b3ta.com user DigitalRaven
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Edinburgh-based writer and techie.

Rambling bollocks! My LiveJournal

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» B3ta Person of the Year 2010

Brian Blessed
He got close to the top of Everest, but said "Fuck that, saving someone's life matters more." He's got a list of acting credits as long as my cock*. And best of all? He will still happily shout "GORDON'S ALIVE!" given any reason.

* I wish my cock were that long.
(Thu 16th Dec 2010, 11:31, More)

» I don't understand the attraction

Seriously, what's the point? I do things that I do not want to do for eight hours a day, pay for the privilege of travelling to and from the location where I do these things, and what's the result? Some numbers increment in a computer that I don't own and that's tied to me only via a relationship of other numbers. These numbers then decrease in order to secure a roof over my head and enough sustenance that I don't die. Any excess numbers can be reduced an arbitrary amount in exchange for shit that isn't necessary for existence and that's available for free either on the internet or in a library.

Lots of people--almost everyone--wants to get more money, but I fucking hate it.

We are an infinitely creative species. Every single one of us has the power of a young god. When we focus, we can achieve anything. We have escaped the gravity well of our own planet. We have split the atom and created works of art so beautiful that strong men and women are reduced to tears.

And yet we squander all this potential, throwing our lives away in pursuit of incrementing abstract numbers that have no direct relevance to our own happiness. We could feed, clothe, and house every human being on the planet, forever, if we just got rid of the inequalities created by this toxin, this fucking cancer at the heart of our society. And yet we do not.

You're all going to disagree with me now, blame the inequality on something other than money. But that's the root cause, that's the man running the amusement park ride that we're all trapped on*: Money.

I'd apologise for length, but I'm not getting paid for writing it and you're not getting paid to read it.

* With apologies to Bill Hicks
(Thu 15th Oct 2009, 19:35, More)

» What's the most horrific thing you've seen?

The most horrible thing I've ever seen isn't the most disgusting. There's no blood, no bones, no internal organs of any kind.

Let me set the scene: Back when I was but a wee 13-year-old, I was a suck-up little shit out for his Duke of Edinburgh's award. As opposed to all the others doing the award for a chance to fuck off camping, I ended up doing all the other bits as well. One of the four sections of the award was volunteering for something, and after wracking my brains, I volunteered at an old people's home not far from my family's home in Hull.

What I didn't know until my first day is that the home was for old people with senile dementia. Some of them were good enough to go to the shops by themselves, others needed someone to feed them and "clean them up" when they shat themselves. Guess what job I got? Still better than bathing the old sods. For some reason, I was fine being up to my elbows in faeces, but touching another man's willy was (and is) right out.

None of that was the most horrific thing I've seen. No, that award goes to one of the old dears. She was 80 if she was a day, and normally fine -- she could feed herself, knew when she needed the khazi, and generally was the life of the old place. Until something set her off.

The first time I saw her go off was in the day room. The old buggers were sat around reading the paper very slowly, doing the crossword, or watching telly, when this old dear starts screaming her lungs out. Disturbing, but it sometimes happens. She got it together enough to shriek words next: "No daddy, I've been a good girl, I promise." I asked if she did this when I wasn't around, and one of the nurses told me that yes, she did. Foolishly, I asked if anyone knew what she was re-living. They did.

Every Sunday for the best part of five months, I would sit in the day room of this old people's home, listening to an old woman who was otherwise the shining light of the place re-live one of the many times that her father, grandfather, and uncle gang-raped her. When I tried to calm her down, she spat at me and called me by her father's name.

Yeah, this story has no punchline. It left me feeling like shit for quite a while, though.
(Fri 22nd Jun 2007, 20:14, More)

» Narrow Escapes

I grew up in Hull
I'm neither the father of fifteen bastards, nor addicted to heroin.
(Tue 24th Aug 2010, 17:05, More)

» Banks

I lost my cards on a bus once. Everything apart from my debit card was a dream, quick replacement and no fuss whatsoever.

A month after being told I'd have my card "within a week, love" I started shouting at people. They finally got me a phone number. Bear in mind that this is a month in which I've had to skive off work to withdraw any money.

"Where's my card?"
"We've got it here, sir."
"Where the fuck is 'here'? It's supposed to be in my hand!"
"It got returned by the postman, so it's at your home branch."
"It... but... where is this place?"
"I live in Edinburgh. I changed my fucking address to Edinburgh. You've sent my statements to Edinburgh for the past five years."
"Are you sure you can't just drop in to pick it up?"
"Well that's not really my fault. I suppose I could send it up to a branch up there, but I'm really not meant to..."
"Put the card in the fucking post or I'll burn your house down."

All bankers are useless jobsworth cunts. I know because I used to be one.
(Fri 17th Jul 2009, 11:14, More)
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