, and the time and the space in which the reflection is occurring. It’s this reality that troubles me, bounds and limits me to self. I become no longer infinite; I’m dying. http://www.randomboo.com/Conclusion.html http://www.randomboo.com/Conclusion.html Sun, 23 Aug 2009 00:00:42 GMT In an orgy of self-pity a man can commit things he believes imperative. They succumb to the fabricated sensations of pleasure galore, conceived by the overindulgence of gluttony and self-physiological-gratification. Red plonk, cigarettes, and cake are all that is needed in this symphony of artistic contempt. Stimulating intoxication feeds on the self-pitying demoralized sloths, and so the wretched misery surges. Depression is the product of an epiphany, there is no paranoia about being alone in this godforsaken world, for you are alone. You see depression is not a mental illness, sometimes it’s just a light in a room best kept in the dark. Once that light is on, the only thing left to do is leave the room. http://www.randomboo.com/IHateMobilePhones.html http://www.randomboo.com/IHateMobilePhones.html Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:20:42 GMT I’m currently in exploration for a substitute portable cellular contraption after the novelty of possessing a touch screen phone has become less a joy and more an irritation. My present phone is the Sony Ericsson P1i, big, heavy, and has crashed more times than the American stock market. I’m at present with the O2 network so naturally I’m limited to what phones I can choose from. I can say after browsing though the latest publication of phone releases that there is not a single mobile phone listed within the eight shiny pages that I desire. I don’t want any of this, crap! I don’t want an 8.1MP camera with face-recognition and built in Wi-Fi, DVD recorder, walkman features, GPS, surround sound, disco lights, Facebook updater, and a touch screen finger print password reader. I miss my old phone, the one that had a feature to allow you to just ring someone. Now I can’t even telephone someone devoid of having to sit a degree in mathematics just to permit me to calculate the dialogues rate. It’s 10p a minute except after six pending the squandering of the first three minutes on a friend of the same network minus O2 bolt-ons. Then there’s the exasperating beep beep it blurts out followed by a depiction of an envelope. ‘You Have Mail’ Oh wonderful, “wi8 ur turn b4 u rply pls lol 2nite b gr8 Spk 2 u l8r coz i lyl cul LC x” and there’s me thinking the Scottish where bad. Anyway, to end this complaining, I’m going to cheer myself up, by sending an anonymous text to someone random saying “I hate you, please die!” http://www.randomboo.com/Madness.html http://www.randomboo.com/Madness.html Sat, 01 Aug 2009 03:30:02 GMT There are one hundred and twenty five billion galaxies in the universe, each containing over a hundred billion stars spiralling aimlessly. It is here on one of these stars the floating corpse of a planet labelled Earth is staged; infected with over six and a half billion bewildered glorified monkeys. Every orbit of the star this godforsaken rock completes the monkeys run! Vomiting incoherent dribble pointlessly into cellular phones and purchasing high definition televisions, so they can observe other monkeys perform this pointless ritual of socializing. Obtaining bigger, faster, louder vehicles and bigger greater houses in the hope of attracting a mate, so they can spawn additional monkeys like bacteria and infest further still! On and on like a never ending circus performing, always performing, meaninglessly. This irrational, illogical behaviour is madness! Yet despite this madness being apparent they chose to ignore. Their innate morals are inherited and their justice system dogmatic. They criticize law and complain unconstructively then follow regardless. They conceive concepts like evil to label sly motives and natural obstructionism. They put their faith in the penning of past and claim inconsistencies the work of a devil. They claim a dice throw justifies a saint. They claim to be righteous and virtuously good, despite an egotistic anticipation of contentment galore. Then they condemn a theorist and start a never-ending war. http://www.randomboo.com/MeaningOfLife.html http://www.randomboo.com/MeaningOfLife.html Sun, 26 Jul 2009 00:01:00 GMT What is it all for; this labyrinth of delusional sentiment that incites irrational justifications? A flamboyant token of veracity is desired regardless of its contradiction. Is the reality as we know it imposed by nature? Was and is the very questioned existence conceived on a concept? There aren’t such things as music, harmony or colours in the physic world. Just traveling molecules: "There is not, external to us, hot or cold, but only different velocities of molecules; there aren’t sounds, callings, harmonies, but just variations in the pressure of the air; there aren’t colours, or light, just electro-magnetic waves" H. Von Foerster. Are we - and all living beings - just "survival machines, blindly programmed to preserve the selfish molecules known as genes", as Richard Dawkins stated? Are we incapable of knowing beyond the frames imposed to us by nature? Is there any significance for life in a Universe of billions of stars that ignore us? Is there any significance for life in a Universe whose dimensions and nature overcome our understanding? In the words of Pascal, from the seventeenth century: "When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity that lies before and after it, when I consider the little space I fill and I see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces of which I am ignorant, and which know me not, I rest frightened, and astonished, for there is no reason why I should be here rather than there. Why now rather than then? Who has put me here? By whose order and direction have this place and times have been ascribed to me? http://www.randomboo.com/InsufferableHeat.html http://www.randomboo.com/InsufferableHeat.html Sun, 5 Jul 2009 00:01:00 GMT I would pen some reminisce or philosophical observation to compensate for the lack in content being submitted here lately. Alas I’m lazy and very hot. The temperatures leaping off the charts, my mind has been melting slowly. When I am under severe heat whatever concentration I retain is basically focused on important issues like “How can it be so hot?” and “I think I am going to faint” or “I need to get somewhere cold”. I can not sleep due to this insufferable heat. Every night I just sweat buckets like a scouser watching Crimewatch. I’m continuously turning the pillow over in exploration for a dry patch. I do in fact recall posting once on this site about not being able to escape the perpetual cold. Funny this English weather, like a reoccurring novelty; shocked I am loading on the coats then flabbergasted further still when I’m ripping them off again. All in all one is not amused. http://www.randomboo.com/societyofthespians.html http://www.randomboo.com/societyofthespians.html Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:01:00 GMT Look here upon this society of thespians, cultivated by reciprocal delusion, matured by observational amendment. My adolescence pillaged recklessly to state void of compassion. What is love, if love be irrevocably blind? This catharsis; this adulterated liberation, manifestly not blind nor gratifying neither. Alas love a deficient concept. What is this perpetual adoring; why this pestilent parasite? A mutual quintessence presents not. My sterile disposition inept; how can one adore whilst not adored? What motive is spent upon this desolate stage? I loathe beauty, I detest company; I despise what I grasp not. This self-solidarity of solitude is my narcotic ecstasy in this theatre of belligerent bastards; this congregation of arrogant pretentious cretins. What be love but a delusional comfort. What be life but a dawdling demise. What be thou, the god; recipient of my vomited discourse? A nonentity you be but a fictitious token. http://www.randomboo.com/OriginOfLife.html http://www.randomboo.com/OriginOfLife.html Tue, 09 Jun 2009 00:01:00 GMT When a Christian named Kirk Cameron was asked to give his best shot at proving the existence of God, this is what he came up with: "the fact that a painting proves there is a painter, the human body proves there must be a designer" The problem with said argument is it can be too easily defeated. To begin, why can't paintings paint themselves? Paintings can not paint themselves because they are made of chemicals that can't replicate themselves. Living matter on the other hand does contain a chemical that can replicate itself. Even if god made DNA he isn’t required to intervene every time animals mate, the DNA does the job on its own. So the real question is how did DNA appear; how did living matter come from none living sludge? Here again people need to drop a common argument based on complete ignorance of scientific theory which is this: "Scientists believe life just popped out of nowhere" of cause that's not what scientists believe. Life popping out of nowhere is no better a theory than life popping out of the hand of a deity. So what do scientists believe about the origin of life? Lets take this step by step, The first step involves looking at the primordial earth about 4.7 billion years ago, mostly wet, very warm and with an atmosphere composed of allsorts of gases, Hydrogen, Hydrogen Cyanide, Methane and Ammonia among them. DNA is just a long chain molecule made up of just four different types of nucleotide, so the first question is: where did the nucleotides come from? And no there is no need to imagine that God sprinkled them on the Earth. They can form quite happily on there own. In 1961, Joan Oró found that amino acids could be made from hydrogen cyanide (HCN) and ammonia in a water solution. He also found that his experiment produced a large amount of the nucleotide base adenine. Experiments conducted later showed that the other RNA and DNA bases could be obtained through simulated prebiotic chemistry with a reducing atmosphere. Conclusion: live can quite happily form in the conditions that were around at that time. How can we know this if we weren't there? I suppose you could say the same for any field of science from the explosion of stars to the existence dinosaurs, to the eruption of an ancient volcano. The fact is we don't need to see events to understand what happened as long as the evidence is there, I can't prove that a bolt of lighting is the result of an electrical discharge even if I am looking at it, what I can say is that the origin of life has a natural explanation and in all cases of science we go with the natural explanation because if there is an natural explanation that fits all the evidence it makes more sense than an supernatural one with no evidence that relies on the intervention of unseeing and undetectable beings. http://www.randomboo.com/Sin.html http://www.randomboo.com/Sin.html Sat, 30 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Alone I am perched upon my rigid chair within my frigid chamber. It’s dark and gloomy, deeply obscured by inky shadows devouring the warmth, devouring the very soul, devouring the very existence of the room. Only the echoing pulsation of a clock drumming its piecing rhythm remains. This is my chamber, this is my life. I find myself lost in a pointless void, with neither reason nor benefit to persevere life. What be the purpose in such a life I am burdened with, hampered, trapped in the restraining chain of anxiety that be the very existence of I? I’m a talent-less fool with nothing but a dream I can not translate, nothing but a concept of life I can not understand, like an inkless pen I stand here inanimate, in the shadow of my own dream, a nonentity. With all my sins and foil judgements, I am not disorientated, adrift, or astray, I am lost. Everyday this tormenting reminiscence tickles my throat, a sort of displacing and desiccated feel that submits me to sensations of sickness. I can’t even look myself in the mirror anymore without diverse feelings of defeatism and loathing as my mind becomes segregated from me. I seem to have washed my hands of myself in an attempt to rid myself of hurt and hate, I am not me, and I will never want to be. I welcome the utopia of death, I desire the worlds end. I hate the human species, no compassion; I have no sympathy for them at all. They have overstayed their welcome. They are corrupted with greed like lust and gluttony. The mentality of Hitler, the self-discipline of Roscoe Arbuckle, and about as useful to the world as Graham Norton, This is not madness, this is simply observation. An epiphany has dawned, forgive my previous haste towards the aforementioned sin, I am no sinner, how can I be? It’s fictional like evil be just opinion. I feel a self disrepute, but how can I be shameful of particular reminiscences when only I have knowledge of them. Who is judging me? However, innate personality also nonexistent therefore said memories is me, I am the product of my upbringing. One should then embrace these sin labelled memories as token. Life is no test! As contradictory as the following statement may sound I insure you it is not. You must realize that there is no rabbit hole. The meaning of life is the desire of life. Emotional obstructionism is the human sphere, a nucleus manipulating the pulses of the self renders our one desire into a multifaceted intricate imagination of aspiration however utterly insignificant, and all the splendour is this bio-contraption simply desires life, nothing more. I am no sinner. http://www.randomboo.com/Television.html http://www.randomboo.com/Television.html Sat, 23 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Until recently I entertained myself with the charming witticisms offered to me via Radio Four. However I was then tempted and consequently folded by the offer of a petite flat screen television that can be suspended on a partition such as my bedroom wall. This will be great, I foolishly predicted. Freeview appears to be all the quality that was once offered by the old five channel analogue system, only now is divided over forty plus channels. Most of which present nothing but back to back ‘Cash In The Attic’, a show that I have observed before but never witnessed anybody ever actually go in an attic, should really be called ‘Cash In The Shed’. Britain's Got Talent! The names incorrect for a start, and not only does it make me cringe but is also suspiciously much like Fame Academy and Pop Idol. Freeview also has a lot of channels that don’t even start till six o’clock and even then it’s not long before they show cheap game shows. Presenters I’ve never heard of drugged up on Prozac ripping off Family Fortunes, and using surveys taken in Cardiff, so the top answer on famous cities in England is Ryan Giggs. Graham Norton is given his own show because they literately can not find anywhere to dump him. The channel Dave just has five episodes of TopGear on a loop. A gay, a lesbian, and a drag queen walk into a room, no this isn’t a joke, it’s called Big Brother, and it’s accompanied by even more mind numbing shows like Big Brother’s Little Brother, Big Brother’s Big Mouth, Big Brother’s Little Sister, Big Brother’s Second Cousin Twice Removed, well I’m making them up now. So many adverts are vomited out; an episode of QI can last up to two hours. The News is presented by twelve different people playing musical chairs, and the weather man’s background map has been replaced by what looks like Space Invaders. Entertainment, Informative? Just looks like crap to me. http://www.randomboo.com/May16.html http://www.randomboo.com/May16.html Sat, 16 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Imagine I ask, as a incoherent writer to a moronic reader, imagine if you will the hurt and horror I've seen today , It is and now was May the 16th and as I witnessed the intrepid ball of fire haughtily throw itself into the presence of my sky thus impertinently inhibiting my sleep and leaving me some what in a fractious set mood on what was a day I could furtively announce as my insular birthday. I say could as I won't for the less said about such a infamy ever insatiable day the better. But more to the point this day, this evil day of petering hopes and impudent reflections enveloped in life's token of fear, must be the worst day of ones indolent life, as if not being the innate renaissance man one always dreamt wasn't bad enough, I now have to continual on in this feeble uncongenial body with the education of a 'special' pre-school 'window licking' [sic] dunce and wealth of a feral peasant. Ordered around by flatulent egotistic monkeys and looked down upon as nothing more than a cretin one was lucky not to find clinging on to the soles of ones shoes. And then the Birthday drink with them rehearse witticisms in pubs of ear-splitting noise that makes the chairs next to me bleed. This should be a day of furtive gluttony instead replaced by emotion suicide detached from inner mood swings and the dreaded "Happy Birthday" with an automated half smile as the little man in the head bangs his clenched fists on the walls shouting "Rot in hell you Bastard!". "Oh is it your Birthday?" enters another unwanted guest to your circle, "Yes it is his birthday" replies the first on your behalf as if you were unable to answer the monkey yourself and how dare you refer to me with a pronoun in my presence... Blasphemy! But anyway, on with the story, the shocking story that will make your blood curdle and make the pulsation of your heart multiply uncontrollably for it was a cut of card, the custom practice of receiving the truculent gash wound onslaughts on defenceless index fingers and thumbs from hazardous untamed and unwanted meaningless empty Birthday cards consequencing in acute pain and discomfort in the misleading form of paper cuts now clogged with a pound of glitter, "Yea thanks" what effort it must have caused you. Can people not see that all I want is a normal day, I like my normal days and often ponder on my unhealthy life style as I lay there in my pit using every effort just to continue breathing as I gulp down my Bottle of Rioja's Marques Del Norte Reserva red wine (my favourite) with a burning silk cut cigarette clinging to the outer side of my lips and eating nothing but a balanced diet of chocolate, I like my life, the only day of my life I don't like is the horrid annual birthday that I'm forced to participate in to celebrate my life. http://www.randomboo.com/Monday.html http://www.randomboo.com/Monday.html Mon, 11 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Blasting clatter in a bang of despair, nothing can match the aggravation inflicted by the exasperatingly high pitched screaming of the alarm clock, and at the blink of my wakening it was most unwelcome. Another day awaited me. Even as I pen this dribbling nostalgic confetti of reminiscence, my mind pierces in antagonism. But, like every show that is one’s life, the show must go on. Ascend; I then performed, as I escaped the place of my slumbering rest. The deserted bed felt damp and flat, as the bed sheet adhered to my skin. Clinging like fate, I knew then at that very moment that it was all down hill from there. http://www.randomboo.com/Chav.html http://www.randomboo.com/Chav.html Sat, 09 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Commonly thought to be of inferior intellect, the Chavette surprises us with its cunning plan to avoid taking up a professional career and provide itself with free accommodation supplied by tax payers by spawning multi coloured mini chavs at a early stage in life, usually mid teens. Clearly recognisable by their distinctive tribal Burberry they congregate in town centres and on street corners, Chavs have a reputation of being creative with public property and motor vehicles, building themselves Chaviots out of mechcano sets and strip lighting, and providing us with humorous banta written on toilet walls like 'Shit' and 'Matt woz ere' in an attempt to relieve our boredom while urinating. Their language is a basic form of English thus avoiding any words they cannot spell or pronounce, even to the extent of creating new words only they know the meaning of. Hunting in large groups Chavs will single out the weakest, smallest prey and attack it without mercy avoiding any personal injury and insuring victory. Chavs unfortunately don't yet fall into the category of rodent and in effect cannot be bludgeoned to death under the guise of pest control. Darn!- I think I speak for everyone when I say thank you Chavs for the great contribution you've made to this country, you've made it what it what it is today, a shit hole. http://www.randomboo.com/Time.html http://www.randomboo.com/Time.html Sat, 02 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT Time is the variation in the momentum of observed change. How foolish was I to have conceived this feeble idea. Time is not an element but a concept. Ones own grasp of time is always different from another’s as is the interpretation of one’s own time. It is perhaps best understood as awareness of psychological time; psychological time passes swiftly for us while enjoying reading a book but slows dramatically when waiting the boiling of water on a stove. The writer’s age here may be different from that of the readers’ but who has lived longer is not simple to answer. Age is often erroneously measured by the clocks perception but not our own. Einstein proved that the time you are in can be distorted by your position and speed, Einstein even opened the gates to the plausibility of time travel. However time travel as depicted in the science fiction moving pictures presented in theatres is a little exaggerated. Only to the observer do you travel time. Technically time exists but only because of the variations in energies. If the universe truly consisted of nothing then time would be non-existent.