Manmachine201 looking back

When i'm accused of being passive aggressive I tend not to confront my accuser at the time, I think its preferable to retaliate at a later date. It's good to let the resentment bubble under while I leave up toilet seats, "forget" to flush and sometimes smear shit on my own curtains in the hope of causing conflict unrelated to the actual problem at hand whilst using these problems as a vehichle for the actual actual problem at hand. This does not make me a passive aggressive, it just means that although I want an argument, I want it on my terms, I want it to be about shitting and not about the flaws in my character.

This would have been an ideal introduction to a previous blog http://manmachine201.blogspot.com/2010/07/manmachine201s-guide-to-pm-delete-as.html
It might have improved it a great deal because reading back, it wasn't as good as it could have been. However, that ship has sailed and I need to look elsewhere for inspiration.

At times I look to the stars to try to find inspirement and to help with my writistic aspiratings. Anthony Burgess who wrote a Clockwork Orange but if I wrote another sentence I might lose you, if I haven't already.

So, the best place to look for inspiration in the stars, so while walking towards these train stations I so often talk about I looked up to the stars in the sky which were mostly obscured by clouds.



The Pink Floyd album cover.

It was at this point that a gap appeared in the clouds and a bright star close to the horizon caught my attention.

"Cooooeeeey!" said the star.

Being close to the horizon, noticing the stars brightness and its proximity to the constellation Orion, I asked the star if it was in fact the dog star Sirius.

"I'm deadly Sirius, and don't call me Shirley."

Brilliant! A star with a sense of humour. a rarity these days, much less a star that can actually talk. I'm not talking about the stars that you get these days like Matt Cardle, Wagner and President Ronald Regan.



I'm talking about the actual supermassive fuck off balls of nuclear energy which inhabit the otherwise vacuous infinite region of space.

Now this annecdote would go down really well at a dinner party, it has the pop culture references for the everyman. (X-factor, a joke stolen from Airplane delivered by a recently deceased actor, clouds.) The astrophysicists would love the references to Cirius, vacuums and nuclear stuff. I'd truly imagine the astrophysicists would piss themselves laughing at the Cirius joke because its funny.



People at this hypothetical dinner party all toasting my brilliant annecdote.

As well as all these things there are also subtle references to my previous blogs. (Britain's got talent, Susan Boyle, SuBo)



Previously I have claimed that Susan Boyle could be a side effect of the experiments in Switzerland with the Hadron Collider.
http://manmachine201.blogspot.com/2009/12/manmachine201s-uneasy-guide-to-physics.html
The above picture showing Boyle concentrating so hard that she has created a star can't be anymore conclusive in terms of proof that I was right. She is some kind of superbeing, able to create stars and energy draining black holes. she's like Magneto, the Nemesis of the X-men.



Judging by the number of links that I have added to this writing harking back to older writing, I have failed in my quest to be inspired by the stars prefering to look backwards for inspiration. But fuck it, I like to look back. When Lott's wife looked back at the burning Sodom after God told her and her husband not to, she turned into a pillar of salt. Not a pinch of salt like how the bible should be taken with. As much as I like the bible and God and stuff, I like my wife more than I like salt. Plus where is the harm in looking back every now and again.



Maybe I'm missing the point, perhaps its another character flaw to add to my passive aggressive nature and the fact that I sometimes smear shit on my own curtains.



Or blood.

manmachine201's uneasy guide to the 2minutehate.

The banks have fucked up the world, the students are actually doing something these days and Simon Cowell is almost completely in control of the UK singles and album charts. The reason I listed these things as signs of the times is because of the rule of three. Three is the magic number, De La Soul told us, but they never went into details about the almost infinite number of numbers both before and after them.



However, the number I wish to focus on is not the number 3 but infact its next door neighbour down 1. more specifically this number is coupled with an amount of minutes and an incredibly negative and direct feeling, on the feelings spectrum it is almost directly opposite the feeling of love.

I speak of the 2minutehate. A group of people so angry, so confused and so secretive, that they did not know that they existed. Two or 2 scientists (depending on how dedicated you are to the academic rule that any number under 10 or ten should be typed out as a word) began back in 2001 (the year of, but not to be confused with the Arthur C Clarke novel, much less the film based on the book directed by, but not starring Stanley Kubrik) to colate and compile every single fact in the universe. These scientists were Mambo Janbestien and Sydney HarbourBridge.



HarbourBridge



No pic of Jamberstein, he is incredibly reclusive and hates clocks even more than HarbourBridge.

Naturally collating every fact ever concocted in the universe can be a tiring and unrewarding job which can leave 2 (or two) people feeling rather jaded, angry and impatient, and as a result of this they began making up facts. In fact they began making up facts before they managed to collate the first actual fact. The results were a combination of Sydney's oversimplified view of the world and Mambo's talent of connecting things which would otherwise never appear in the same sentence.



Following making up every fact in the universe, covering everything from Sugar to Shit, they diversified into the drinks market. The Fucking Fuck@r was born and they gleefully drunk it. Drinking this turned them into people with very nasty hangovers.



Hangovers lead to hatred and eventually this hatred would manifest itself in two minute bursts when both of these angry men would stare vacantly at channel 4 teletext shouting about the state of the music charts, if only they knew how much worse it would get, they probably wouldn't have been as angry.







People with singlasses, music of secondary importance.

The fucking Fucker saw them through troubles such as sePtember 11th, september 12th and september 13th. The hangover was probably at a managable level by september 14th, they obviously celebrated by by making themselves another fucking Fucker.



The preparation of the fucking Fucker.

Eventually they lost the plot and met tragic fates after forming a band called the Beatles.
Sydney, having never had his own name tried to steal a second name from a Harry Enfield show and was subsequently sued.



because he needed the money.

After this his substance abuse spiralled out of control. HarbourBridge ended up disolving himself in a glass of water, mistaking himself for an alka-seltza after a night on the heroin and lemonade.

Jamberstein had a far more successful career peddling words at people. They would walk into a building and he would ensure that they left with hundreds of words, if they came back late with these words he would sue them. With the proceeds from his litergations he took a course in debate. He got so good at debate that he proved that God didn't exist.



He then went on to prove that he was God and subsequently stopped existing.

Fortunately for both of them reincarnation ensured their rebirth further away from each other with ample breathing space, thus giving themselves a chance to focus on things which were not the pop charts. They got to see things like flowers and feel breezes on their faces they feared words like 'fucking' & 'Fucker' which was recently discovered to have Cointreau, Vodka and Gin.



It's nice to see they both still exist, even though their myspace page hasn't been updated since september 11th 2005.