Mystical Dome of Impenetrability

It is not understood, either by Scientists or Engineers or, indeed, Mystics, how the Mystical Dome's scaffolding is constructed or from what materials it is made. What is known, however, is that in order for such a contraption to assemble and to function, an urgent and rampant need for isolation from danger, real or perceived, is required.

When activated, the dome (or, in some cases, capsule) (or bubble) will completely surround a person (or, in some cases, an animal) (not that humans aren't also animals) (you know what I mean) (clarification: we are ALL animals!). The dome (I'm just gonna call it a 'dome' cos I like the word) (though its shape is probably quite indefinable, even abstract) (also, it's transparent) (so who the hell knows what its freaking shape is anyway)...The dome seems to act as a shield or barrier to proximate unpleasantness. Its capabilities appear to be almost exhaustive; it can prevent sunburn on high-UV days or keep out lightening and rain during a storm, it can block a speeding vehicle and prevent squishing or deflect a meteorite shower from performing a skull re-sculpture. Furthermore, the dome allows the 'wearer' to continue breathing unaided for extended periods; this may be due to either the dome being able to produce oxygen via some unexplained mechanism or that the dome's substance is selectively permeable (making the dome not entirely impenetrable).

Possibly even more astonishing than the dome's physical abilities, are its so-called 'psychological' abilities. As well as possessing a faculty for material shelter, the dome also displays a kind of ethereal empathy. The Obscure-Translucent-Shelter-Psyche-Phenomenon, as it is known in academic circles, manifests as a capacity for the dome to latch onto, and sync with, the mental state of the sentient being (or, in some cases, bean) which the dome has enshrouded. This serves both to provide a generalized solace for the sentient being (SB), as well as to isolate the SB from any volatile emotional vagaries (VEV) to which the SB may be subjected (unless the SB has willingly chosen to be under the thrall of VEV). Experimental data has shown that an SB experiencing the influence of a mystical dome will display a biochemistry profile consistent with a state of tranquillity.

Until the discovery of the mystical dome, conventional wisdom had generally dictated that a suit of armour and a heart of stone were necessary to protect an SB from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but now it seems that this is not strictly the case. Certainly it is true that "armour and stonehearts" (as the saying goes) have proven to be very effective protection, but this method has been associated with some negative side effects: limited mobility, chaffing, and elevated levels of social disconnection. Moreover, anecdotal evidence indicates that this method may have a tendency to attract more slings and arrows than would normally be expected from ordinary outrageous fortune (perhaps the slings and arrows are attracted to the shiny of the metal armour).

So, if a requirement for shelter becomes apparent, and a mystical dome is potentially manifestable, then evidence suggests that the mystical dome method, with its many advantages, is the way to go.

I REFUSE TO GO OUTSIDE!

Willow is taking a foetal position against going outside (not that anyone was forcing her go outside - cat logic is a unique logic). She will be blocking the door until cats everywhere are free to stay inside! (Even if they want to go outside). Also, doormats will be folded at one corner to symbolize feline oppression. (I'm assuming either Willow or the house-poltergeist folded the mat, as it wasn't me).

Planet Earth! You Rock! (as well as being MADE of rock)

An observation (mine) has been made that the previous 3 posts of this blog have contained Planet Earth; as in, some kind of mention of or reference to, Planet Earth. Obviously (or not), it would be ludicrous to suggest that Planet Earth itself has existed within these blog posts, for that would be quite an extraordinary manipulation of the physics of the physical realm - I suspect even the most nimble Time Lord would experience some difficulty with such a space-time continuum defying manoeuvre.

However, it's not entirely illogical/crazy to say that some of the Earth resides in the blog posts. The screens upon which the blog posts appear contain material ripped from the Earth's body. Ouch! The server that stores the blog posts is made from Earth. The brains of people that see the blog posts (and hence, the blog posts are then contained within their brains) are made from, as Joni Mitchell says, "billion year old carbon" - though, actually from "stardust", but by the time the carbon gets to being brain, it's been 'Earth-carbon' for quite awhile. So, really, blog posts and Earth are an intricately intertwined, cross-linked, woveny basket (case) tapestry.

As is often the case with my blog posts, I have no idea what the point is, and this post is a prime example of this phenomenon. All I can really deduce is that Planet Earth is a part of all of us, and of this blog, and as such, at times, it will seep into our sub-concious and make itself heard. Also, the Earth kindly allows us to ride upon its 'back' as it travels through space, which is great for us because, without the Earth, we would most likely spiral wildly out of control and die.

So, in honour of the awesomeness of Planet Earth, and as a way to fill up more blog space, here are some pictures of Earth:

Normal Earth:

Rorschach Earth:

Post Modern Earth:

Maniacal Laughing Earth:

The Bathroom as Feline Sanctuary

The bathroom is, of course, sanctuary for many human beings. But, during this asshole heatwave (planet earth is trying to kill us, and fair enough! - cos we're assholes), Ms Willow has also discovered the serenity, and coolness, of this tiled and porcelain temple.

However, it's a little disconcerting when I have to heed the call of nature.

New Year's Day Message From Effulgent13

Goodbye, 2013. Hello, 2014.

This Blog is not affiliated with, nor does it play favourites with, any calender year. It endeavours to appreciate each year as each year happens, and to assess each year on its own merits. It tries not to judge years. It gives each year equal opportunity to reach its highest potential, or to sink to its lowest, most disgusting, depravity. It embraces the (so called) positives and negatives of every year. Climbing the biggest mountain or plunging head first into the deepest, darkest chasm; it's all the same, really.

2013 has now passed and 2014 is upon us; whatever will be, will be, or not.

[P.S. However, my experience of 2014 would be greatly enhanced - in a "positive" way - if dvd distributors of planet earth would release Bates Motel, season 1, on region 4 (Australia/New Zealand/South & Central America). Also, Mr Show with Bob and David (all seasons, though any season will do at this point!).]

Worm Butthole

Worm Butthole. These haunting words have been haunting my mind for the past haunting weeks. Their confounding portentousness have bedevilled my very soul. I am awash with flabbergast.

The words came to me in a vision. An electronic vision. As I was attending to my duty of worshipping the Great Television Overlord (praise thee!), the images on the screen formed a 'vision' (which they frequently do), and the vision spoke to/at me. Amongst the snowy whirr of cluttered chattering, one of the characters mumbled something seemingly incoherent, but in the interstices of this ranting drivel, my ears did elucidate a wondrous revelation: worm butthole.

It is, of course, possible that 'worm butthole' is actually what the character was meant to say, and thus not a message from another dimension (or even from the beyond!). But it was quite random and completely unrelated to anything else going on with the narrative at the time, AND it was worm butthole! And it wasn't one of those wibbly-wobbly, avant garde type productions where kooky-ass randomness is often par for the course. Nor was it a nature documentary (a place where the words 'worm butthole' might not be entirely out of place).

Also, I thoroughly reject any suggestion that I might have imagined these words. The notion that I have a silly and puerile mind which, of its own volition, conjured the aural worm butthole, is completely abhorrent to me.

So now I face the daunting task of discerning and deconstructing these powerful words. Are they an urgent environmental sustainability call to planet earth to make more use of worms for composting? Or is there a deeper, metaphysical message contained within - are these words, perhaps, referencing the time-space continuum, signalling the existence of multidimensional worm-holes, which connect to each other via 'butts'?

I also face the existential question: was I the only one? Were these words meant only for me? Or did they travel haphazardly into the ears of anyone who happened to be in front of the television at the time. There may be other worm butthole ponderers. Maybe I am not alone! I shall make it my life's work to seek out these (possible) others and we can ponder together. And there will be cake. And we may even become a cult.

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!

Primal Scream

Why am I yelling?
What am I yelling?
Should I try to stop?
I yell at the living and at the dead.
I yell at innocent objects.
Do they need to be yelled at?
None of them yell back.
Will anything be achieved?
Maybe it isn't proper yelling. Maybe it's more of a generalized, outwardly directed, raspy, high-pitched vocal exuberance?
I think it's therapeutic, if not a little noisy.
My throat is sore but my mind is calm.

Like Feathers in the Wind

I wonder if I should tell the person whose clothes are hanging on the left clothesline (and strewn across the yard) about the fantastic 'new' clothes drying aid known as The Clothes Peg:

Also, what's with the creepy, colour matched clothes baskets? Isn't pale blue a portent of doom?? And why do I never see these people who apparently live in my block of flats and hang out their clothes to dry and make noise when they do, but who seem to vanish when I look out the window to spy on them??? Are they even real???? Is the backyard haunted?!?!?