Death Race

Stop Crying Dear.

2012-02-09T10:36:00.003+11:00

The other morning i was riding my bike, something i tend to to a little bit, when i started thinking about stuff.

I've been riding by myself a lot lately (which is a good thing to learn how to do), meaning i tend to think about stuff a lot, because i have no one to talk to about stuff.

Anyway, so i was riding the burbs loop, on my way home. I was kinda tired, and disoriented from having to wear arm warmers. Despite it being summer, there was a distinct autumnal chill to the air. As i rode along Heidelberg rd, i passed a mother and what i can only assume was her young daughter. Judging by the tears on the kid's face, and her tiny stature, i hazarded a guess that today was her first day of prep. And there she stood, all three feet of her, on the corner of a busy intersection with cars and trucks passing by, desperately clutching the hand of one of the few human beings she had spent any amount of time with in her short life.

I dunno if it was the slight chill to the air, or the intersection, or the girls baggy school dress, or a combination of everything- but i was instantly transported back to my first day of prep. I was a bit young for prep, having not quite turned five.

It was 1994, and i have a vague memory of it being a clear, slightly cool day, just like the one where i saw the girl. Mum got me dressed up in my uniform for Surry Hills Primary, complete with legionnaires hat, and took a photo. I haven't seen it for years, but i know i still have hilarious amounts of puppy fat, and im smiling broadly (something which hasn't changed much).

But i was fucking terrified. Walking to school with Mum, right up Broughton Rd, up to Cantabury Rd, i held mum's hand real tight, and didn't let the fuck go. Standing at the children's crossing, waiting for the nice crossing lady (who's name i can't remember) to blow her whistle, i remember realising that a seriously important chapter of my life had ended, and another was starting. This probably manifested itself in my gripping mum's hand even harder.

Prep is scary. People smell weird, other people's lunches are gross, and whoever learns how to tie their shoe laces first quickly sorts out a pecking order. For the record, i was quite low in that pecking order.

So i was thinking about all this as i watched this little girl sob, as she too realised a big chapter of her life was ending. As i rode away, i realised that, in twenty years time, she would probably have a similar experience to the one i just had, as she looked at some tiny kid (who isn't even a glint in the eye of anyone yet) on their first day of school.

I wouldn't call it a very sophisticated train of thought, or a particularly telling one, but these are the things you think about on morning rides.

Cities Fall In Ruin.

2012-01-29T10:22:00.002+11:00

Jorge Lius Borges is a pretty famous author. He wrote mainly short stories, some of which i read the other month. The collection was called 'Labyrinths'. It comes highly recommended.

Anyway, i read something about Borges, where he writes that all writers create their precursors. That is to say, that all authors create the thematic and creative expanse of those who came before them because it is they themselves who came out of that expanse.

Sounds kinda theoretical and a little lame right? I kinda thought so too, until when i remembered the time i read Kafka's 'The Trial' and Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment". At the time I had read that Kafka had just read "Crime and Punishment" when he wrote "The Trial", and that the two should be read together.

Rather that do the more logical think of reading "Crime and Punishment" first, i read it after Kafka. The result was that i read it through a distinct Kafka-esque window. The Kafka themes like confusion, alienation, bureaucratic shitstorms were the things that jumped out at me when reading Dostoevsky, rather than, for example, poverty or the rising urban classes.

Without realising, i had just allowed Kafka to create, for me, the very author he had been inspired by. Dostoevsky had become, bizarrely, Kafka-esque.

I guess the musical equivalent of this is listening to the Beatles before Elvis, then thinking Elvis sounds a bit Beatlesy.

Burn Those Bridges.

2012-01-26T22:22:00.002+11:00

I live in an area where the traditional beer and bbq celebration of Australia Day is scorned. Instead, anywhere you turn, you are confronted by ironic exclaims of "Straya" and "Fuckin, bewdy". It's all very funny, as we laugh at the bigoted nationalists.

But we still party.

We still go out, to bbqs, to parks. We celebrate the good weather. But we do it with an aura of smug superiority, because we're aware of the so called 'dark side' to the australian psyche. We know that Australia day is a commemoration of an invasion - but we don't do anything much more than point it out to people who already agree with us, while we laugh at the flag cape wearers.

I dunno. I think there's definitely something wrong with that too. But i don't know how to change it.

Tyrants.

2012-01-25T10:14:00.004+11:00

I've often quite admired black metal bands that refuse to play live. Although this is often due to logistical reasons (they are often one man bands) they often cite more ideological ones.

Black metal, for many, is an intensely personal music, that would fail to thrive in the public sphere. I can certainly relate to that, given that i almost always listen to black metal with headphones, usually just before i go to sleep. Some might argue this explains my disturbed sleep, and oddly violent and visceral dreams, but i think that's just looking for excuses.

Anyway, i do think that black metal is a deeply private affair, containing meaning only you can probably explain. There is nothing inherently interesting, on face value, about a bunch of dudes in kiss paint, writing structureless songs. But its depth and subtlety as a genre, result in it being much more than the sum of its parts.

Black metal creates worlds in a way no other music does. Hardcore tends to create scenes, where people congregate to share ideas and values. Thrash does a similar thing. Black metal, on the other hand, projects an image of both the natural world, and the the world of humans. I think this, now that i think about it, is what i find so appealing about it. Only the listener can respond to that world, and how it appears to oneself, hence the private nature of the music.

When i listen to Burzum, or Wolves in the Throne Room, the experience created isn't one to be shared, because it delves into a part of my mind where sentiment, rather than language is in control. I can't express, really, how this music makes me feel, other than to to point to that particular emotion and state that it makes me feel thus and thus.

I suppose it's a little like the fantasy worlds that are conjured by certain childhood books. Kids read them obsessively, cover to cover, so entranced are they by the worlds they are projecting themselves into. And, when the book finally ends, there is a distinct sense of melancholy that they have to re-join the normal world.

In the same way does black metal create worlds, for me at least, and it is with the same sadness that i rejoin the real world at the end of an album. Varg from Burzum has often said that black metal is supposed to create a trance like state for the lsitener, a sentiment which is echoed by many other musicians, notably Aaron Weaver from Wolves in the Throne Room, who states that the only real logical response to the music is to fall to one's knees and weep.

The world you are transported to through black metal is a lonely and cold one, where Nature might have prevailed over the Enlightenment values of rationality and science of the past four hundred years. The sadness you feel, when listening, then, is a sense of deepest nostalgia for a time that has long passed - one that we will never be part of.

That's probably a good thing though. The middle ages were pretty fucking unpleasant from what i hear.

Don't Drive There.

2012-01-21T12:36:00.002+11:00

One of the search phrases that brought someone to this blog this week was "Sebastian Bach straightening his hair".

I'm counting that as a victory.

This one is for you Dave:

Under a Funeral Moon

2012-01-11T11:05:00.004+11:00

Every time i start a blog post it is with the intention of writing about black metal, and how important i think it is as an artistic movement, as well as how that movement relates to the recent commotions in the US scene.

But i don't really know how to write it yet. So ideas continue to bubble away. Stay tuned and watch this space.

This post, rather, is about Brendan Bailey who, by the way, just celebrated his 500th post of his own blog. As those of you who know me and Brendan will already know, while my blog started of as Bike Snob/Cycling Inquisition knock off, it has slowly spiralled into a knock off of Brendan's blog, except the prose aren't as lively. That's ok, blogs change direction (as Brendan himself points out in regards to his own blog that started out looking at the Melbourne punk scene, and slowly shifted to his own personal experiences with competitive cycling.)

And it's Brendan's cycling i would like to briefly mention. Those who follow his blog know he has had, from a cycling perspective, what is commonly referred to as a 'dog of a year' or, to put it another way, 'a shit time'. A mystery ailment has meant supreme fatigue, a lack of high end results because of his inability to train as hard as is necessary to compete at the top level, and a general sense of frustration. Dozens of specialists and tests later, Brendan is none the wiser, and the fatigue keeps coming back...and no one really knows why.

This has led Brendan to entertain the idea of giving up competitive cycling. When he mentioned this to me the other day, i couldn't help but feel a melancholy descend over me, which i couldn't quite explain. On further reflection, I realised it's partially due to a sense of direction.

The whole time I have been 'taking cycling more seriously' Brendan has always been there to give training/tactical/dietary advice (though special mention must also go to Casey), introduce me to other racers, but has also allowed me to tag along on his training rides. I was thinking about this the other day and i realised that one major thing i really enjoy about training with someone is the idea of collective experience. I like that riding with someone else frames and gives context to a part of your life that would otherwise be experienced alone.

Now i wouldn't want to wax lyrical about training too long. Most of the time when i ride with Brendan he is up front and i am behind him, small bits of spittle running down my face, as he counts down the time till sweet, sweet relief, and the end of some stupid effort. But you do get a chance to chat about stuff, and learn how the others rides, until you feel you know the other person on a certain level that doesn't really come out any other way.

If Brendan were to quit racing, I would miss those shared experiences. It's a pretty selfish sentiment, but one that won't go away. And, as Brendan told me his coach told him, I reckon he still has the ability to win some big bike races.

And if, by way of training for those big races, Brendan has to spend time on the lonely roads of outer suburban Melbourne, I would be stoked to share some of those kilometres.

So it is with a mixture of a friends concern, and selfish motives that i hope that Brendan's sickness goes away, is treated etc, so that he can get back to the life i know he loves.

All i can say at this stage, however, is: don't give up mate.

Easy Tiger.

2012-01-09T22:47:00.003+11:00

One thing we often forget, as amateur racing cyclists, is how recently we took up the sport. I mean I have been riding bikes for eight years, only a year and a half of which (not counting my outstanding racing career with CCCC at 15) has been racing often.

We figure we've been around the block, know our way around, and feel ready to give advice to newer cyclists, based on our own experiences.

I think what we all forget, though, is that we really are students of the sport, rather than masters, and we would probably do well to remember it every now and then.

Offering advice to newbies that might only apply to myself, is something I, and others, probably need to be careful of.

In The Midst Of Life, We Are In Death.

2012-01-07T23:29:00.002+11:00

There is something incredibly depressing, it occurred to me on my ride home tonight, about christmas decorations left up beyond the christmas period.

To me it suggests an unwillingness to allow the moment to pass, to gracefully exit. Seeing a house still covered in fairy lights mid January, or watching a christmas tree slowly wilt in the mid summer sun, day after day, is kinda like staying until the very end of a party: you do it because you want to have more fun, but it ends up being really lame and boring.

To me it highlights the logistics of Christmas (which are so often the source of argument). You can imagine someone repeatedly asking their frazzled partner to, for gods sake, take down the fucking fairy lights, it's mid February! And the frazzled partner putting it off because it's such a fucking nightmare taking it down and, besides, the lights never go back into the box neatly anyway, so why not just put it off a few days more. And anyway, it lights up the neighbourhood.

And so it continues and Christmas just becomes a time where you DO STUFF THAT YOU DONT REALLY WANT TO DO and then it ends and you are relieved, but there are things you need to do, like throw the Christmas tree out, and take down the fairy lights. Not to mention eat ham for the next three weeks straight to get rid of the ham we have, which we didn't really want, but somehow felt compelled to buy.

Somehow, christmas things post christmas, represents decay, stagnation: evidence that there is an unwillingness to move forward, to change. Doubtless this phenomena exists at all times of the year but, with christmas decorations, it represents tangible, physical proof.

Just like a broken window that stays broken tells us something about the circumstances of the person who lives there, we can conclude various things about people who leave out Christmas lights well past Christmas.

And, rightly or wrongly, it makes me a bit sad.

I Couldn't See For the Stars.

2012-01-06T21:04:00.003+11:00

And so it is that i find myself at home alone on a Friday night. Why? Because i'm too tired to do anything else.

Instead of going out, I'm doing a lot of reading, some listening to new bands that i have been meaning to chase up, as well as a bit of writing.

Central to my inability to go out is of course the cycling i did during the week which, coupled with not enough calorie intake, has left me just a little exhausted.

I don't have a problem at this stage with cycling dictating how i live day to day (i enjoy it too much) but as i stand on the verge of a year with no plans other than 'to ride my bike a bit', i do sometimes have my doubts.

Most of my friends this year are either continuing their study, or going overseas if not indefinitely, then for a very long time. Frankly, I'm worried that, come mid winter, all i'll have to sustain me is the Northern Combine. As Brendan said, what my friends are doing is essentially accepted procrastination, whereby the pondering of what to do afterwards isn't as stark a reality, as when you are at home, with nothing in particular to distract you.

So i find myself having these minor panic attacks as i realise that i am devoting a year to something I'm not very good at anyway. I find myself wondering if i am perhaps devoting too much time to one pursuit, closing my eyes to a world that is perhaps larger than i am giving it credit for.

If this theme is sounding tired and self indulgent, that is because it is. It remains a topic of thought because i haven't really come to any solid conclusions - the hope being that by writing it down somewhere, it might lead me to come up with some ideas, or perhaps allow me to frame the dilemma in such a way, that it appears again in a new light.

Essentially, I have no money, little to no food, and while i am loving bike riding and racing more than ever before, i feel like i should probably do/achieve something else with this year.

Better start my novel then.

Beyond Saturn's Rings.

2011-12-21T23:59:00.002+11:00

One of the many benefits of having gotten into Minor Threat is that, on the rare occasions that i do now drink, i end up drinking one beer, whereupon i pass out on the floor, and wake up half way through an Om record.

I mean, Om are pretty good, so it isn't a huge problem really.

At the moment I am grappling with a general melancholy. This isn't really a bad, depressive melancholy, but rather one that comes about as a result of having nothing to do.

Days tend to stretch out toward infinity. As much as i try to have plans for the day, there still seems to be long stretches of time where i find myself sitting on the coach, staring at the wall, thinking about the various complexities of boredom. While this is kind of interesting, I feel it probably has a limit.

I remember Brendan quoted some anarchist book the other month about the necessity of having secret plans. The past few weeks, following uni, I have been trying to convince myself that it might in fact be important to have no plans.

We are hard wired to believe that we have to have plans, or goals, at which to strive. If we don't the implication is that we are somehow failing at something, namely life. The result of this is that people who find themselves in situations where they suddenly have NOTHING TO DO in a slightly more severe existential sense (different from the Sunday arvo nothing to do) do one of two things: travel, or go on to do further study. This allows one to post pone questions about life direction for a later, more convenient date.

So i have no secret plans, other than vague intentions and desires to write creatively again, for the first time since i was about 12. Considering the last time i was writing seriously, i was writing about wizards, i am having a hard time playing catch up. I fucking love wizards. Please note this is before the term 'wizard' was besmirched by teenage boy wizards. I'm talking full on, bearded, with big staff wizard. Anyway.

So i guess, to state things in their most cleched form, i need more direction, and more goal oriented thoughts. I ride my bike a lot, and that takes up a lot of my time, but i feel it's pretty important i have something else to do, lest i begin to despise the thing i like the most.

In an attempt to formulate secret plans, i have had the opportunity to do a fair bit of thinking about thinking up secret plans. The kind of thinking where, if i was a smoker, i imagine i would make my way through two cartons a day while i thought about thinking.

Ironically, most of the thinking i have done while doing nothing has centred around how crucial it seems for me to have things to do during the day before i sink into an abyss of nihilistic, oppressive melancholy. This in turn ties into the feeling one has that one must be DOING THINGS at all times, for fear of WASTING TIME. Wasting time is a really hard one for me. I'm very good at doing it, and incredibly hard on myself when i do so. You would think that it would be possible to sit back and enjoy a few days of doing nothing in particular, after a hard year of study.

But the minute you do, the world loses its form and shape. Beliefs and goals begin to seem abstract, pointless, and self indulgent (which is ironic, given the nature of this post). Time passes quickly, so the day seems to have gone by in a flash, but each hour is agonisingly slow.

It's certainly reminded me how important plans and goals are in giving metaphysical shape to the world. Without an idea of where you stand, and where you might like to go in relation to that point, you kind of drown in a world without a centre or perspective.

It reminds me of the fear people felt when it first emerged that the world might in fact not be at the centre of the universe but, rather, simply a point in an endless, borderless universe. With no centre, or border, there was no possible way to position yourself in relation to the rest of the world. So people made things smaller. Ideas of the solar system started to be kicked around, beyond which there were notions of infinity, but placed in such a way that they didn't directly affect our sense of selves.

You need to position yourself in the world, so you can see where you might be headed. You need a secret plan. Otherwise you suddenly find yourself in a borderless world, of limitless possibilities. It's that very freedom that traps and suffocates you.

New Worlds.

2011-12-13T00:22:00.004+11:00

You know when you go see a show of some band you only just heard of, which you think might be interesting, but don't really expect much?

Yeh. I just saw one of the best shows of my life from a band that i heard of an hour earlier. Recorded their stuff is solid, but not mind blowing. Live, i could barely grapple with how good they were. The Northcote Social Club has never been more fun.

The singer is this fucking crazy girl who literally defines the term 'showman'.

Fuck, it was fucking amazing.

Infinite Jest.

2011-12-12T12:49:00.006+11:00

Being away from the internet for three days is the equivalent to not seeing a good friend for a year: you don't know where you stand in relation to this person, they are really different and into new things, they have a new sense of humour, and you spend the better half of an hour trying to play catch up in a vain attempt to still be in their good books.

So you can understand my surprise when Chaz took some time off from his usual excellent coverage of anything and everything to mention some stuff about philosophy and, most bizarrely of all, me as well.

One great thing about being stupid enough to complete a degree in philosophy is that the way people consider you is divided into two groups. There is the open hostility and anger at your blatantly taking up precious tax dollars, when it could be funding wars and stuff. Then there is the perception that you are somehow very, very smart with a mystic's knowledge of the UNIVERSE and EVERYTHING.

This is of course wrong. I don't know anything other than how to handle some puzzles that some dudes who lived thousands of years ago started grappling with. They didn't really have any immediate results, and so people with nothing better to do started engaging with the fuckwittery. This continued for two and half thousand years, with no real discernible progress.

Now, generally if you start a job, and you haven't achieved anything by the afternoon, you approach the task differently. Philosophy has done this many times, with so called 'revolutions' designed to approach the same old problems differently.

There were the Ancient Greeks (who really just formalised problems being grappled with by the great poets like Homer and Hesiod - look into it, fascinating stuff) then the Ne0-Platonists, the vice like grip of Aristotelian world views for the better part of a millennium and a half, the Cartesians, the Idealists, and the most recent linguistic turn (by recent i mean in the past 100 years).

Using these different methods we 'solved' a lot of problems. Except the method that came afterwards just debunked the past method. So we find ourselves in the late afternoon of the proverbial philosophical day, and all we have achieved is the equivalent of sharpening our pencil, doodled on three or four bits of paper, made a coffee, and finally walked the dog, only to come back and find a newly sharpened pencil next to a blank page.

There is nothing inherently wrong with this, but it does make you wonder what the fuck is going on. Philosophy is very good at cocooning itself into a world where the questions being answered are ones that no one really gives a fuck about anyway, other than other philosophers. We have world views and methods that, while neat and beautiful, don't reflect the interests of the average human being.

So when Chaz paints me as somehow knowledgeable about 'stuff', i get uncomfortable because, really, all i have achieved in my degree is highlight how much i don't know. This is old ground that i have covered before, but it really is true. I'm not particularly skilled at anything. I'm ok academically, but not brilliant. I'm ok on a bike, but nothing to write home about. I can kinda write, but i get bored easily and don't proof read. Finally, i love music, but can't play any instruments, and have no musical skill to speak off, other than my sweet death metal growl.

So, I kinda know my way around, but can't really settle down with anything. Philosophy is good like that, because it allows you to ruminate about specific problems that can then be expanded to take on Everything.

Most distressing of all is Chaz directed all his devoted followers to this blog as being about Heavy Metal and Cycling. It used to be like that. It has somehow turned into an egotistical clusterfuck, where i just rant about anything that happens to be on my mind. This is problematic and unfortunate. I apologise.

So, Chaz, sorry, I don't have any answers about anything. I wish i did. I'll keep trying though.

Also, if, for want of something to say in a philosophical context, you ever do take my advice and yell 'Socrates!' and punch someone in the face, please don't credit me with the inspiration.

Paris Is Burning.

2011-12-11T21:28:00.003+11:00

There were some surprises, and some non-surprises at Meredith Music Festival this weekend gone.

Amongst the non-surprises were, in no particular order: the number of white people, the amount of misplaced raving about Grinderman, the lack of vegan food, the amount of bullshit vegetarian food, the amount of mind altering substances at large, etc.

Amongst the surprises were: heaps more bogans than i thought, lots of sweet utes, decent coffee, more kids than i imagined and, finally, that i actually had a good time, and didn't particularly want to go home.

The bands I wanted to see were great. Ladyhawke ruled and proved, once again, that really good pop can be a wonderful thing. Mudhoney proved that grunge can rok, in the right way.

Bands like Off!, Grinderman, and Explosions in the Sky were bands i wasn't expecting to like, but did with varying levels of enjoyment.

But, bizarrely, the mythos behind Meredith, of which i had been so disparaging and sceptical about...namely the holier than thou hipster 'no dickhead policy', turned out to be far less sinister and, in some cases, enjoyable.

People were largely speaking friendly and polite. The music was enjoyable, and there weren't any nationalistic, patriotic, racist or sexist exploits. It was surprising, and kinda rad.

Yeh, there was a lot of hard drug taking that i wanted no part of, but even that manifested itself in the most benign way possible: "Dude, Explosions in the Sky were AMAZING!"

"Sure dude, cool. Glad you're having fun."

So in conclusion: consider my head officially pulled in. Meredith was fun, despite my best attempts not to have any.

Oh, and the toilets were great.

Ruler of all of Life!

2011-12-05T08:48:00.002+11:00

There isn't anything much more confronting than staggering into the front door, after having totally punished yourself on the bike in a weekend of brutal racing, than for your housemate to look up, mildly curious, (after having played ten straight hours of Zelda) and ask: "How was the ride?"

This is, of course, normal. Anything that involves bike riding, for the uninitiated, is simply riding, rather than racing. If i were to explain the difference, they wouldn't understand, and would probably care even less.

So I am back from the Tour of Bright. It went quite well. I am a little disappointed in the way i climbed, insofar as i could never find a rhythm, and was significantly slower than i was hoping. But i had a good time, and learnt a lot, that I will certainly be taking back with me next year.

The real star of the race, however, was of course Gene Mills. Gene faded a little in the last few kilometres of Hotham, but that was only after destroying the first third of it. I have never come across someone as willing and able to put himself in the hurt box, and then keep going. Sheer grit and determination got him through, and to quite a respectable finish! Let's not forget, of course, that Gene has been riding bikes for about two year, and only racing them for just over six months. It was a pleasure to watch you race Gene Mills. Next time though, bring your god damn helmet.

Rather than making me a little downtrodden at not having climbed as well as i was hoping, I am increasingly inspired to keep working to get better. As i have mentioned previously, next year is pretty free for me, and so i figure a few of those time gaps can be filled with riding bikes.

Maybe next year at Bright, i can get in the top 20, or perhaps even the top 10 if i work hard enough. That might be fun!

The World That You Despise.

2011-12-01T18:28:00.003+11:00

After house sitting for my mum yet again, I can finally conclude that I am not meant to spend much time by myself. Rather than doing anything productive, I just eat too much and watch Hilary Duff movies. It's not so much the watching that is problematic, but my reaction at the end whereby i sit in front of the television, maybe sipping on some tea and think, 'yes, yes, that was actually not a bad film. Cinderella Story got quite a bad rap from the critics back in 2004. Thoroughly undeserved'.

These are, of course, the first rants of a madman, and so i can say with some relief that I am leaving the cultural wasteland of the Southside within the day. I won't be there long though because I'm off to Bright to race.

This is kinda what i have been training for (or trying to during my honours year) the past four of five months, so I'm both excited and a bit nervous. I want to do well, but I'm also very aware of the calibre of rider that is going to be out there this weekend.

As it stands, my tentative goals at the moment are to finish the Tour overall, as well as to finish in the top half up the Hotham stage. I think this is achievable.

When i get back, I reckon I'll take a few days off, and then take stock. Already i have vague plans for the new year and beyond that are bike related. But for now, Hotham awaits!

Redundant.

2011-11-26T20:58:00.003+11:00

The first record i ever owned was Green Day's Nimrod.

It was 1998 and i was nine, in grade four. My friend Thomas, who was much smarter than me, recommended it. I didn't really know how to get a CD, so he gave it to me for Christmas.

I fucking loved that record. It was raw (comparatively speaking), there were heaps of swear words, and it made me think (for the first time) that shit could be done differently to how it was done by my parents.

Cos we only had one stereo, I had to ask permission to listen to it, cos Mum and Dad didn't much care for it. They usually let me though. So there I would be, in the living room, with the door closed, reading the liner notes. I would try and work out what the fuck they were singing about, knowing vaguely it was about stuff i didn't understand yet - and yet i would always get this shiver of excitement when i heard the work 'fuck'.

This was at a time when baggy pants, skate shoes, and chain wallets were the epitome of cool for ten year old, so i of course wanted in.

I slowly, through nagging and closet negotiation, managed to get my hands on some baggier pants, some shoes that kinda-sorta-looked like skate shoes - but i never got a chain wallet cos Mum said they were dumb. She was right, but i wasn't to know.

The final touch was a skateboard, and gelled up hair.

Very, very briefly, I was cool. Nimrod was the catalyst for change - that made me realise things could be largely defined by what I was interested in, and what i wanted to wear.

Afterwards, because everyone who liked Green Day liked the The Living End and The Offspring, I figured I would too. I didn't, in fact i hated it.

Music drifted away for a while. I got into computer games and a bit of bike riding. Until I heard Metallica for the first time, Green Day had been the only band I ever gave a fuck about.

I like to think they started something that (despite a bit of a lull between 10 and 15) set the course to ultimately change my life.

I remember thinking, when I heard Dead Kennedys for the first time, and other bands like Minor Threat, after years of listening to nothing but pounding blast beats and walls of guitar that, maybe, maybe, i had come full circle.

Where To Now, Grace?

2011-11-23T21:49:00.002+11:00

So i finished my degree. I'd like to say that it ended with my realising the ways of the universe, but all i can say for sure is that, in fine Socratic form, i know a lot less then i thought i did. And, while we're on the topic, I'm still not sure what knowing is.

But never mind.

I had this moment this arvo when i realised, unlike other years where the end of a academic year (while cause for celebration) is always structured with the promise of more structure the next year. Not so now. My entire life is stretching out before me, it's structure waiting to be formed...by me.

That's an intimidating prospect, especially when your plans for the first year are usually expressed like: "Um, yeh, might ride my bike a bit."

I'm gonna need more than that, and I already have some plans in the works. I have an essay i want to write that's been in my head for a long time now. Once i manage to write it, I'm going to try and get it published by someone (if i think it's good enough which, lets face it, is unlikely).

But there it is: as de rigeur as it is, my life is stretching out before my eyes with (while not limitless potential) enough freedom to both scare and excite the crap out of me, like no other concept.

A Boulder.

2011-11-11T14:20:00.003+11:00

Sometimes I feel, if i stare into space long enough, that i can see the ideas in my head.

Man, i don't think this library is a healthy place to be anymore.

This is Myself!

2011-11-10T17:53:00.002+11:00

Today, at i sat in the library, slowly going mad, I began to get a real pain in my stomach. A kind of tightness around my whole upper body, that feels like it's smothering every breath i take.

You know you're in trouble when philosophical ideas start to cause physical harm to the body. I mean, it happened to Nietzsche:

To be fair, he also had syphilis, but you get the point.

I'm so close now, everything i have been working for is so close to finally being finished, i can physically feel my body holding out for the end, so it can finally let go.

I jut hope it doesn't totally give out on me, leaving me with a broken husk for the Tour of Bright. Yeh, that would suck.

A Never Ending Tunnel.

2011-11-09T11:19:00.002+11:00

I swear, when i finish this god damn honours year of mine, I will never do another essay in my life. I can't bear to look at my computer screen anymore, and anything i write sounds like total shit.

I have to hand in my thesis in 12 days and, in between that time, i have to hand in another ten thousand words, five of which i am yet to write.

Hear that?

Yeh, that's the sound of my balls breaking.

Memory Lane

2011-10-28T10:26:00.004+11:00

I've often wondered why it always seems to be pop songs that come to define certain moments in my life, rather than music i actually enjoy, pursue, listen to often.

I suppose, now that i actually take the time to think about it, it's largely due to the song's fleetingness. It's on the radio for a few months, I hear it a fair bit, probably listen to it a bit secretly, and then it's gone. Hearing it again some years later, it reminds you of the time when it was secreting out the air waves.

This of course never happens with Slayer. Slayer doesn't remind me of a time, or a smell. Because Slayer is timeless. They are there always and forever, and thus cannot represent a particular time or place.

With this in mind i present to you the pop songs that have so far represented a time in my life that i now look back on with nostalgia:

This song reminds me of getting up really early to watch Couch Potato on ABC. I think it started at seven, but i of course was way too excited about the prospect of watching it. So i would get up at like five thirty, and sit puzzled as i sat through an hour and half of Rage. I could never work out why the fuck people would get up soooo early to watch music videos about partying at night. It never occured to me that Generation X was stumbling home at 5 in the morning, flannel covered in chunder, to watch Shampoo with a glazed expression. Meanwhile, Generation Y was sitting there in a onsie, eating cereal, eyes the size of plates, trying to make sense of a world it just wasn't ready for.

I think this was released in 99, and all i reminds me of is pools, strange tween partying, and feeling confused. Also, my Dad really liked this song, and he would do this weird 1960's jive to it, much to my total embarrassment.

This song was released just as I was moving to Italy, so my old man could set up the Monash centre in Italy. I really didn't wanna go. I was in grade 6, i had heaps of friends, girls were just kind beginning to make sense, i was happy. I didn't wanna go to some country (where i had been before anyway) and start all over again. I was pretty depressed about the whole prospect. Thus this song is always kinda melancholy for me. I also recall wearing some epic cargo pants and skate shoes during this period in my life.

This little pearler came out while I was living in Italy. I don't think it was such a big hit in Australia, but in the summer of 2002 in italy it was THE hit. You couldn't go five minutes without hearing it. It was the World Cup, Italy had been knocked out by South Korea, it was fucking hot all the time, and i drank a lot of ice tea. In Italy, during the summer, all the italians fuck off to Germany and stuff, so the city literally empties. In Florence, there are usually more Americans than italians. The streets are bare, silent, and kind haunting. There is this timeless, sleepy nature to a European summer. This song reminds me of the empty streets, the crowds huddled around the tv in bars watching the soccer, the feeling that the world was standing still.

I was 15, total nerd, no music taste, Gwen Stefani was a babe. A cultural wasteland of a year.

I'm aware i said metal doesn't feature as representative of parts of my life. There is one exception: when i actually discovered metal existed. It was 2005 and i was on some biology camp. My friend Morgan, gave a me a bunch of cd's to listen to. I liked Morgan, but i was scared about his music tastes. I was a studious nerd, with no real interest in music. I liked books, computer games, and the occasional movie. Hearing Metallica for the first time was utterly life changing. James Hetfield's snarling vocals took me by surprise, but the aggression, the hatred in his voice (and I can't believe I'm saying this) spoke to me. I suppose to an extent the old cleche of the angry nerd was partially true. But, suddenly, this rage didn't have to be suppressed, it could be explored, and even celebrated. Safe to say, things have never been the same.

Back to shit pop. This was a huge hit in 2007, at least for kids my age. When i hear this song, I remember 18ths, being way to drunk than i should have been, laughs, stressing about year 12, trying to talk to girls, then remembering you have braces, long hair, acne, and a sweet Metallica shirt, with the logo in fluro green.

This is why i like pop music. It's so fleeting, that i comes to define the moment in your life in which it was released. Songs become time lines, time lines become stories, and suddenly your own vision of your life takes on this linear, clarified narrative.

But yeh, Slayer sums up my life.

My Hate For You Is A Fucking Obsession.

2011-10-23T22:40:00.002+11:00

Two of the search phrases that brought people to this blog are 'death metal shoes' and 'fixie nerds'.

While I'm aware that people interested in the above must be my demographic, it doesn't mean it hurts any less when you have the fact confirmed.

Onto other things though...

Seeing the actions of Victoria's police on Friday at the Occupy Melbourne protest got me pretty mad. One because i couldn't be there, and secondly, because it made me sick. A friend of mine who was there saw a cop bash a young 14 year old kid around the head with a baton. Seeing the screams of terror or some protesters as up to four large men dragged them away in a chokehold, was pretty awful viewing.

I don't care what you think about the cause, it's irrelevant. Everyone has the right to protest, regardless of how abstract a concept they take issue with. Refusing to move from a place of protest does not mean the Mayor can order the cops to clear these people out.

The fact that Robert Doyle had the cheek to look down from his fucking office window, as if he was some French nobleman, as young kids had their teeth kicked in, was enough for me. He might do well to remember what happened to a lot of those guys

The blatant misrepresentation of the protesters as lefty hippies is expected. What isn't is that a lot of reasonable people are falling for it. Friends who's opinion i respect, and who basically see eye to eye with a lot of what i think, commit the ultimate crime by accepting the narrative that mainstream media paint of the protesters, with a view to making them 'others'. So they appear strange, unkempt, not in line with the general public.

As i rode past city square with Brendan today, since being 'returned to the people of Melbourne' as Doyle put it, i was surprised to see it had been cordoned off and was being guarded. It was less accessible then when it was occupied.

I don't really know what's going in terms of the global movement, and i wonder whether more violent clashes are ahead of us. What i do know is that finally, finally, i seem to be living in a world where people give a fuck. The fact that the first protest failed is irrelevant. If it let's people know that not everyone accepts the status quo, then that in itself is a success.

I think it might be an interesting summer.

Spittle and Rum.

2011-10-19T21:38:00.002+11:00

I spent about 15 minutes in a break away this evening in the local crit. When we finally got caught, i still felt good, and tried to set myself up for the win. With half a lap to go, i boxed myself in, and thus fucked up the sprint.

I don't really mind losing cos of something stupid i did, and having the fitness to sit in a breakaway for a while was good for confidence. Overall, it was a nice evening, followed by burritos, which is ok by me.

The team work required for a breakaway is strange. There were three of us. Steve i knew, and some guy bloke i didn't. Steve had gone off by himself originally. He was sitting out there for a bit, all by himself, until i decided to cross over to him, with old mate following me. We saw that we had a gap of a few seconds at the top of the hill. Young bloke just looked at us and just asked: "We going?" "Yeh, let's hit it!" I said. So we did. We worked together for as long as we could, on the rivet, sucking in as much air as we could. When we got caught, seeing the pain on the chasers group's faces felt really fucking good.

There's something primal about knowing you caused another person considerable pain. It's considered a bad thing in today's society, generally speaking. When you can do it legitimately, it's fun to explore the emotion.

Man, who would have thought bike racing could be so subtle and complex.

A Higher Hill.

2011-10-19T12:48:00.001+11:00

Thrash 'til Death. Now and forever.

Shotgun.

2011-10-18T20:58:00.003+11:00

You might think the most urgent issue in human affairs is, perhaps, the imminent collapse of the global economy. You might, on the other hand, consider the environment to be the most pressing state of affairs.

You are of course wrong. The most worrying trend in human history of the past few years in the substitution of anti-establishment punk rock for synth pop in extreme sport videos.

You know the sort, the skate vids, the BMX vids, where young kids do rad shit, to sweet tunes. Once upon a time you would have found Venom, Gorilla Biscuits, Metallica, Black Flag, Slayer, Minor Threat (to name a few) as the soundtrack to these vids.

Now, on the other hand, we are faced with variations of indie pop, synth, dance, dub step etc. I refuse to accept this.

Given the situation, we can acknowledge there being two potential reasons for the above:

Firstly, different kinds of kids are doing these sports. Secondly, extreme sports have evolved to be part of the mainstream. Or both.

I don't much care to find out which one is true, because both prospects are as horrifying as the other. If different kids are getting into it, what are the other kids doing now? If extreme sports are being accepted, which sports are extreme?

As far as I'm concerned this is all bullshit and will be settled once double denim is taken back by those who it belongs to.

Sacrifice!

2011-10-16T22:55:00.003+11:00

Sometimes I worry that, what with the popularity of orthadontics for those who can afford it, the state of people's teeth will be yet another marker between the working and middle classes.

Sometimes I also wonder why I haven't got a Slayer tattoo yet.

The House That Jack Built.

2011-10-13T23:18:00.004+11:00

Not that you asked or anything, but the reason my updates have slowed is because my honours year is reaching somewhat of a peak at the moment. While my thesis is largely finished, i have to write a lot of other essays in the next four weeks.

One is about fatalism, another about Rorty and his politics, and the last one is about the difference between ontological and common sense metaphysical claims.

It's all systems go!

At the moment my days are reassuringly regular. I get up, eat food, go to uni, work for three hours or so in the library, eat a quick lunch, go back the library for another three or four hours (sometimes i have class in which case i go to that) then i go home, bury myself on my bike, eat food, then go to sleep.

The easy option would be to complain that it's boring. But, really, it isn't. I get to think about really interesting ideas for most of the day, write a few badly composed words about them, then go home and ride my bike.

Since realising that my feeling bad on the bike lately was due to a lack in iron, I have been topping up on that lately, and have generally felt like i could smash through walls. I'm getting fitter weekly, and i feel strong on the bike.

In short, I'm enjoying my academic work, and my body is working well. Oh, and it's day light saving, so it's lighter for longer, and the weather is getting warmer.

What's not to fucking love?

Deliverance!

2011-10-08T23:08:00.003+11:00

I have always assumed that things will kind of work out for me as i get older.

However as i get a bit older, and just as I'm about to finish up my philosophy degree, the old, cliché turns out to be true. The more you're certain of, the less you know.

Sometimes I try and picture myself in ten years, and I can't see myself at all. I have no inkling of where I'll be, with whom, for what reasons, or how long I'll be there for.

This is, to some degree, kind of exciting. I feel like at this point in my life, my path could take very different routes, depending on some choices i make. It also means that i could make some serious mistakes, and end up somewhere i never wanted or intended to be.

But i think that might be the point.

Oh, and while I'm here, I will be going to this. Folks, the system is broke. If you aren't angry, then you should be. Let's make them sweat a little.

End Rant.

2011-10-03T22:19:00.002+11:00

Angry Anderson sings in a band that represents everything i despise about pub rock.

He is also a right wing, bigoted idiot.

Fuck you Angry Anderson. Take a lesson about how to rock.

Cruel Beginning.

2011-09-29T20:43:00.002+10:00

When you have a Garmin cycle computer, you can upload it on the internet. All your data, where you went, what your heart rate was, your speed, your cadence...anything really, can be uploaded all onto one site. Thousands of people do it from all over the world. The front page of the site tells you little interesting stats about the collective garmin usership. For example, if you add up all the kilometres travelled by people with garmins, it's enough kilometres to have gone to the moon and back several thousand times. And enough calories burned for something like a billion lollies.

So, yeh, sometimes i wonder whether Garmin is selling all this data to governments, so that they can have the most detailed data system about global athletes ever made. I'm not sure why governments would want this in the first place, but I'm prepared to believe that it's happening. ASIO could learn a lot from my training habits, so they know exactly where to get me when I'm most vulnerable, like on Kew Boulie at 9pm, or when I've been dropped by Gene on a hill and I don't have anyone to protect me.

Yeh, I often wonder about that.

As The Guards March Me Out To The Courtyard.

2011-09-26T14:07:00.003+10:00

As pathetic as it may seem, the closest I have probably been to a religious experience, was when i first saw Iron Maiden.

Despite the years listening to music, and the changes in taste I have undergone, Iron Maiden remains a staple.

Nothing has ever, repeat never, come close to the experience of seeing them on stage. To say iot was transcendental is embarrassing, but true. It will be a time i remember until the day i die.

To be fair, it was perhaps the crowds response that was most exciting. Everyone was incredibly happy to see this band after 16 years. I have never heard a roar so loud.

But as i listen to more punk music, and move away from the 'stock metalheads soundtrack', I can't move away from Iron Maiden. Something in their music moves me in a way that I can't put a finger on.

An Iron Maiden concert is like the theatre. The music is just one part of the entire spectacle. Costume changes, fireworks, lazers-things that are largely rejected as pompous by almost all my favourite bands-are things that make an Iron Maiden concert seem larger than life, as if you are seeing a true show. Not only that, but Bruce has a way of making it seem as if the show is for you, and that you two alone feel this surge of pure unadulterated joy. But then you look around, and you aren't alone. You're surrounded by people who feel exactly the same.

All these people who have entirely forgotten where they are, for a moment spell bound by this unifying moment.

It's pretty bizarre that a band like Maiden has created this phenomenon. I certainly don't understand it, or have any inclination to find out.

It's just a bit magical.

Coming Of The Storm.

2011-09-25T22:17:00.000+10:00

You Can Roll Your Eyes!

2011-09-25T17:46:00.002+10:00

And For A Second

2011-09-25T16:32:00.003+10:00

When you live in a different country, especially one that speaks another language, you find that you develop a different personality, to fit that particular country.

When I lived in Italy, I had my 'Italian' personality, where certain ways of thinking, speaking, and gesturing were the norm. I also had my Australian personality, which manifested itself differently. Being a kid probably made this even more noticeable.

When it gets to the point when you begin to think in Italian, to see structure and patterns in the world differently than you would have in the Australian context, things become interesting.

I would often go to school, where my thought processes and real world interactions did not even come near my Australian self. The longer you stay in that place, the stronger that character becomes. I imagine if I had stayed, my Australian self would have slowly disappeared, until I was simply an Italian kid.

I remember sitting in the plane in early 2003, on the way home to Australia, being very excited about going home, but also aware that the personality i had developed in Italy, and spent so long despising, had recently become an important part of the way I looked at the world.

As the plane sped up, that roar it makes just before take off filling my ears, I recall being sadly melancholy, despite my excitement. As I watched the suburbs of Rome slip away behind cloud banks, I think i felt a bit torn between worlds. I had spent most of my life in Australia, but some important formative ones in Italy. I guess this limbo lasted the course of the flight.

We we arrived at Tullamarine airport, and eventually hopped into a taxi to head home, the driver turned around and looked at us. He was an older Australian bloke.

"Where to guys?"

"Elsternwick thanks."

"No worries!

I'm not sure what it was, but that phrase, said in that particular accent brought back all these memories of home, and I distinctly remember feeling my Italian self almost die entirely in that one moment. That way of speaking, thinking, and expressing myself seemed a million miles away. It just didn't mesh with the world i was in now.

Occasionally I find snippets of the remnants of that frame of mind. Little turns of phrase, or ways in which i tackle certain problems. But for the most part, James the italian kid is gone.

The Strike Of Midnight.

2011-09-21T21:32:00.002+10:00

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a writer. At around the age of 12, after writing the start of dozens of stories, and finishing none of them, I realised it was really hard, and dismissed the idea.

Since then I have held vague ideas about doing some profession which requires me to use my brain, and not much else.

However, with my increasing interest in all things mechanical in the past three years, and my re-emerging interest in the written word (creative rather than academic) I think maybe I should be re-routing my life in another direction.

That's what next year is for. No uni, no structure. I'm gonna ride bikes, fix bikes, read books, and write stuff. Knowing me I am fairly certain I will run into patches of despair, creative depression, rage and probably indifference.

But I'll get through it. Who knows what new skills I might have by the end of next year?

Riders of the North

2011-09-20T13:03:00.003+10:00

You know when a band you love turns out to represent awful politics or hate? Yeh....I hate that.

Don't Waste Your Time.

2011-09-19T20:46:00.003+10:00

I fucking love watching Iron Maiden footage from central and south America. It truly overshadows any western crowd.

Then to observe all the old, battle hardened metal heads, acknowledge that they really are living through the 'golden years'.

Gone Are The Days.

2011-09-19T19:37:00.003+10:00

Today I rode about a bit on my track bike, had lunch on Sydney Rd, came home, had a coffee, lounged around reading Ulysses, and listened to Bane.

It was fucking pleasant.

As the heat of the day permeated around the city, and that hot wind cut through the wide streets of Northside, I couldn't but help be stirred a bit.

Summer's been a long time coming.

My Best Friends By My Side.

2011-09-18T14:55:00.000+10:00

So i finished my first Northern Combine season by getting dropped on the same course i got fifth on in my first race.

It kinda sucked. Rather than getting better this winter, i seem to have only gone backwards, and I can't understand why.

I have decided two things though: if things don't come good within a month, I am seeing a doctor, pulling out of Tour of Bright (cos I have better things to do then pay money to get dropped), and just ride about a bit with no structure. Then, next year, i am going to get a program, stick to it, and see what happens.

It makes me excited about what I might achieve.

God Damn!

2011-09-16T22:16:00.000+10:00

Today my friend and housemate Cat, brought a cat home.

It's name is Captain, it is sort of brownish, has funny markings, and is social as all hell. It also tried to climb the chimney, and failed.

It seems to have taken a liking to me, but i suspect that is more due to my not having gone out to party tonight.

At the moment it is sitting in bed with me, cleaning itself, and getting its fur all over my belongings.

He seems quite pleasant.

I'm a bit worried about the logistics of having a cat in a share house, especially given the attention span of my particular house mates.

That being said, i got a good feeling about this cat (in that it behaves a bit like a dog) and I suspect Captain and I are going to be good friends.

He also seems to like hardcore.

Lucky he's a boy, i don't see many girls in that scrum.

Outside of the Rider's Domain

2011-09-15T12:29:00.001+10:00

Brendan said that a post i did a few days ago read like "a bad extract from Kurt Cobain's diary".

Fair enough, I'll try and refrain from the cardigan vibe.

As most of you know I have been going fairly crazy over the band Wolves in the Throne Room. When i write my thesis (which is every day) i tend to listen to them, and sometimes Burzum, as it creates a nice background 'white noise' kinda vibe, which actually helps me think.

Despite loving their music, I am aware that these guys are class A wankers. Punk kids way too into deep ecology, they have built up an entire philosophical repertoire by which to live. This is to be admired, partly because, just like Fugazi, they actually follow through with their way of life. This involves living on a farm in Washington state, producing their own food, and by and large ignoring the capitalist, consumerist society which they live in. They have even taken steps to limit where they play, when they do, and how much it costs (again, kinda like Fugazi).

But, they also say kind ridiculous stuff about the nature of black metal. They have rejected the US 'scene', stating it is a far more solitary pursuit than that. This i can accept as true. But saying things like "If you listen to black metal, but you don't know what phase the moon is in, or which flowers are in bloom, you have missed the point."

This has led to a lot of hipster fans to get upset. Partly because they live in upstate New York, and there are no wild forests through which to wander. And while what the band says is kinda wanky, it's also kinda true insofar as black metal requires more of the listener than your average power pop band.

Not because it's inherently elitist, but because you have to engage much more with it before you come to understand it. So it becomes difficult to jump on the black metal bandwagon when the music is so immediately inaccessible. And while we might think what the band is doing is a bit over the top, a bit pompous, we can't help but acknowledge that they are taking their deep ecology, eco feminist, green anarchy, to its logical conclusion. They believe their music is a gateway to the natural world, and a closer affinity with it. This makes it harder to talk about liking the music, but not the message, as a lot of trend jumping tends to do. After all, it's the image that you want to convey, not an appreciation for the music itself.

This is why I don't think BM will stay in the cool kids repertoire for long. Kinda like riding a track bike on the street, its inherently too time consuming, too annoying, and too difficult to do, if all you wish to achieve is seem cool. There are easier and better ways to do it.

But for the few people who hold on, who get it, there's an amazing world waiting for them. A world where it almost seems as if time stands still.

Hell, I Wanna Know.

2011-09-14T14:46:00.001+10:00

Today I woke up and felt like, to quote Bilbo Baggins, "butter spread over too much bread."

Sore, lethargic, tired, it was all i could do to not stay in bed. The presence of strangers in the bak garden holding chain saws (that's another story) was enough, however, to get me up and about.

But, it makes me wonder. Sure, i raced hard on Sunday, did a bit of lifting on Monday, and rode a bit on Tuesday...but it's hardly as if my physical schedule is off the chain. What the fuck is wrong with me? Is my body just unable to cope with physical stress?

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Fuck You and Your College Dream.

2011-09-12T22:13:00.000+10:00

So I raced the first ever cyclocross state championships on Sunday.

I raced rubbish, hurt a lot, and old mate Munners won it in fine style.

The real lesson I'm taking home from the whole cyclocross season is the necessity for me to warm up properly.

Every race I have done well in, I have warmed up really well beforehand. Cross racing and its social aspect does me no favours here, where i mill about, fuck about, and before i know it, i have to race.

In cross racing, the heart rate spikes from the first minute, and never lets up, so I never have a chance to recover from my lactic thresh hold.

Every race i spend the first 15-20 minutes feeling like death, lose heaps of time to other racers, then by about 25 minutes in i come good, begin to gain ground, but by then it's too late.

Sunday's race panned out much like that but, as the race went on, i could feel my self getting angrier. Largely due to frustration at my shit position, but also just from the race itself. I felt angry, and toward the end, I started pushing the pedals down harder, my frustration ignoring my bodily pain.

It's made me think. I was once an angry person, when i was younger. Since then I've calmed down dramatically. But maybe it would be better to bring back that rage when i race.

Maybe it would make me go faster. And that's gotta be a good thing.

Farewell to Great Friends

2011-09-11T00:15:00.000+10:00

It's much, much easier to not care, to dismiss a problem as beyond your means, or your control.

But i find, when it's easiest not to care, it's indicative of when it is most important to take a fucking stand.

My Full Capabilities

2011-09-10T11:58:00.000+10:00

One thing that I have noticed with the onset of my taking racing more seriously, as well as eating a vegan diet, is my taking immense pleasure from supposedly boring foods.

So, I wanna talk about Heinz baked beans. My love affair started in the hours after the Hell of the West road race a few months ago. I had been dropped hard, spent about two hours by myself, and had crossed the line dazed and famished. On the way home, we stopped at a servo, and Brendan suggested we get some beans.

I have always been pretty snobby about canned foods, figuring they must be gross. But i was so hungry and so tired, I didn't think twice. I ate those baked beans cold, with my finges, in the back of Brendan's car, as he and Sam Mcgregor talked about something or other.

The taste was so overwhelmingly good, i wolfed the entire can in about five minutes, and immediately wanted more. Since then, I have been eating about three of those cans a week, generally eating half a can for breakfast, usually with spinach on toast.

And i look forward to it every freakin morning! Since becoming vegan, little parts of my diet that i once wouldn't have considered difficult to find (like treats) are suddenly precious discoveries. I can't scoff any old chocolate, so finding one that you can immediately becomes a little ritual.

Brendan Brazier is right about one thing. As my diet has changed (largely for the better) I have started craving good foods, like i once craved sugary ones. Sometimes i get home and all i can think about is salad, or avocado...or beans.

I imagine this could be related back to some kind of lesson relating to the 'simple pleasures in life', but I don't feel like making any connections today.

Turn it Up

2011-09-09T18:00:00.000+10:00

If anyone ever asks you to route the cables for a di2 setup through the down tube of a bike...say no.

Assuming you only have your one life to offer with which to complete this task.

Tell 'Em Where You're From

2011-09-06T23:47:00.000+10:00

An aspect of 'training' that i really enjoy is the necessity of heading on odd routes, and subsequently seeing interesting things.

If you ride only when you want to, you always choose the nicest route that is convenient. However, when you follow some kind of schedule, where the importance is what you do, rather than where you can go, you eventually start pulling routes out of nowhere, deciding where to turn as you go.

The last few weeks during my easy rides with Brendan, and Gene and Jeremy when they can make it, we've gone through some Epping back roads, some bike paths around Altona, some twisting back roads of Hampton, train lines and industrial complexes over Footscray way, as well as various other little roads too and fro. Everyone contributes a little something here and there, according to where they know the lay of the land the most. All this in the past two weeks!

I have lived in Melbourne almost all of my life, and I still to this day enjoy the roads of my youth, only vague projections in my head, become tangible again, realising I am riding down a road my dad and I used to drive down on the way to North Carlton to get fish for dinner. Or having no idea where you are, only to emerge out from a labyrinth of back streets to find yourself somewhere you know, and now confident that you can get home. And slowly, as you get older, you realise you have an anecdote, or a friend's anecdote, or a memory, or a song to relate your own situation back to more and more landmarks. In others words, you become more intrinsically involved with the city you live in. Parts of you begin to spread around its confines, representing parts of your life that have past, are ongoing, or perhaps are even yet to come.

These are small victories, to be sure, but I like to think as I become more aware of how the different roads snake through Melbourne, and how they relate to each other, I become more aware of my own position in this city. As i become more confident with how the city works, I become more attached to this place.

It's kind of a rad feeling.

Sore Winners.

2011-09-06T18:43:00.000+10:00

For some reason, this song really reminds me of long wet road rides, where you sink into a sort of trance, where you recognise that there is some unpleasantness ahead...but that it will result in a warm feeling in your belly that signifies your knowledge that you accomplished something.

Hostile Crossfire

2011-09-05T22:53:00.000+10:00

Sometimes you create (or help create) something.

Occasionally it fizzles out, sometimes it takes on dimensions of its own.

When something you helped make takes on the dimensions you originally intended to lampoon, you know it has well and truly become bigger than its creators.

No one is at fault. You can blame those involved who didn't get it, you can blame observers for not understanding, or you can blame yourself for being so stupid as getting involved in something that had the potential to spiral out of its original confines.

All you can do is laugh.

But when you get persecuted for a manifestation of your creation you had no say in, then something has to be fucking done.

The Helpless Won't Survive

2011-09-05T22:36:00.000+10:00

It's student election time at Melbourne Uni at the moment.

Up until this year, I always voted, and had a bit of a crack at trying to sift through the rhetoric.

Not this year though. With the Young Liberals and the Young Labour basically fronting the same party, and the so called 'radical' parties being made up of smug socialists or patronising media-com students, I want nothing to do with it.

When challenged as to my lack of interest, I want to turn around and explain to them the rage I feel about the state of the university, the city, the country. I want to sit them down and ask them whether offering me a choice between a dipstick in a blue shirt and a dipstick in a red shirt is meant to represent electoral choice, or electoral freedom.

But i don't. I stutter, I shrug, and make some bullshit excuse.

Anti-Juno.

2011-09-02T00:31:00.000+10:00

Brendan is right. A film about a happy couple, where the woman falls pregnant, has an abortion, and then lives happily ever after, just wouldn't fucking float in hollywood.

Fuck that.

Sleepyhead

2011-08-31T22:12:00.000+10:00

When i was young, I did not excel at school. I got by, but only just.

Then my grade four teacher told me i was struggling because i was too young. She knew i was moving school, so she said I should repeat grade four.

So i did, and from there on in, I excelled. Things came fairly easily to me, suddenly i was doing well in pop quizes, and started to be known as one of the 'smart' kids. As someone who had come from a school where i was known as the token class clown, who was a little slow, this was profoundly strange. My class clown act remained, but stopped being the thing i fell back on, cos i was engaging much more seriously with the work.

Come university time, this status quo remained. Until this year. Now I'm surrounded by geniuses, who are already tentatively exploring publishing options for some of their papers, and being invited to philosophy conferences with the professors and post-grads.

And me? Well, suddenly, I'm cracking more jokes in class. I have a whole routine about dinosaurs that gets the logic class laughing. When i don't entirely understand a concept, or I'm intimidated by someone's intelligence, i crack a philosophy joke.

Suddenly, I feel like I'm in grade three again and people appreciate me for the laughs i bring, rather than what i have to bring to the table intellectually.

This isn't a bad thing necessarily, but it's certainly a change, and something i haven't experienced since 1998.

If anything, it just confirms something i have long suspected: I make a better comedian than i do philosopher.

Thrill Me

2011-08-30T09:20:00.000+10:00

Today, it is exactly one year since my dad died.

I was going to mark this occasion by linking to a music clip that he would have hated, in keeping with the agreed upon father/son dynamic. Instead, I will put a clip he liked, and one that i secretly like.

Rolling Wagons.

2011-08-29T22:53:00.000+10:00

The last few months have been so shit bike racing wise, I had forgotten somewhat what it was like to be in the race proper.

The Coburg crit on Saturday panned out like clockwork. We decided Adrian would go for the win. With a lap to go Steve belted out a solid effort, followed by Jeremy who ran us up the back straight. Come the second last turn it was on me, and i was churning the biggest gear i had, my right leg by that stage spasming with a cramp. With about 200m to go Adrian went, and i faded into the background, spent, but happy.

My body felt good, and had responded well all race. I think Sean the Man pointed this out, and he's right. It's much easier to hurt yourself for someone else.

Sun, high speed bike racing, followed by wedges. Really, you can't have a better Saturday.

Yah, we are going...crazy here.

2011-08-26T10:30:00.001+10:00

Another Oil Spill!

2011-08-24T11:07:00.000+10:00

Funny how the desire to write comes and goes. The last week or so I found that i didn't really have anything to say.

The cross season ended on Sunday with yet another cracker of a race. I felt terrible, and did very badly, but I still had a fun time. Despite some antics around the mud pit which has made some people concerned, the majority of people seemed to indulge in the CX atmosphere, without the antics that could see it become troublesome.

One thing that I love about cyclocross is the mixing of cycling tribes. It makes me incredibly happy to see national level cyclists being encouraged and heckled by local fixie punks. I think this, more than anything, is the key to any notion of a 'cycling community', where the interest in the machine and its possibilities in our lives forge strong connections, and override smaller differences in the way we go about things.

We're so close to seeing this realised. A mutual respect for each other, and the way cycling manifests itself in our own lives, is crucial here. I hope we pull it off. Because if we do, there is real potential for real, tangible change. Maybe not tomorrow, but five, ten, twenty years from now, when the repercussions of events like Dirty Deeds, begin to make themselves felt in wider communities and society. Whether it comes from the girl who got second in the kids race, or one guy who came in mid pack in B grade, events like this years cross have the potential to act as the catalyst for wider social change.

Now, that would be really something.

What's My Age Again?

2011-08-12T18:04:00.000+10:00

I went to go check out Cadel's parade today with a bunch of friends.

It was kind of what i expected. I didn't actually see Cadel, or anyone famous for that matter. But we listened to the Premier talk about something or other, the Mayor show decisively why he was booted out of state parliament (he's a fucking muppet), and some dude wearing ridiculous yellow sunglasses.

Then Cadel rode along for a bit, and everyone cheered, and most people awkwardly tried to figure out how he won, even though he only won, like, one stage? Weird huh.

But it was a nice atmosphere, and nice to see average Melburnians cheering for a sport other than footy, and nice to see a cyclist have 'legend' yelled at him, rather than 'faggot'.

It got me thinking though, hanging out with my chums, as some dude banged on about how pleased and proud we should be to have 'our cadel' back in Melbourne. I looked around a bit, at the half dozen or so people around me, some oldish friends, some new...just how fucky lucky i am to know these people. I'm pleased for the frog man that he won but, really, I'm just stoked that i have mates to celebrate him with.

Lord of all Fevers and Plagues.

2011-08-11T17:57:00.001+10:00

As you could probably tell from my near incomprehensible sentence in the last post, I was sick and feverish at the time of writing.

This, at one stage during the night, consisted of me believing i was a captain of a ship that was sinking in the middle of the ocean. I was drooling quite a bit and, when i would occasionally wake up in the middle of the night, I would feel the saliva, think it was the water lapping at the hull, which made me more distressed.

All things considered, I'm quite glad it's over. The most annoying thing to come out of the whole affair is that, when i ride my bike now, I can barely breathe through my lungs at all. This doesn't bode well for Saturday's race which i was really looking forward too. At this rate, I'll be lucky to even make it to the start line without drowning in my own phlegm.

Children of Bodom are one of the few modern 'glitzy' 'power thrash' bands i tolerate. They also remind me of fond memories of seeing them in 2008, being so drunk i could barely see, and having a fucking whale of a time.

A Higher Truth.

2011-08-10T20:16:00.000+10:00

While I will admit that not having access to chicken soup during times of flu (like I am experiencing now. God damn i am feverish, so I'll keep the prose to a minimum) is a bummer, seriously, no more.

Myself, I Would Like to Collect Assault Weapons.

2011-08-06T16:03:00.000+10:00

Today, my seven year old nephew Oskar came over. He was wearing a Ramones shirt, jeans, and black boots.

As a seven year old, I was building lego, watching Tin-Tin, and sitting on our front fence at the family house in Surry Hills, pretending to shoot the drivers that drove past.

I talked to Oskar a bit about the Ramones until my sister Margaret leans over and says: "He's getting into Black Flag at the moment."

I can't work out whether it is Oskar or me that missed out on something intrinsic in childhood.

The Last Claim of Self Sufficiency.

2011-08-04T21:37:00.000+10:00

I have always believed in the positive force of the channelling of anger. I never bought the idea that anger must be a negative or destructive force. Some of the most important events in the past have come about because someone, or some people, were really pissed off.

So, I've been vaguely pissed off at the state of the global economy for some time now. This was in some part due to my hating the idea of government bail outs of corporations that didn't do so much as give a fuck during their time in the sun; but mostly due to my own ignorance on the topic.

In an attempt to remedy this I have been reading here and there. The New York Review of Books has proven excellent, as well as various online sites.

I still have a fair bit to learn, but what i do know is this:

We are proper fucked.

The EU is all caught up in itself, with countries like Greece owing money to Italy, who owes money to Germany, who needs to bail out Portugal. Basically, bankrupt countries are lending money to other bankrupt countries. When the bail outs come, more money is borrowed.

The US is stronger than the EU but, from what i understand, this is because a very significant amount of the US dollar is owned by China.

The US is printing millions of dollars every day to pay back debt but, at the same time, they are borrowing more, hence Obama raising the debt level the other day.

Printing money in large amounts leads to hyper-inflation which people seem to think can't happen in the US. Well, apparently it can, and it is.

What this means for Australia directly I don't really know but, honestly, it doesn't matter. The significance of state borders is increasingly meaningless.

So, what does all this bullshit mean? Well, if inflation continues, and the the US dollar continues to lose value, more money has to be printed to keep up with demand. Things like bread and milk will start costing outrageous sums of money. This happened in Zimbabwe a few years ago. The government printed 60 trillion dollars, three eggs cost 10 billion dollars until, eventually, the currency was declared dead.

This, theoretically could happen in the States. This means high unemployment, state controlled prices for products like bread, and general unpleasantness. Basically, the stuff that happened in Weimar Germany following the collapse of their economy in the 1920s and 30's, can happen again.

Some critics say this is the fault of the Reserve Bank. I'm yet to fully work out what the Reserve Bank does but it seems as if they regulate money a fair bit. Critics say if we don't dissolve the Reserve, which since its beginning in the 20s has overseen numerous gargantuan fuck-ups, we are headed toward a police state of the highest order.

So yeh, I knew things weren't good, but it seems they are far worse than we think.

In the end though, if we are going to hell in a relatively large handbasket, it does mean i can move to Washington state and rip trailz all day.

Ah, fuck, where the hell will i buy my sweet Trek from? Quick, someone had me an oxy!

A Lost Wisdom.

2011-08-04T12:10:00.000+10:00

I was saying to Brendan last night that, in the past few weeks, I had kinda lost the will to race.

"But you've got a goal to get too!" he said.

That's true, I do. Tour of Bright is on the cards, and looks to be a fun weekend away.

I just wish i could get back in the mood to ride fast.

Beyond the Mountain Side.

2011-08-01T11:50:00.001+10:00

Despite being partial to the ice-like perfection of logic, I tend also to be disproportionately lured by the romanticism of 'the wild'.

This tends to come about when I am having some period of ridiculous introspection. So, not 'what will i have for breakfast?' but, 'is there a difference between Truth and conventionalist truth, and does it even matter anyway?" This tends to lead to awkward questions like: "Wtf are you doing with your life?"

This in turn leads to a naive desire to move to the woods (despite Australia not really having woods) and live 'off the land'. I imagine this would be a novelty until I realised I would have to take a shit in said 'woods'. I have done this before, and it is unpleasant. It would probably be raining too. As well as that, as much as I romanticise being alone, I would probably get bored and lonely with 72 hours.

So when i listen to Wolves in the Throne Room (who live on their own commune in the middle of rainy Washington State, farming and making black metal) I like to pretend that one day i will go live in the country, wear big boots, a trench coat, grow my hair back, and think about stuff.

BYO cape.

Glued to the TV, While the Rest of the World is Burning.

2011-07-30T15:41:00.000+10:00

One of my oldest friends came home from a year away on exchange. We were talking shit, almost as if we were carrying on from a conversation we had been having before he left. I was surprised, and pleased, at how natural it felt

Talk eventually drifted to my veganism, and my drinking much less (if at all). I tried showing him that I was the same person, that I still sought out the lols like i did before he left, and that it was simply a case of priorities re-arranging themselves, due partly to the forging of new friendships, and the continuation of my ever present inner-dialogue.

But, as the conversation continued to drift, it occurred to me that, perhaps I have changed. A year away is enough to judge a change in someone, and Tim clearly felt some difference in me.

I hope it's for the better.

Darkness Comes Alive

2011-07-29T19:32:00.000+10:00

Old mate Sam didn't much care for literature. So, imagine my surprise when, some years ago, he professed his love for Pride and Prejudice.

When i explored a little more, I found out he actually meant the recent film adaptation with Keira Knightly. He watched it a fuck load for a fair few weeks. I suspect it had as much to do with the presence of dear Keira than any other aspects of the film. But, i thought, never ask to many questions when an engineer shows some sense of taste.

So, you can imagine my disappointment when, in the middle of watching said film, Sam turned to me and said: "Fuck Pride and Prejudice is good. Heaps better than anything else Shakespeare wrote."

Her Gay Picture Never Fail.

2011-07-27T21:49:00.000+10:00

Some of the Best Days of Your Life.

2011-07-27T21:19:00.000+10:00

I had a week off after my knee flared up. I'm back training now, and feeling great. Yesterday I did an ergo, and I felt better than I have in forever.

It's amazing what your body can do after just a week of taking it easy, and I certainly intend to pay more attention to my recovery.

It also allowed me to regather my thoughts, which have a habit of straying, and muddling while in the midst of exercise regimes. 'James,' I thought, 'you're a mediocre C grader. Fucking, get some perspective.'

This doesn't mean I'll stop trying my hardest, or get lazy. It just means that I can be a bit easier on myself when my life doesn't let me do that ergo, or that hills loop, or that gym session.

After all, as Pete says, 'you do this for recreation. The only race that matters is in London next year.'

I won't be there, so, I guess it's a bit of a laugh really.

Metal! Revolution!

2011-07-24T17:07:00.000+10:00

As you may or may not have heard, Cadel Evans just won the biggest alley cat there is. Seriously, how fucking big will the spoke card be?

As i was saying a few weeks ago, I have watched the tour for a long time. I have watched every single Tour Cadel took part in. At first, when he seemed to be making real progress, I was genuinely interested in him, and willing him onto a win, sometime around the mid to late noughts. But as things went pear shaped for him one too many times I, like many, fell off the bandwagon.

I didn't like the way he raced, he talked, he seemed to sook a lot...i got bored.

But nothing has made me happier than watching him win this year, because I really feel like he throughly deserves it. He fought tooth and nail, every step of the way, and wasn't a dickhead about it either.

So, as I watched him sitting quietly on a chair, directly following his stunning TT, the tears welling up in his eyes, I was equally stunned to find there were the first traces of tears in my eyes. I am a cynical bastard. How the fuck did a five foot nine bicycle racer drive me to this?

Not because he's Australian, not because I have any sense of pride, or any sense that our country has 'done something great.' No, watching Cadel last night, I saw a man's life long dream come true. It's rare to see someone realise this directly in front of a camera, but we saw it with him. I was touched.

It's that look that confirms that in forty years from now, with a pot belly, and a shit set of eyes, the man with the chin can look at himself and say, "Sheet, I did ok!"

Not many people can claim that.

Now, before i sicken even myself, I intend to party in the only way i know!

Fallen Angels, Take My Hand

2011-07-22T13:50:00.000+10:00

I am not a very good philosopher, in the same way that I am not a very good bike racer. I fuck about, wait for others to make the first move and ultimately, totally miss the mark.

The past six months, while intellectually stimulating, have been a case of my progressively realising that i don't have what it takes to thrive in the academic world. In some ways, this is a relief. There still remains, though, that residual part of me that thinks the whole thing is a bit of a shame and that, frankly, i shouldn't have ridden my bike and listened to metal so much.

My honours year is halfway through and, other than a debilitating caffeine addiction, i haven't gained much in terms of 'ideas about what i should do after uni'. I quite like the 'fuck about and see where you end up' school of thought. There is, however, a great deal to be said for the 'make some plans now you fucking bludger' method too.

Either way, something has to give.

I should also apologise, given that we are all here, about my blog's steady transition from relatively humorous thing, to terrible personal introspection thing. Fuck knows, its awful enough having to face your own failings, let alone having to read about some other muppet's who cut his hair, and lost his sense of identity.

Speaking of strange, here's Portal.

Enlighten Us To Your Way

2011-07-20T22:23:00.000+10:00

I keep fucking telling people to listen to Morbid Angel. Will they listen to me?

Fuck it, they're loss.

Stronger Every Day

2011-07-20T21:48:00.000+10:00

So i have officially sustained by first proper sporting injury. My knee has a tracking problem which essentially means by knees are special needs.

In the same way that kids with special needs often need constant attention, so too does my right knee. The only difference being that i have compress it to keep it tracking properly.

So I can't race the Melbourne to Ballarat this Saturday, which was going to be my first open. I'm disappointed, but also kid of relieved: it looked like a hard day at the office.

The really scary thing is that it is the first tangible proof that my drive to be better at the thing that i love most in all the world, will not be without its setbacks. This isn't a surprise, just annoying.

Thus, as the rebels in Libya supposedly take a firm footing in a key town, supported by ingenious engineering students who have developed remote control jeeps, that draw enemy fire; and as Rupert Murdoch's empire seems to begin it's collapse, all i can think about the future prospects of my right knee.

I've said it before, James, you are a fucking muppet.

Fuck Morrisey

2011-07-19T23:34:00.000+10:00

The other week I posted some blogs that I follow. I should have added this one:

http://ddoublehelixx.tumblr.com/

Gene, despite doing my head in on a regular basis (DDDUUUUDDDEEEEEE), is a great guy. He's been one of my racing buddies this winter, and it's great to see him improve, in skill and confidence.

A Racist Crime.

2011-07-18T11:16:00.000+10:00

I've always maintained that for thrash to make sense, you gotta understand what the big thrash bands were listening to.

Guilty of Being White was always a touchy song. Minor Threat fans maintain it is an inherently anti-racist song. That may be so, but when it comes to singing along with Ian, in a crowd of mostly white people, the song takes on a more sinister tone, even if this was not the original intention.

Messages, no matter how well meaning, can be distorted by those who have other agendas.

So it always gives me the shits when people accuse Slayer of being racist (Tom the singer isn't even white for fuck's sake) for changing the last line of this song from 'guilty of being white' to 'guilty of being right.' All they were doing (in classic Slayer form) was issuing a warning.

It's called irony chums. Hardcore can do it. So can metal.

Paramount Importance.

2011-07-14T19:05:00.000+10:00

It was probably the fourth ascent of Mt. Macedon this morning (of the six i was meant to do, tagging along with Brendan's cruelty regime) that I briefly entertained the idea that I might not make it.

Shortly afterwards, however, I realised that I had to make it. If i didn't, how else would i see this movie?

I don't tend to be one for hyperbole, but this film, may very well be the cinematic tour de force, of this century, or possibly millennium.

C'mon, C'mon!

2011-07-13T14:26:00.000+10:00

Despite contemporary Australian politics' pig headed charge for the lowest common fucking denominator (and it's not even a very graceful charge) I remain hopeful.

This isn't because I have a shred of faith left in any of the parties, because I don't. It isn't even because i enjoy seeing what should be a process in which everyone is engaged in reduced to a proverbial mud slinging contest, where the winner is the person that looks most stupid.

No, it's because I'm hoping that, eventually, someone, somewhere, will sit back and say: "Fuck me, this sucks. Let's start a band!"

Mercy Killings

2011-07-11T14:41:00.001+10:00

It's been a little while, and i had totally forgotten what it felt like to be in a race and think: "I totally have this."

I didn't have this, not quite anyway. I finished fourth at the Footscray road race on Saturday. I had the legs for the win, but not quite the brain, and successfully boxed myself in.

But, having spent the entire race out the front in the vicious wind (mainly to avoid the old Footscray blokes yelling at me) i felt it was probably the most honest race I've ever taken part in.

Not coming first is something that Megadeth have down pat. But, as I always say, if not coming first still means millions of dollars, and less pressure to be awesome, maybe that's the way to go?

I'm A Negative Creep.

2011-07-08T16:15:00.000+10:00

I have long been a defender of the Australian band Violent Soho. This is despite all my better judgement.

As a band, they are neither original, nor particularly skilled. They are, bluntly put, an immature grunge rehash.

And this is why they are rad. They don't give a fuck. I have seen one of their shows and, put simply, it rocked. For a guy of my age it's the closest thing to seeing Nirvana live...and that's ok by me.

Their lack of sophisticated lyricism, their stock standard grunge imagine is one, however, that i am quite sympathetic to because, pretension aside, that is what grunge is all about: simple, disenfranchised music. It's not a lifestyle, or a movement; it's just a bunch of tunes that are kinda heavy, and kinda rad.

When challenged about their lack of originality and their many detractors, the singer had this to say:

"I guess they can go party with lame MacBook looping electro-pop hipsters and live under the illusion they are creating high art."

Damn fucking straight. I will always admire a band, regardless of talent or vision, that refuses to take themselves too seriously.

Also, they went to school with Mckenny. That's alright by me.

Scum

2011-07-08T11:11:00.000+10:00

So I just went to the doctor for the blood test Casey recommended i get, once turning vegan. While not stoked on my diet choice, he was understanding, and very professional about it, which is why i still think he is the best doctor ever.

Unfortunately, they forgot to tell me to fast beforehand, so I have to go back Monday for the actual blood letting. However, i did pee into a cup, and the doc checked the basics, finally commenting on my high blood pressure. He reassured me it could be due to general level of excitement about being at the doctors. I wanted to tell him i find Slayer blast beats exciting, not peeing into a cup which would in turn be examined by a very friendly Jewish doctor.

But now I'm worried. I am 22. I do not want to have high blood pressure, especially considering my general good diet and fitness.

I'm aware that, given the potential life threatening things that could happen to me, a probably wrong reading of high blood pressure doesn't really rate. But, hell, I figure i have my old age to undergo all these problems so that, at a ripe old age, i can turn to my son or daughter, with a gleam in my eye and say:

"You know what? I just pissed myself. You deal with it!"

It's So Hard to Change.

2011-07-03T23:15:00.000+10:00

I've been watching the Tour de France since 1992. Back then Indurain was on his way to five successive victories, via time trial domination, a strategy a certain Lance Armstrong would go on to use to considerable success.

I always watched the Tour with my Dad. I don't really know how it started, but as long as I can remember, that was what we did. This year will be the first Tour without Dad to sit at the couch with and talk bullshit. We never watched it live, always the half hour highlights, finishing up just as dinner was about ready.

I'm not really excited about the Tour this year. Partly this is because my own racing, and that of my friends, is of greater interest to me. Up until a minute ago, I hadn't even thought about whether dad's absence is playing a role. In all likelihood, it isn't. But i can't help but feel alienated by my friends who watch the tour religiously. They know more about the riders, the course, the stats, the controversies than i care to find out.

It wasn't always like this. At the risk of sounding precious, I was into the Tour long before anyone else i know was. This doesn't make me better, or more knowledgable. What makes me uncomfortable is how my friends treat it as simply a sporting event. I couldn't care less about the sport itself. It's just a bunch of dudes earning heaps of money riding very, very fast for three weeks, hepped up on anything they can take without being caught.

To me, the Tour means winter, open fires in the living room, eggs on toast, Antonia my sister complaining loudly about how she was missing the Simpsons, my Dad ignoring the racing and raving about how nice the French countryside looked, my Mum feigning interest when Dad drew her attention to some aspect of the race. The Tour is winter nights at home.

So when my mates start reeling off Cadel's chances, taking into account his move to BMC, or Contador's lack of morality, I feel like backing away and removing myself from the TV. The Tour de France is just a bike race that happens once a year. The riders come and go, the controversies develop, and are subsequently forgotten.

So when I try and think back to the earliest Tour's I watched, i have a vague recollection of Indurain dominating the field, of Pantani climbing, as if dancing on the pedals, of Ullrich taking a climb in such a low cadence, it seems hard to believe he doesn't fall over sideways. When i have these memories, the TV is only in the corner of the room, a backdrop to a much larger picture, of comings and goings, of woodsmoke, of eggs on toast.

To Assume, From Ignorance.

2011-07-03T12:13:00.000+10:00

Brendan linked me onto this great blog. I have only read a little but it essentially tackles most of the topics i try too. The difference being that this man can write well, and his inspiration doesn't trickle off after three hundred words. The link above addresses the nihilistic issue i was discussing the other day. His most recent post also discusses his transition from heavy metal to punk.

Yeh, it kinda sucks when you discover your schtick has already been done, and done better. But it's also comforting to know other people kinda know where you're coming from, and even think it worth writing about.

Brendan, the other day, talked about one of the side effects of heavy training is the limitations of thought. I guess that is one thing that fills the void that Al Burian talks about. To throw yourself into a task, a belief, a faith, is too put off the realisation that we surround ourselves by construct. This blog entry is just one such activity, just as drawing a comic is. Even listening to Taylor Swift, as I am now, is one more way too propagate this myth of meaning.

I'm not sure I can stop thinking. And more puzzling of all, I don't know if it's a bad thing.

SHIT THIS PLACE IS BECOMING FORMULAIC.

You Know So Much About Nothing At All.

2011-07-02T23:39:00.000+10:00

Slight change of pace. Here is a little story i wrote the other day when i was bored during a spare hour or two. There might be more where it came from, but I probably won't put it here, because the first part is terrible enough. This is a one off, i promise.

It wasn’t so much that the wizard was wise looking that caused one to pause. That is to say, he did cut a fairly grand figure, what with his long white beard, billowing black robes, and a hat that pointed upwards toward the sky, not unlike a wigwam. It wasn’t his staff either, though it was as tall as the wizard himself-dead straight, incredibly smooth, until the top, where it finished in a large protruding knot. Some might have said that it was the large black dog that walked alongside the wizard that added to the level of mystery. But it wasn’t that either. No, it was more the severity of his countenance that really struck one, on first meeting the wizard. His brow was very much furrowed. The average person tends to believe they know what a furrowed brow looks like. That is to say, they would probably believe this until they saw the wizard in questions brow. His eyebrows, already a bushy, brilliant white, fairly drooped over his eyelids, as if trying to reach forty-five degrees. His nose, long and crooked (perhaps broken in the past?) flared outward, almost in time with his steps, and did nothing to take away from his generally severe expression. His mouth chewed slowly, masticating not entirely unlike a cow, over some foul substance, perhaps tobacco, perhaps something more ambiguous. It was only his eyes that were his saving grace, so to speak. They were a brilliant blue that, when looked into, gave you that distinct, yet wholly uncomfortable sensation that the eyes owners knew more about you than you yourself. Occasionally, as the wizard walked, he would pause and lean down to pat his big black dog. The dog would sit, allow itself to be stroked and then, once the patting was done, both dog and wizard would right themselves, and continue walking.

The wizard’s name was Greg, and he was hungry.

This was, for Greg, an off-putting state of affairs, but one that could readily be addressed, given that he and his big black dog were at the outskirts of a town. He could tell they were nearing a town for two reasons: firstly, the smell of urine was becoming stronger. Secondly, there was a distinct smell, (and this was very surprising to Greg, given the potency of the first reason), of frying potato. Given that the harvest had turned out about half of that of last year, Greg could only assume that the townsfolk were cooking potato purely out of necessity. He wondered, as he neared the town gates, coughing violently due to thick wood smoke, whether he would be able to get away before the potatoes ran out. Poor people, he reflected, tend to get agitated when they’re hungry. Agitation always led to some degree of unrest up in these parts. Bastardised brands of anarchy, championed by village idiots, would occasionally grip the people, only to be forgotten the next week, when any sense that the movement might gain some traction became apparent.

Entering the town gates, Greg looked from side to side. There was almost always a tavern of some description on the outskirts of town, where both the cheapest prices and the least desirable people could be found. Undesirables could be tolerated, but Greg was starving, and poor, so there wasn’t really a choice. The tavern he had chosen had a dirt floor, with various scraps of unknown origin littered over the floor, and a smoke haze so thick Greg could barely see the bar. This was, in some respect, a blessing because on seeing the bar, Greg had a profound sense that he may have made the wrong choice. There was a grand total of one man sitting there, who was passed out in a puddle of what appeared to be beer, though admittedly it could have been water, if rumored water quality in the town was anything to go by. Greg sat down at the bar, ordered a meal and a beer, and then tried to do his best to look busy. The black dog sat at his feet. A man he had not seen when he first came in suddenly loomed out of the shadows from his right. He had the look of a man who thought he knew more than he actually did. He also looked to have some sort of skin disease, but this was less worrying that the former observation as far as Greg was concerned. Sick people were harmless when compared to the insufferable nature of the know-it-all. The man spoke, with a shrill tone, and incredibly quickly:

“You! I’ve got a question for you!” Greg raised his eyebrows.

“How do we know if we know something?” the man asked. Greg groaned. Christ. A philosopher. Greg cleared his throat, looked directly at the man, and said:

“What do you mean how do I know when we know something? For me to know if I know something I would have to know what it takes to know, which I don’t know, so it stands to reason that I cannot possibly know what it is to know. How can I recognize knowledge if I don’t know what it is to know it?”

The man started at Greg, blinking.

“You might have just said justified true belief counts as knowledge” he muttered.

“I might have said that” answered Greg, trying desperately to think of a way to rap up this conversation, which was heading rapidly into the realms of full scale philosophical debate. “But that simply doesn’t cut it. Say I am told on good authority that a particular tavern serves an excellent stew. This is because the cook there knows a secret recipe for a mean stew. I go to the tavern and eat the stew, and it is indeed delicious. Without my knowing though, the cook left some time ago, and the stew I ate was cooked by another cook altogether, though it was also delicious. Did I know that the stew at the tavern would be delicious? The justified true belief system says that I did, because I was justified in believing it (say I was told by a reputable source), I believed that the stew would be delicious, and it turned out to be true! But not for the reasons that I first believed, namely that the first cook made a mean stew. So did I know it? No. Does it matter? No. Was the stew delicious? Yes.”

The man, Greg noted, rather than being put off by this retort, seemed to have been spurred on.

“Very true bearded one! But then how do I account for the things I feel that I know then? There must be some way!” Things were rapidly getting out of hand Greg realized.

“No. There is no way. Knowledge is just a term for things we feel very comfortable about believing. We need to feel that some things are set in stone. How often to we hear: ‘I thought I knew that…’? There are some things that must appear to be beyond doubt, because if there wasn’t, everything else you build upon that bedrock, would come toppling down upon you. The day that happens, you get into philosophy, and eventually you visit random taverns in the town, talk to strangers about pseudo-questions that no one cares about, until the fateful day that you realize the one ultimate truth. That you’re a jackass, well beyond saving.” With that, Greg took a sip of his beer, wondering vaguely whether his meal would arrive soon. The man looked a little hurt, and slumped down onto the stool next to Greg. He gave it one last shot.

“Well then, what about this paradox. If I take one step, of exactly one foot, I can surely half that distance, right?” Greg knew where this was going.

“Sure” he replied wearily.

“Right, so if I half that half, I get a smaller number again. Eventually, I get to the point where I can half the distance travelled infinitely, meaning that the distance travelled is itself infinite, meaning I cannot take a step at all!”

The man leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face. He honestly looked like he felt he had won. Greg knew the time to end this was now.

“Listen fuckwit, I’ve heard all these so called paradoxes. You know what they do? Make a seemingly simple tasks like walking, or making a pile of beans sound really hard. But they aren’t. Look, I’m going to get my beer, and walk to the other side of the room. If your theory is correct, I won’t be able to do it. But you and I both know that I’ll be able to. So is there really a problem, or just a problem with what you feel are legitimate problems? Enjoy your meal jackass.”

With that, Greg got up and moved to the other side of the table. His dog, after looking briefly at the philosopher, also moved over to where Greg had relocated. The barman, and the man passed out at the bar went about their business as if nothing had happened. The barman pretending to clean glasses, the passed out man continuing to be passed out. It wasn’t as if wizard/philosopher arguments were uncommon.

Philosophy was not looked on kindly in these parts. And with people like the philosopher being its only defender, it was easy to see why.

I'm So Tired

2011-07-01T15:40:00.001+10:00

I was walking my dog just now, listening to Chokehold, feeling a vague sense of dissatisfaction about the world, as I walked though the leafy streets.

Whenever i go back to my Mum's house to stay, I am always overwhelmed with this desire not to speak to anyone on the street. I'm not entirely sure why this is, but it probably has something to do with it reminding me of how ridiculous it is to be vaguely angry with the world as you walk your dog on a crisp winter day, in a middle class suburb. That isn't to say things are wrong out there in the world, but it is probably silly to go on as if you yourself are hard done by. Unless of course you have been hard done by. But I, avocado prices aside, have not been.

So here I was listening to Chokehold, trying to make sure Sammy the dog didn't chase the border collie across the road, when Bolt Thrower came on.

Bolt Thrower are classic examples of the nihilistic social commentary that always attracted me to metal. Where a lot of hardcore is idealistic (in that is describes what should or could be) metal often showcases this gritty realism (in that in explores what does happen, without any real sense that it can be changed).

I imagine its this brand of social nihilism that attracts a lot of less well off kids to death metal. When you don't have the opportunity to learn that things can be better, one is inclined to accept your lot in life, no matter how much it sucks.

I Am the Eye within the Gleam

2011-06-30T17:15:00.000+10:00

I tend to be quite up and down. One day i might be literally bouncing off the walls. Today was such an example. I was riding up in Mt. Pleasant and, on my way home, I caught a glimpse of the horizon. The sky was ice clear, and i could see all the way to the city. As i sped down this hill, fishtailing a bit over the moss that has developed over the shady patches of road, I felt this surging happiness that enveloped my entire body. Life is fucking sweet!

But, sometimes, life doesn't seem so good. Usually it's the weather. I find winter pretty gloomy. Some people find happy music helps them through a depressive patch. I disagree. I reckon when things seem bleak, and real crap, one should embrace it. Sadness isn't something which should be avoided but, rather, explored. I have always had nihilistic tendencies. While I am passionate about many things, and want to see the world improved, ultimately (and here by ultimately i mean really ultimately) I don't think there is any meaning to anything. Which is both a comforting and terrifying thought.

Sometimes though it's nice to forget all the things that matter to you, or at least seem to matter to you, and remember that we're all pretty pointless really. I can't work out if that's a happy thought, or a sad one.

Shit, that's totally deep James you fucking muppet.

Get grim.

Everyone needs somebody.

2011-06-28T19:14:00.000+10:00

Things to note:

1. Who told Axl wearing those glasses was a good idea?

2. Who told Axl straightening his hair was a good idea?

3. How does Slash, despite an incredibly affected image, come across as a genuine and sincere badass, when compared to Axl?

4. Why the fuck would Axl take a total babe to some local dive with his scum bandmates? To impress her?

5. Why does Slash leave the wedding directly after giving the ring?

6. Seriously, what's up with those glasses?

7. What is this clip about? Is there a moral?

8. Do those glasses represent the catalyst for everything that was Oasis?

9. Fuck me, Slash is a badass.

And I Wouldn't Care if you Died, Right Before My Eyes.

2011-06-27T21:50:00.000+10:00

The other day i volunteered to work the BBQ for the Melbourne Roobaix. At first i was cooking the vegan sausages, but they didn't prove that popular, so after an hour or so I was manning chicken and beef.

During the two of three hours i was doing this, I had a good time to think stuff over. Up until a year ago, sausages were a particular favourite of mine. I was one of those people who would go to Bunnings just for the sausage sizzle, then make up a reason for why i needed a hatchet, or a can for two stroke, or a bunch of herbs.

But here I was turning these things over and over, as they bubbled and sizzled, and smelled delicious. I got thinking. And as i did, I had a bit of a realisation, or some degree of epiphany. We, as a society, kill other living creatures (usually in a pretty horrible way), mince them up, then put them in a cylinder, cook them, then eat them.

Sure, you say. Of course you do. But have we actually thought about it? Slaughtering animals that can manage tasks that some small humans find tricky?

I'm grappling with this idea without, firstly, sounding like a naive city kid and, secondly, sounding like a bleeding heart hippy. I may be the former, but I'll be damned if i admit to being the latter. While I have been going through the motions of being a vegan, I have pretty successfully avoided coming into contact with meat for a good few months. Standing there at the BBQ, as everyone munched away (and while Sean the Man declared the vegan sausages 'definitely for faggots') I suddenly realised where the real struggle was. And judging by the crowds yesterday, and the general contempt for the herbivores and their options, we still have a way to go.

Head in the Sand.

2011-06-27T11:42:00.000+10:00

So this Australian, all girl, all sister rock n roll band has been creating quite a stir. The oldest member is 21 and the youngest is 12. And everyone is all like "wtf, she's drumming and singing wtf".

While I am, true to form, deeply sceptical of bands like this, they seem to know what the deal is, and their cover of 'Whole Lotta Love' is kinda rad.

BUT, WTF, SINGER DRUMMERS AREN'T THAT UNUSUAL! AMIRITE?!

Throwing a Grappling Hook into the Ivory Tower

2011-06-24T17:08:00.000+10:00

One thing that university has taught me, and something with Socrates was totally right about, is that, the more educated you become, the more you realise you actually know fuck all. Fuck all about yourself, others, cultures, society, the universe (both physical and metaphysical). Furthermore, you also become acutely aware that the methods we use to learn stuff, are incredibly limiting.

For my part, being a student of philosophy, this is especially the case. While I will defend it till the death for its ability to teach us how to think, which is far more important that the subject matter of what we think about, one must become aware of its limitations.

Most of academic philosophy is the process of answering questions no one asked other than other philosophers. This can be quite fun, and quite rewarding, but it is also totally enclosed within itself. People who aren't involved won't understand. That isn't because we are more clever than them, but because we have closed ourselves in with walls of jargon that takes years of training to grasp.

This isn't in the interests of philosophy. Philosophy should be open to everyone who feels the need to think about stuff that doesn't necessarily have a cut and dried answer. If nothing else it will increase the potential for great ideas. Because if we want to get some answers about the things we wonder about, we're gonna need a bigger sphere of influence than just a bunch of people who don't know how to do anything else. Fuck, its only been about sixty years where women have been actively involved in the process. Just how enlightened are we?

Philosophy as it stands now needs to be shaken up, taken by storm, torn down by those who have been excluded from the ivory tower. Because asking things about the world shouldn't been viewed as an elitist dead-end past time, it should be absolutely crucial for everyone on this fucking planet.

The Glorified Gutter

2011-06-24T00:08:00.000+10:00

Cyclocross is a lot like listening to grindcore. You love the idea of it, you love thinking about it, you think there should be more of it but, when it actually comes to doing it (or listening to it), the whole process is rather painful, and the end is usually met with some kind of relief. But, after about five minutes, you're telling everyone what a good time you had, and that you can't wait to do it again as soon as possible.

Seriously, cross sucks!

Fuckin' good fun but.

Infanticide

2011-06-21T02:26:00.000+10:00

Moscow, 1991, just after the fall of the Soviet Union. Just watch Metallica embody 50 years of ideological conflict in six minutes. Fucking. Amazing.

I first saw this clip probably five years ago and remember the tingles down the spine i got. They never really stopped.

Playing to One's Strengths

2011-06-20T16:46:00.000+10:00

As you can see, I am very good at cyclocross racing.

18 and Life

2011-06-18T23:27:00.000+10:00

It constantly amuses me to see the concessions people make in order to impress others. I like to think of myself as fairly impervious to this kind of thing. You know, 'fuck it, I am who I am and damn the consequences!' kinda shit.

But I, just like everyone else, fell victim to this. It was 2008 and I was chasing this girl. She was really into Skid Row. Back then, all I wanted to listen to was Slayer, Testament, Carcass and maybe some Exodus. Glam metal was not my thing.

But, for a few months, I became pretty convinced Skid Row were my favourite band. I played their records a lot, and played out the various ways i could straighten my hair to get Sebastian's Bach's incredible locks.

Eventually I realised that there was only so much I could listen to this fuckin pout band before i lusted for the speed and filth of thrash once again. I was a thrash head!

But, hell, looks like you can fool yourself into all sorts of lies for a girl with platinum blonde hair and a penchant for Marlboro Reds.

That's Just Something I Don't Need

2011-06-15T14:54:00.000+10:00

So Three Day Tour was hard. I raced badly all weekend, and came in way behind in the GC. That's ok though, I learnt a lot. I also now have a cold.

Seeing all the racers on the weekend just inspired me to try harder, dig deeper, and push bigger gears.

Here I am, about to conclude a mediocre time trial.

Fun weekend!

Back with a fucking vengeance next year!

Uh Oh

2011-06-10T15:42:00.000+10:00

This weekend I'm racing the Northern Combine Three Day Tour.

Wish me luck motherfuckers.

It Sounds So Simple, But I Know It's Fucking Hard

2011-06-07T18:46:00.000+10:00

Here at Death Race, we have just worked out how to look at our blog stats. It may surprise our readers to discover that we have a dizzying average of 4 views a day. Not only that, my core audience comes from Australia, North America and Alaska. Some of the key words that people have searched that brought them here are:

1.manowar backpatch

2. proto-black metal

3. How to dress like a metal head

4. I love grindcore

5. The garden sighs...the flowers die

6. Colt fake banned pouring beer

Clearly my audience is an educated one and I will, should my intellect allow, continue to strive to challenge my readers with stimulating content.

Perhaps most pathetic of all is how much my readership stats died after i made blogger not include my own viewing of my own blog. I tell you, there is no justice.

While we are at it I may as well pass on my favourite blogs, so that you, dear reader, can bring my stats down even further, which is as it should be.

http://thenewtimer.blogspot.com/ This guy is a friend of mine. I recently realised that my blog has slowly, and honestly without my realising, become a cheap imitation of his. Sorry about that Brendan. Imitation, flattery and all that. He's pretty funny too. But, mainly, it's a relief from all the fucking picture blogs that regurtitate the same old shit to the same fucking audience.

http://chazhuttonsfsm.tumblr.com/ Chaz shares my love for interesting facts, of no particular relevance to anything. This blog is a great resource for this. Occasionally he inexplicably stops working and takes photos with his iphone, mainly of what he eats and what he sees. It's awesome.

http://fuck-cunts.blogspot.com/ The original picture blog, and the best. Ryan doesn't give a fuck what you think, and his boundaries of taste are almost certainly further flung than yours. it's good, just not very safe for work. Fortunately, I don't work. That said, I am waiting from that call from Melbourne University IT department for an explanation. I will tell them that I wanted to see all the weird and wonderful things the internet has to offer. Also, occasionally, breasts.

There are other blogs i read, but the above three are the ones i read daily, often checking back multiple times a day. They are all good people with interesting things to say about stuff. And really, what else is a blog, other than ruminations about things no one cares about, in a time that will soon be forgotten by everyone except those that were there.

Broken Spell

2011-06-01T15:59:00.000+10:00

Holy shit, after about a year of feeling a bit meh about metal, Bathory came along and woke me up.

I don't even fucking like Bathory!

But the opening lick to this song takes me away to the snowbound forests, where wizards have mad beards, and no doubt some kind of evil shit is going down.

I'd Rather Die On My Feet

2011-05-30T21:17:00.000+10:00

Despite saying i would never do it, today i went to the gym.

Sweet techno beats and gyrating bodies this was not. I went with Brendan, curious about the weights and exercises he did for bike racing, and whether they might help. Furthermore, i hear Pete the trainer was a bit of a character and, at 71, full of good advice.

On hearing that i was a road cyclist and keen to work on things that would make me better at racing, Pete had me doing light weights, squats, and curious dog position things. He also told me i was a typical cyclist, had shit posture, asked me why i was sweating so much, despite not having done any work, and then laughed at me for only being in C grade.

He was a total champ.

I kinda only came along to see what Brendan had been talking about this whole time, but i definitely think I'll be going again...if only for the ice bath which, by the way, i shared with Casey. We both thought it was pretty funny.

So gyms don't have to be hell. I learnt something today.

Who Needs God When You Have Satan?

2011-05-29T17:33:00.000+10:00

If you look carefully, you can see me in the middle of the pit, having a fucking ball.

\m/

When Armageddon's been locked and loaded, I will come back for you.

2011-05-20T17:19:00.000+10:00

The past few days I have been fortunate enough to see the band Propagandhi twice. I won't do a review, like i did when i used to write for this site, firstly because I am increasingly realising that i can't write for shit and, secondly, it would be boring. Suffice to say that they were ten times better than i was expecting. They brought a live show that i didn't think was possible outside of a Slayer concert. Rad times.

I'm aware that this blog is increasingly about me listening to a lot of punk, and me making outrageous generalised claims about it, and then comparing it to metal. It's a formula that, for now, is working.

But the other night at the show, hanging with some great friends, seeing crust kids, edge guys, the odd metal head, classic hardcore old guard, I felt like i was sixteen again and learning the difference between thrash kids and death metal kids.

You can dismiss this as arbitrary scene lines, indicative of nothing in particular but, god damn, if i don't find the different ways in which people choose to live their lives fascinating. Propagandhi rightly lambast our shitty scenes as just another brand of conformity which prevent us from creating change for people who actually need it. I agree with them to an extent.

But when people unite at a show to watch some music that makes them feel really good about themselves and others, well, that can only be a positive thing.

As an aside, I wanted to crowd surf but, as i said to Brendan and Casey at the time, I didn't feel confident, largely because metal guys expect much more weight from a crowd surfer. Maybe they bend their legs more, i dunno, but the crowd surfing needs work guys!

Next week i return to my roots and will see Morbid Angel. Face shredding, stage diving madness to ensue.

One by One

2011-05-10T22:32:00.000+10:00

Aeons ago the legends tell we rode onward
Led astray by the northern chaos gods
Calm before the storm we came from the north...
Horses roamed in the open landscaped

The scald sang to their kings
Only he who battle wins
The scald sang to their kings
Let the battle he fought to the won

Tremble with fear for the banner of our kings
War now calls heed to the battle
Hear our swords clinging in the wind
Men cast from their saddles horses roar and scream
Descendants of wrath and the kingdoms of fear...
The might we possess burn like fire
The will remain in our northern hearts...
More scalps to be won - an eye for an eye

Aeons ago the legends tell we rode onward
Led astray by the northern chaos gods
One by one by the northern tribe you fall
One by one... die by the strongest of them all
Still theres only greatness sunged in those who fell
Who battled strong to win these wars...
One by one we took your lives

Grey mist swirl across the meadows...
Where battles once ruled the steps
Where the ancient armours of bronce
Are buried and corrored by time
Strong where those who won the war...
And the legends tell only of wrath
As brothers of the northern tribes...
They guarded the horders of chaos
We leave this Battlefields ground
Red where the rivers of blood
Unforgotten by the ones...
Born of strength and glory

I think the band Immortal may have had something else in mind but, when the weather turns as nasty and cold as it is now, it always comes to mind.

It also makes me want to race the Northern Combine. That's kinda pagan.

Ride Harder: needs more nuts.

2011-05-03T20:41:00.000+10:00

So I've been clocking up a lot of kilometres lately. Both social and training rides (and racing!) have been coming thick and fast. I have been feeling good. My diet has been decent, my sleep has been good, and my efforts on the bike have been none too shabby.

Until tonight.

It was just a quiet training ride that i decided to go on, at the last minute. I often do it, both for the hills and the company. Tour de Burbs is always a bit of fun.

But holy shit today i felt like i was having my guts ripped out by a large badger named Toby, who wasn't really into kindness.

Truth be told, I probably hadn't eaten enough today, and i was paying dividends for it now. As well as that, I've probably gone from doing something like 150km a week for the past two or three months, to doing something like 500 the past two weeks. I could make excuses for ever. But i felt shit, i barely held on, i cut the ride short.

This is no big deal and happens to everyone who follows some kind of physical activity regime. I probably just had a bad day. All the advice one reads is just to forget it, refuel, and do it again another day.

But the doubts that creep in, as you loose that wheel, your heart beat pounding in your ears, always question whether you did everything right. In a race, and your in pain, the voice in your head is asking you: "Hey dickhead, guess that garlic bread wasn't such a good idea after all...or maybe your whole diet just sucks. You have no power at all."

Stupid, irrational thoughts. But they stick in your head. Which is probably good because, when you get off the bike, you resolve to disprove these little folk theories. To show your yourself that, fuck it, you can do it!

Meh, so i felt tired on a bike ride today. Get fucked James.