Data Recovery

My HD crashed.

The one with the album on, with all the recordings on.

All of them.

2.5 years of my life.

Musically. And otherwise.

And in terms of porn and warez installs.

You know: my LIFE.

However.

The Cubase files for my music were stored on the other hard drive.

The instrument set I've spent five years building was on the other hard drive.

I have backups on five different computers of both my work files and my cubase files.

So yeah, I didn't backup the main HDD, with the recordings on.

That's OK.

I just rescued the things that matter.

I have lost my album in terms of recording.

About which I'm NOT HAPPY.

I have lost all the cool shit we made over the last six months.

BUT: I can remake. I can rebuild. And I will NOT be stopped or depressed any fucking longer by this setback.

I have grieved. I have felt LOW.

Yesterday felt deliciously like the last time I really thought that just going to sleep was the best way to deal with the world.

ROCK.

I not only cannot be destroyed, I class this monumental fuckup as a good excuse to get better takes out of the lads. Make the album and everything we do with it stronger and harder than it might have been.

I'm not just indomitable.

I'm FUCKING INDESTRUCTIBLE.

FUCK conventional weaponry.

I CANNOT BE FUCKING DESTROYED.

Everything good about my life is a factor of, and contained by, and a product of ME.

My harddrive fails, I weep and grieve, then I commence creating new things.

I am absolutely made of the atom FUCKYOUALL.

Fate is bollocks.

Religion and supersition are bollocks.

Probability and statistics can really be a bitch.

But MY LIFE is MUCH much bigger.

Let's go smash some fucking windows.

:D

Let's go and make something NEW, violate the laws of thermodynamics. Introduce information into the universe. Scream and shout.

data recovery - DeathBoy

( lyrics )

ah, hell

ben, pete, hold me tight.

it's going to be... "fun"...

with too many dead friends
to hide behind.

protein.

oh, I probably forgot to mention this:

pr0t31n

Officially not a part of deathboyenterprises/ uses companydeleter solventmaterial. 5559.

//

Monkey Magic

I miss nacht and monkey and the roof.

Fate and technology can kick me in the wanger and I'll just get up and truck on.

But I miss my doggy.

And my doggy's yellow twatface.

And his freakish cockney squirrel-confuser.

-sulk-.

see me.

stick your stupid free creative album shouty fuckoffshite albums up your unappreciative, cackloving arseholes.

http://deathboy.anti-goth.com/ifyouunderstoodiwouldnthavetospeak/

http://deathboy.anti-goth.com/scott_deathboy/raverboy/

http://deathboy.anti-goth.com/sociopathic/

which is assuming you've not bothered to visit

http://www.deathboy.co.uk/catalogue.htm

clearly, you're all sucking enormous bags of cack.

Why not comment, explaining how my penis is much smaller than yours?

disapply

With bleached skin, and heart caving in...

unsuprisingly, I feel pathetic and awful this morning.

I think I shall eat food. Yes.

Then I shall look at entertaining links, theoretically involving the japanese.

Smug bastards.

Climate of fear

So now the government is starting to use the same tactics as the states.

What a suprise.

We're SAFER under this government are we?

This government is "tough on terror", eh?

The only thing this government is tough on is civil liberties, mate.

So which government was it, exactly, that took us to war, against the gross and demonstrated wishes of the country?

Oh yes.

-This- government.

Safer?

No.

More likely to have our citizens in the forces die because of being deployed in a needless war? Yes.

More likely to be chosen as a target for abductions and reprisals in Iraq because of our involvement? Yes.

More likely to be chosen as a target for, if I may use the "T" word, terrorist strikes by these whimsical, airy bearded fellows, because or our expensive, high-profile, absolutely without-benefit special new policy of YES SIR, YES SIR!! joining in with the septics whenever they go spear-shaking in forn parts?

Oh yes, mate.

We're not more safe with these bastards.

We're less safe than we were, frankly, under Thatcher, and being lied to more.

I spit blood to say that of a labour government, but it's true.

come on...

[edit]: apparently, the metaphor and my usual diatribe stylings made it difficult to tell: I'm commenting upon the recent attempt to use scaremongering to promote a political party by saying "our lot makes you safer from terrorists". Despite taking us to war.


Seriously, though: If you were a schoolkid again, and a medium-popular kid with a new job as hall monitor and reputation for being quite the liar, came up to you and started waving his hands and jabbering excitedly about how you were likely to get beaten up on the way home by some new and terrible bully on the block, what would you think?

Wouldn't you find it suspicious and convenient that this bully showed up the same time as the righteous hall monitor whos job was made safer by the presence of this threat?

Wouldn't you want some proof this bully even existed?

Wouldn't you want to hear why, if he did exist outside of the fevered imagination of the hall monitor, the bully would picky YOU, personally, above others to attack?

Wouldn't you be fucking angry and turn round and beat down upon this hall monitor, this self-interested scaremonger and gossip, when you discovered that if the bully exists, the reason he would pick on you in particular was because some toffy-nosed prick had been showing off, threatening and bullying other kids and giving out your name? Claiming he was doing it with the mandate of your school?

Would you listen to him?

Or would you beat the living shit out of him?

jehova's witnesses

bastards.

I just got out of bed to see a gaggle of them sodding off down the street, ringing bells.

They didn't even wait for me to reach the door.

I popped my head out and asked "Hey, did someone ring my bell?"

A young, limp-wristed chap approached me uncertainly, saying "Yes, we were wondering if we could leave this leaflet with you?"

I spotted the cover and replied "Ah. That's Watchtower, isn't it? No thankyou, I'm an aetheist. Thanks, have a good day, goodbye."

"Oh, ok, thanks, goodbye!" - Young chap looked relieved, to be honest, I don't think he's cut out for this work.

Where do they train these people?

On one hand, I appreciate not being harangued by idiots, but they rang the bell and got me out of bed, so they're already on my shit-list.

On the other hand, the whole reason I put trousers and my best "HALLO, PRETTY!!" face on to enquire just who rang the bell was because I SAW them out of the window and suspected, from the pack-structure, age and ethnic distribution and apparent brandishing of literature that they were religious types of some flavour, getting their "witness on" and =actually wanted an argument=.

I got out of bed!

I PUT ON TROUSERS!

It's BEFORE 12, PEOPLE.

If you're ostensibly canvassing your religion to strangers and one of them says "thankyou, but I'm an aetheist", THAT MEANS THEY ARE LIKELY TO BE AN EASIER TARGET THAN SOMEONE OF ANOTHER RELIGION.

Who ARE you looking for exactly? Who's the easiest sell? You're hoping to catch a wavering ex-jehova's witness and suprise them back into faith??

Surely "I'm an aetheist" is the call-phrase to trigger your flock to dive-bomb me with pamphlets and persuasion?

If I'd said "No thank you. I am a moslem." - THEN you leave smartly and briskly and before someone gets shirty, because you're not going to convert me with a copy of fucking Watchtower.

I don't want to see these people succeed, but their half-heartedness appalls me.

And, you see, this is the point: Their hearts weren't in it.

I've been swayed. Not won over, but swayed, by people of fervent, ecstatic, virulent devotion and faith, expounding about the life they've found and its virtues. That kind of belief is literally infectious.

Putting on a suit and ringing bells, then walking away before some porky industrialist has chance to pull on a romper suit and abuse you shows that you're just going through the motions. You're only doing what you're told, not pounding down people's doors because you heart-and-soul believe you can improve their lives by bringing them into the fold of your chosen deity.

Passion, I can respect. Part-timers need not apply.

Mind Otters

I think I may have sussed out this whole hangovers thing.

When I drink vodka, it all gets stored in my head. Obviously - that's what logic dictates. Goes without saying.

And otters, well, otters love vodka. We know this. It's been proved time and time again. With science.

So what I'm suggesting is that over the course of my life, evolution has played its part on the Otter race, and those more prone to telepathy have been able to sneak into my mind after heavy bouts of drinking, and syphon off excess alcohol.

All of which would lead to a healthy symbiosis if it weren't for the fact that after gorging on booze, the mind-otters have to shit somewhere.

Sadly, they're a lazy breed and (again, via telepathy) simply unload into my head.

So, there you have it: I'm full of Otter shite.