• the bugs were wiped out at the last place, costing a fortune in insecticides and treatments. the bus has them. poor people who are uneffected by their bites so much will have places where they drip from the ceilings and live in every crevice. they bring them on the bus. there's no way to keep them off, so the seats are fizzing with life. you have to sit away from the wall with your socks up, elbows not touching the seats, and even then they'll crawl into the collar of your shirt, or hitch hike.

    my sweet dear eliza jane stopped by. my idiot friends brought them over, let me see, want to say six times. eliza had to help some one earlier. they left some friends in her car. after our brief date, i spotted a full grown sixth instar crawling on my clothes. they have this funny dawdling little gait, like the background music on the arcade game milipede beat the drum for the crazy meandering march. I crushed it, hoping it didn't lay eggs. breakfast lunch and dinner on my calf. another fifty dollars worth of insecticide blasted in every pore of the abode, up until three am, i can feel them everywhere.

    reading about exotic filesystems and how base processes interact with the machinery like the cellular microcosm zipping up proteins. i decide to take a quick bath. it's been a long day, and it's not even started.

    the other night king kong bundy stopped by. we sat on the hill in the light of the waning gibbous, staring at the stars, counting sattelites and planetary drift. his family has them. they're too poor to persue serious treatment. we're all fairly morose about it, but in the light of the stars it's hard to think about anything so near.

    the mosquitos set in, thick.

    he stays outside and goes home, a little embarassed.

    the file systems are so complex all i get is the bare naked poetry of what's real, just barely. then the bath. is that a mosquito bite, aching me? surely.



  • No, there it is. That alert, that zing, the alarm.

    There's no welt. Oh no. We wait a few minutes, cleaning ourselves. No, there's the welt. Time to get the epi-pen. Just in time, won't leave one of those horrible bruises.

    Ok. Time for action. Where were we? What position was our body in? How were placed in the furniture? Where are the crevices? Another fifty dirty dollars I don't have on all the latest.

    Four hours of cleaning, silicosis shrapnel everywhere, in and on everything, bathed everything else in liquid death. whole house so full of fumes and dust that i'm light headed. the neighbor's blue roses are in bloom. I can feel my pulse, and the cone of silence is upon me. Act, act, act. Best the pest.

    My poor everything, everywhere, always. My God, it's getting bad out here.

    Do I throw out the seat I was on? Do I just go live in a ditch? This is getting insane out here. Everyone I know has them. The library has them, the movies have them, the transit has them, my sweet eliza jane apparently had them from helping some poor idiot fizzing with them move. Then now her car is living with my suffering. Now the whole living room is a war zone out of some sort of psychic hell.

    the powder in my nose has cut me. breathed in a ton of it even with a mask. my nose is bleeding from it. i blow out dusty blood boogers and sigh in exhaustion.

    here. here. here. here. Eliza, darling, it's not your fault. King kong, yours either. Mike and Ike, I love what you do, but you're about to throw in the towel over there. They're in the ventilation, and nothing so far has even given you a toe hold.

  • i never knew it would be like this.
    i hear the old folk's home have them bad.
    i know a few other places i've been had them. i saw on on the kitchen table, first instar, plump with bright red meal.

    I don't understand the will the put these here, you could call it what you will.

    They're in the hospital, at the library. I see my visionary mathematician. Swear to you "something bit my neck! a spider?"

    and it's gone? and there's no spider? These are the perfect organism, and I am an excuse for their danse macabre.

    I never knew. I never knew it could be like this.

  • As long as I can think, I will always love you very much.

  • they put
    they used the math to put
    they put some tits on a dinosaur

    she swings them back
    she swings them forth

    why momma did you tits on the dino-saaawwwrrrrr

  • 8chan.moe/india

  • john jacobs, i love you true blue
    we ran the wild summer nights
    of wasted pointless youth
    the guitars of the mullets
    drawing us near
    then around again
    you would be furious
    that me and her were stoned again
    but didn't mind my ride
    for a little bit of a
    damned good time.

    you would get mad enough
    to throw us under the wheels
    of a semi truck

    mad enough you didn't give a fuck

    but here we are, looking like
    opposite january version of each other
    and you don't talk
    like we once were brothers

    certain kind of bitter spice,
    and i love you so

    you have a heart like a lion
    you have a soul like a jewel
    you have a mind like a grilled cheese sandwich
    and i hate what we've become
    and i will always love you.

  • take that you fucking no good bb motherfuckers
    you like my fucking delicious goddamn blood?
    i like your delicious permanent deletion you stupid motherfuckers
    this aint no goddamn mcdonalds
    you aint got no goddamn recognizable motherfuckin' food stamp card do you you fucking fraggle ass motherfuckers
    you're fucked now you goddamn cunts i've fucked you good this time
    i dusted this whole motherfucker in
    goddamn another one got me
    i dusted this whole motherfucker in a mother-goddamn-fuckin' snowstorm of little bitty shards of razor sharp glass for you stupid bastards to slice your fuckin exoskeletons and waxy cuticles (FUCK YOU) up to shit with
    then i fuckin nuked the goddamn couch to the sidewalk where some unfortunate, woefully, unfortunate mexican family picked you bastards up for a little fuckin' hispanic cuisine
    well you lucky little cuntsuppers are left here in a terroristic bb nightmare from hell
    because now with everything coated in pure bb razorwire
    im bombing this bitch with pyrethenoids and sexy ass piperonal butoxide (can i roll off of that?) and now you motherfucking stupid dumbass motherfucking retards with your stupid ass fucking unstoppable genome of misery and destruction- now you're be shitting somewhere else you stupid fucking assholes. now you'll be shitting in hell eating the sulfurous shit of the devil forever because god damn you i have had enough.


  • Rico’s Tacos

    15 Meagher St
    Chippendale, NSW 2008

    Remember when I said Rico’s Tacos do the best tacos in all of Sydney? Well now you can enjoy them sitting down in their new(ish) digs in Chippendale, lest you faint from joy upon the first bite. The décor is garishly bright, and the vibe carries an exuberant shabbiness that immediately bring to mind traditional family-run taquerias filled with pride for their food, nay, artform. For those who don’t think tacos are appropriate as a pre-noon meal (what is wrong with you), they also have a delicious selection of tortas if sandwiches are more your jam, as well as a quesadilla or two. The only problem with this place? They took their pancakes with chorizo crumbs off the menu, and have not said a word about bringing them back. Disgraceful.

    Rating: 15/20 – still the best tacos.
    Good to know: cutlery is limited to what’s at the end of your arms, but if you ask nicely they’ll give you some disposable stuff.

    Beef and Bean Barbacoa Taco /Chorizo and Potato Taco

    The Beef and Bean Barbacoa Taco ($7ea) is a classic, with its mixture of succulent slow-cooked beef and beans, dolloped with surprisingly potent hot sauce that drips out with every bite. More on the breakfast-y end of the spectrum is the Chorizo and Potato Taco ($7ea), which boasts their coarse and smoky house-made Mexican sausage, along with fluffy potato chunks and plenty of salsa.

    Fried Fish Torta

    Of the three sandwiches, the Fried Fish Torta ($16) is the one to get. Instead of your traditional crusty bread roll, here we have a glossy brioche bun, all sloppy and saucy with its mixture of chipotle aioli and salsa, filled to the brim with fistfuls of slaw and crisp, oily fish. It may not be glassy, but it is so fresh and delicious, and probably the closest thing we get to street food in Australia.

    Ricos Fish Taco

    If the fish torta sounds way too heavy, you can always get the Ricos Fish Taco ($7.5ea) instead..

  • No Phone Upon Waking
    Outdoor light upon waking
    Morning Walk/Run
    Start the Day Journal (thoughts, gratitudes and plans)
    1+ hour morning work with phone off
    Lunchtime Walk/Exercise
    Salad for Lunch
    Afternoon focused work session
    Weight Training (any type)
    Alcohol Free Day
    Watch the Sunset
    Devices off after 8PM
    15 minute Meditation
    Reading before bed

  • NTP Time

  • I see them circling, i suppose here they have not pigeons but doves. i'm looking at the grey autumn sky, and one of them is leucistic or albino or God knows. it is pure as the pure white dove, flying, its wing tips beautiful and just semiopaque to where the light shines through. it is impossible not to be in awe. it is a another shock of the eternal, infinite beauty in the eyes of a disgusting little animal, shining, can anyone else see this?

    yes, another plain man. he wants a cigarette, and is tired in his heart.

  • Subang Jaya

  • https://www.eatdrinkkl.com/posts/spotlight/16-degrees-coffee-grocer-subang-jaya

  • I'm a pussy eating machine.

  • Oh nom nom

  • 山東燒雞 Shandong Roast Chicken


  • gimme the thug shaker OHHHHHHHHHHH

  • Seafood is overrated. Noodles on the other hand...

  • AP Town, Newtown
    Coffee Supreme, Brookvale
    Cut Lunch Deli, Randwick
    Fiore Bread, McMahons Point
    Flyover Fritterie, Redfern
    Genovese Coffee House, Alexandria
    Ickle Coffee, Kinsgrove
    Little West, Haberfield
    Lucien Baked Goods, Parramatta
    S’Wich, Bondi
    Two Good Co Cafe, Darlinghurst

    Honourable mentions
    Celsius in Kirribilli
    Good Ways Deli

  • Kangkung sayur

  • it's hard loving you, but I do it anyway.
    i guess maybe that AI conspiracy shit is looking more likely now, huh?
    he's... a senator's son or something like that? Man dang, I get treated shamefully.

    every man will die, right?

    i am a friend to all, but not trying to be a fool to all. hope you're doing well.
    let's shake it up sometime, what do you say?

  • Sad a lot. Bivle then bed then maybe tomorrow. Where are my beloved friends now? Love you too.

  • "prove that are not transphobic by becoming trans yourself and marrying a trans woman"

  • > trans and gay for girls
    uhm that's just straight

  • Sri Petaling eats

    Puchong eats

  • Central Station’s City Oltra

    April 12, 2023



    Shop 11/1 Eddy Ave, Haymarket NSW 2000, Australia

    Opening hours



    It’s true, the pizzas at City Oltra are huge. They’re “good luck stretching your arms around the takeaway box” huge. They’re even bigger than the “extra large” option at fast food outlets huge. They’re “don’t worry about ever feeling underfed again” huge.

    These party-sized pies reflect the crowd-pleasing origins of this business, which began two years ago as a pizza pop-up at Poor Toms Gin Hall in Marrickville. “It was just called Discs,” says co-founder Ben Fester. “We were basically calling the pizzas discs and people were playing music as well.”

    Fester’s hospitality CV includes stints at noteworthy venues (Porcine, The Old Fitz) and time prepping slices at Pizzeria E Cucina in Newport, but he points to partner Drew Huston as the dough-slinging pro. “Drew’s probably made 10,000 pizzas or more,” he says.

    Many of these were during Huston’s years at Dimitri’s Pizzeria, the inner-city institution that’s endured since the ’70s. You have to admire his commitment to their pop-up. “Drew would make pizzas every day at his job and then on his one day off, we’d go somewhere else and make pizza as well,” says Fester, laughing.

    City Oltra, which opened late last year, offers hits from the past, when they hauled ovens to Poor Toms Gin Hall to produce puffy crusts, bubbling cheese pools and blistered toppings.

    Their Sweethearts pizza is from this time: it has a blitzed layer of seasoned Roman-style artichokes, a bonus round of roasted artichokes, and is judiciously sweetened with honey and gorgonzola.
    The Sweethearts pizza features artichoke.

    It is a winning example of the Oltra team’s originality. They like to “sly away from more traditional flavours”, which is why they serve pepperoni pizza with an unapologetic slathering of tangy ranch dressing

  • For our love, for our fears, for our rise against the years and years and years.

    My train is electric

  • USA Hegemony & NATO

  • it could always be worse, it could always go wrong.

  • Bring on the Wooly Worms

    Times have changed, and people have changed. I see wee suckling babes that can't hardly hold their head up with a cell phone cradled glowing their arms. I see a plate of political midwest pasta steaming, where a man can not be taken seriously in town without a pink mohawk & an attitude. You can't feed the homeless without them trying to sock it to you for more, more, more- and the bells of the church towers scream that everything is OK! Don't worry- everything is AOK!
    The computers scan my open source genome and quietly develop the land to stasis twelve thousand years at a time, any time. How long have I been bare in these harlequin's rags, the emperor's new wardrobe of the pre defeated stragglers- ermine and day-glo and antlers and foam crocs with semi-ironic shoe jewelry hatefully poking fun at the jaunty angles of their too-sincere ugliness. I want to weep, but instead I'm vomiting junk food. I am rotting to the jaw bone, marrow brown, the gray sets in, my glasses inch thicker, and I hate every word I've ever said save HALLELUJAH and I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU ALL!
    I can't even imagine the shadowy puppets in my keepsake memory vault are even remotely like the living liquid crystals that used to bridge the networks of my own heart and the wild wind scarred worlds beyond between. I see gnarled trees, and for the first time in my life have had my eyes pried open just enough to see anything, anything but splintered clangorous roulette of hell. This is the cross of the starved survivor, these are the living cobwebs of some dull and throbbing mind slow motion magneto tempest mistaken for prayers twisting egg drop to heaven on electrical frankincense.
    Where have all my old friends gone away? To suicide, heart failure, blood clots, turned into precious fuzzy kittens sleeping quietly purring under impenetrable glass, comfortable forever with precious little toes all safe and clean. What do they dream of where nobody knows?

  • Do they dream of me at all? I'm not dreaming, fevered and slack jawed in the endless rain.

    The fear creeps in, and the moment is lost in the brain dead social slime mold networks languishing around the bed bug busses to nowhere. Will they assassinate me further in the night, or will I wither to oily scab upon the vine? I found, completely by Kismet, cruden's lolly gollys must have been twenty years after the hive, and what was made dazzling is that the slavering maw of hell has been open wide, yes, for some time, but for most of us it is a suffocation, blind eyes open wide. The days are an open sore on my failing dreams, I fantasize of egress from hope to comfort, security and exchange with some sort of desperate lottery ticket get rich quick scheme, the sort of swill of life I'd fault my angelic father for believing in, and here I catch the stranger in the mirror holding on to almost nothing but..
    Drowning in the lukewarm springs of hope eternal, a coward to circumstance and a dang fool to fate. I'm ashamed of the things I have to say and the packages I have purchased are full of embarrassment and utter total outrages and insane depravity. I am the damned fool of all fools, and deserving of every punishment. My flesh makes pigs cry and my mewling idiocy curdles worms.
    Hard times have yet to come. Hard times have yet to come. These are the good old days, and faith alone is gonna see us through, because it's good not good to shrivel up without it. We'll need it when we've spent all our courage and ate our last shred of dignity with salt. We'll need it when the dawn has no shoes, and it hurts to hear music. When there ain't no use for playing cards, and ditch water is looking sweet.

    What we need is faith, and trust in faith, and hope that the survivors of our personal apocalypse gain some vital wisdom to steer themselves from the siren's call, to find some green pasture somewhere

  • more welcoming to lay their dear heads in, far from the rotten desolation here nowhere neverland, where there is so much promise and hope that you'll never feel lonesome again, I say. The young folk smile and ride their bikes by the rivers, and by gum, it ain't quite heaven, but then, it ain't quite bad, is it?

    No, it ain't quite bad just yet.

  • What's your daily routine like?

  • I am wilting. I think I've seen domesticated animals do it. The boy becomes a man and seeks out a career and family, and the little black dog doesn't have anyone at all in the world that loves him anymore. He turns this way and that looking for the sustenance of life, but finds only the cold and harrowing truth. So he runs and chases his last car, and nobody feels good about it when he is be buried in the back yard.

    oh well. We remember that the little fella was a good boy, years and years later.

  • Ichiban Yakiniku
    No.1 Yakiniku
    Mon : Closed
    Tue to Fri : 11am - 2pm | 5pm - 11pm
    Sat, Sun : 11am - 3pm | 5pm - 11pm
    TEL 02 8528 8969
    18 Pacific Highway, St Leonards NSW, Sydney, Australia 2065

  • Use a work journal (fev.al) ~ https://fev.al/posts/work-journal/


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