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Moebius Jones
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Date:2006-03-31 17:44

In case you haven't noticed, Moebius hasn't been here for a while.

It seems pretty likely that he's not coming back.

Apologies to those who were promised something. Apologies to those who thought there would be something more.

Looking back over this journal, I see a person who knew time is not sequential, knew there is more to this world than what we can see, who laughed, and lived, and loved... so many stories here, full of wide-eyed wonder. But the stories have stopped, and there should be an ending, of sorts.

If you want to share anything... perhaps a tale of how you met him, or something you did together... doing it here may be your last chance, before it too is lost in time.

Somebody, turn the lights off on the way out.

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Date:2005-10-20 14:34

Looking down the street from my office, I can see them building the new IKEA. It's at Slack's Creek, at a distance from the Brisbane CBD just before Google Earth swaps from hi-rez to grainy satellite maps. Big yellow and orange monsters are pushing the dirt around, getting ready to make something.

The old IKEA at Springwood backs on to the bottom of my dead-end street. I watched them build it, too, nearly 20 years ago. I lived in a different house then, but in the same street. As the building went up, such a strange shape, my fifteen-year-old brain dreamed of interdimensional spaceships, of unbounded futures, of endless possibilities.

Looking down the street from the grainy part of the map, I watch them push the dirt around.

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Date:2005-08-23 11:23
Subject: beautifully grim

don't vent emotions while driving, beautifully grim, every colour has a meaning, the temptation to see the world as it ought to be, quickly disable the alarm, fingers shaking, stop stop stop stop stop-

I spend my time spinning this globe, zooming in, zooming out, examining this world... a country interests me, zoom in, watch the obscured slowly revealed as satellite images load, zoom further, I see the mountains, zoom, the trees, the buildings, zoom, even the people, spin out, start again...

Spin too close, and the human drama overwhelms, everything is too important, too big, spin out too far and it's insignificant, I can't even feel whole cities swept away. From just a hundred miles up, Auschwitz is a tiny dot, Tiananmen Square a mere speck, even that research facility in the middle of the Libyan desert is an unimposing smudge.

Imagine now, the whole world engulfed by fire. Plates cracking, lava erupting... while on one island, one tree, one branch oddly untouched, a caterpillar is trying to find the courage to change into a butterfly. In the face of such destruction, what does such simple courage mean?

To the caterpillar, it means everything.

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Date:2005-08-10 13:03

2 years.

Looking over my mobile phone bills, I can see I've had this phone for 2 years now. That means I've had the xbox for 2 years, too, as it came with the phone.

There are games in that box I find it difficult to return to. I played Project Gotham Racing as I blankly listened to tales of betrayal, dumped all the pain onto the streets of San Francisco, all the things I could not face directly. I played Spiderman 2 while alone last year, so alone, pondering my solitude while swinging above the parks and buildings of Manhattan, unable to ignore the people's cries for help, unable to reject the crushing responsibility.

It helped me be numb, at a time when being numb was better than feeling.

However, numbness can be a hard habit to break. It's a refuge that's always there, whenever I need it. Life's been busy, but simple lately, and in a way I'm afraid to disturb that. But last week I had a purifying week, and found my mind SCREAMING for something to do, something worthy of it once it had been activated again. I found myself setting up all the cool things on the xbox (network gaming, internet radio, hot visualisations) that I meant to do when I got it. 2 years ago.

I'm putting together a new computer with Tex this weekend, and I'm going to fill it full of playthings - programming languages, image & video editing, whatever I can think of. This box will let me turn on my mind again, give it something to do.

Also, I think maybe it's time for a new phone.

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Date:2005-07-03 23:16

I smell burnt toast.

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Date:2005-06-22 17:42
Subject:happy belated birthday, steve

There used to be some graffiti around here.

I took a good friend down there a few nights ago, "down to the maze," I chuckled. Down the hill, closer to the water level, the air cool and moist as we came to the storm water drain. There's a criss-cross of bike-paths and bridges, a few trees, and the back fences of many houses & units. And, of course, a mess of graffiti.

I'd bought the can of red spraypaint that day, on my lunchbreak. I had the best spot picked - right over the barred entrance to the three huge pipes, on top of the hundred or so other tags already adorning the spot. Big red letters, that's what was needed. I was excited. I had something to share.

My friend doesn't remember now, though. No one does.

I went down there this morning, and my graffiti isn't there. Not cleaned off, just... gone. All the tags underneath it are still there, untouched. It's like my tag was never there, which I suppose it wasn't. But in its place, in the same red paint, are the words "BAD WOLF".

I've begged, pleaded with him to remember, or tell me it was all some cunning trick, tell me I'm the butt of his joke. But he honestly doesn't remember. He can't recall going down there, how we were joking around, how I wrote... whatever the hell it was I wrote, then he wanted to do the underline, he can't even remember the tell-tale spot of red paint on his index finger. Today, that's gone too.

I'm at a loss. I have no idea of what happened, or why I feel it's so significant. Just these damn lingering traces of memory. Memory that doesn't even make sense, because I also remember that on that night, he didn't even come over, as I went out for dinner. So now I have two conflicting memories of the same evening.

Something happened, something that changed everything. What I did wasn't merely undone, but changed so it never happened. Like time itself had been ruptured, meddled with, and patched back up. Only the tiniest of scars remains.

It's as if the timeline was uncertain which path to take. Now, perhaps it has been decided for us all.

As I stood there this morning, dumbfounded, staring at the wall over the pipes, I noticed a trail of tiny ants walking along the top edge of the wall. I leaned in to watch them shunt along their path, oblivious to me, and was suddenly struck by the power I had over them. A shiver started to rise along my spine, and I turned and walked quickly away.

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Date:2005-06-20 11:43
Subject:he’s a demon on wheels...

At Mr Toys on Saturday, I scored Speed Racer (hehe, just mis-typed that as Speed Raver) and the Mach 5! For only 20 bucks!


It's got buzzsaws, and automatic jacks, and the homing bird, and the periscope, and... and... and the trunk's even big enough to hold Spridle and Chim Chim!

I can't really explain it, it's just important, ok?

Coming downstairs on Sunday morning, seeing it on the table, I was actually surprised it wasn't all a dream.

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Date:2005-06-16 10:34
Subject:notes from the undertime

They bought me a new flat screen monitor a couple of months ago... it's still sitting in its box, on the floor behind me. People here don't understand... how can I give up basking in the stream from my electron gun each morning?

Fine, I don't understand them... listening to the radio this morning... how can they cause people so much pain, just for entertainment? The people here, they've forgotten what it means to be happy.

Bah, too emotional this morning. Absorbing gentle radiation soothes me.

I hum.

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Date:2005-06-09 09:00

Sorry about yesterday's rant.

I mean, we wouldn't want another bad wolf situation.

68 hours, and counting.

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Date:2005-06-08 17:48
Subject:the dark glass

You see, I think the current state of the situation is this - humanity has turned its back on evolution.

Or do I mean advancement?
Read more...Collapse )

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Date:2005-06-01 17:02


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Date:2005-05-25 17:19
Subject:writing bad poetry

writing bad poetry
is easy
jumbled words
jumbled thoughts
and unexpected linebreaks

don't think, just write
toss in a few bad metaphors
like naughty schoolboys throwing rotten eggs

add one line that is unreasonably longer than all the others
one final twist
and with a punchy closing line
you are done

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Date:2005-05-24 14:58

I like this shirt. It shows off my superfluous third nipple.

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Date:2005-05-24 10:52

It's so strange that I have a fandom again.

My favourite childhood show is back. Aliens are roaming the streets of London. Charles Dickens is fighting zombies in 1869. A breath-taking array of lifeforms is gathering to watch the Earth engulfed by fire. Every week a new place, a new time, a new threat.

But it's different, this time. And it leaves me profoundly disturbed.

I remember watching Doctor Who as a child... how it reached me, the things it taught me. Loss. Pain. Sacrifice. But always, that life is an amazing adventure, and to never give up hope. That there's a way out of any situation for an inquiring mind. That we can always resist the darkness in this universe, and we can win.

Well, kiss all that good-bye.

The show still includes a lot of that - the Doctor's exuberance in the face of danger is simply wonderful to see. But it also includes more sinister themes, and asks questions it didn't before. How safe are the people travelling with him? What does it mean to try to live a life like his? Is he always right?

And... there's something else.

The Doctor is an older man now. Changed. He's in a vital young body, useful for all his compulsive interloping, but his eyes... this is a man who has fought a war, and lost. He doesn't want to talk about it, pieces are only slowly coming out, but...

Something unimaginable has happened.

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Date:2005-05-23 16:38

Sometimes the door opens, and nobody comes in. It swings shut again, just out of my sight.

The air is heavy, metallic, and I know I am not alone. I am well protected, I know I am safe, but... I am not comfortable.

The line between reality and fiction blurs a little more.

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Date:2005-05-23 15:03

Take a desk, a lifetime of crap,
plus a few months' worth of utility items
strewn across the table
my computer's inards hanging out
like discarded goat entrails

I reach out my hand to the hard drive
lying atop a tower of CD cases and books
lay it flat on the warm metal
absorb the heat while it attunes me
to its quiet hum

I am cold.

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Date:2005-05-23 09:14

This weekend was a triumph of science fiction - I laughed, I cried. Yeah, really cried.

Good stuff.

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Date:2005-05-20 08:36

I'm not sure if I'm early or I'm late (a common problem for me), but... the new Doctor Who is awesome.

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Date:2005-05-19 08:49

Each day I don the armour once more, and take up my place... I am a soldier, marching in this army, larger than any that ever held guns or swords... but still our goal is the Holy Grail; every day we are asked to believe, and believe we do. We are on the road to salvation.

But by night, the armour is cast off... I sit by the fire, open my shaman's bag, and draw forth my magic. The colours and the shapes all blend, the sounds mix with the spirit, and wondrous things are possible.

This is my personal interpretation of the schizophrenia of modern life. This is my insanity.

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Date:2005-05-18 10:58
Subject:miss you

...cold cities and cut-ups, your severed finger, too many arthouse films, fucking tea heads, mucus, blood, ectoplasm and shit, for the yage, for the orgones, for the junk, submit to Scientologists, mark this work forever with her violent death, the zeitgeist shifts, fighting Tarzan for your name, lost forever in the twists of time...

I miss you.

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