News From The Anderson Range
Back at the Vehicle, drenched wet. Clothes off, shoes bubbling with squish and the new micro fiber towel saves the day. Back in the van to relax and ponder the day’s events.
One month prior, a right turn missed first go, Ken and the boy sat parked in the small pull out gazing through the “big screen” out and up in wonder. The chemicals of defeat running through them, the nerves of adventures anticipation floating away, the Anderson Range dripping with the skies delivery. The route’s summit, a cornice sizing the great wall. Sunburnt, drug caused thirst, bolt clipping in Kelowna will have to be satisfaction enough.
Yesterday started on time and without a hitch. Seven AM, all occupants in vehicle, headed east on a blue bird day, it was going to be a scorcher. Apres a wrong exit for a Canadian Tire pit stop, Tim Hortons was hit, now we could wander the isles of The Tire with patriotism as a false flag. Diesel engine cleaner and a full tanks. Beyond hope with food, an afternoon of leisure, lunch on a park bench, story time in the van. Off highway one, Anderson Service Road, leaving time for dinner and the approach. Back to visit the point of defeat, pressing on a kilometer and half into the over growing road. Soon the van has gone too far, the alder bows weep, now they moan and scoff, taunting the boy for his stubbornness, wanting anything but to waft the scent of failure once more (A side note; the weekend before, the boy and three others were turned around headed to Mt Ashlu, 10 km out from the approach hike a road “over grown”, 2011 Tacoma wanting not a scratch). After a turn around, where the road hardly was foot path, an opening for parking, packing, a last meal.
I Teacozy mount my stedfast steed, his reliability for success as of late under great question, throws his pack on. The road ignored, straight forth, a river crossing into terrain of planted new growth. Executive decision, by getting lost Master Ken, turn back, follow the road. Once more, good bye to the van, into the abyss, arms up Thai Bow style, wading through alders. Swimming in branches, backstroke, front crawl. Deepening severity. The road becomes run off, military training hands and knees, drowning in low canopy. The sun glistening pink off Steinbok. When forward seems no more an option, the ground continues to reveal once a trail, a few laps of breast stroke, the eroded hill side into the evergreens flirting its constant temptation, finally her allure too great, her top open, beautiful old growth. Up the bank, sliding, enter the forest, flagging blue and pink, could it be. Down below in the darkening depths of the valley the old road and the switch back from the map, the puzzle piece, does it fit true?
We depart from James and Kyla, their chosen route on Ibex, must traverse back and up to the next valley. Thomas, Ken, myself with the highest seat in the house, now with a view. They push up, out of the woods, flagging, a trail, talus, the peak casting its darkness over us. Up the rocks, like Hansel and Gretal looking back, a large flat tombstone marks the entrance to the old growth. The north lenticulars pink with evening passion, Q nimbus towering over them, a cloud mountain with the face of a seal.
Top of the talus, water running in depths, snow pack, flagging left, into the firs next slope, more talus, the arete concealing their chosen route (“best climb in the alpine select”) Another tombstone, a safe distance from the head wall, a bed for two. Gear readied, beds made, bug net, hideaway. The boys howled at the night, their excitement lost a month prior found on this fortress stone and echoed off the peaks walls.
Laughing at mosquitoes the blue bird day grays before night hides them. Lyra visible, shinning above, as long as the constellation can guide, worry is for fools. Lyra, what has become of you? Optimism too great, the next day will be cool, the conditions just right, less chance for dehydration, a solid snow pack in the decent gully. Night took the boys, the sleeping bag over me.
Hearing whispers, I awake the boy, “Thomas... It’s raining”, disbelief turns reality as the cocoon width drawn, mist hits me, then the boys face, Two AM. Its just moist out, nah, lay there mist become droplets, spelling out time to retreat. Up, out of the bug net, new sleeping bag we but working its charm. My dislike for water has Thomas stuffing me into the top pouch, a replacement a top his head, good I can watch from here. Packs strapped, headlamps on, in the pitch of night out along talus, rocks wet and teetering in the shadows, voice of be careful dancing through his mind. To the main talus, how do you like wet fir to the face, slap. Rain and fog thick, the direction even fresh in mind uncertain. The difference of the darkness, hiding visual way-points remembered. Then a cairn, ferns, signs of trees, a big rock flat, then flagging. Down through old growth, mist and rain settling. To the edge of the abyss, where forest ends, darkness and fog. This can’t be done, foolish now. Up the hill, a dish in the forest a dead branch for two, Therm-a-Rest out pack under to lean upon. Sat huddled beneath the filleted new bag, with that days lunch now consumed. The boy with booties, liner, PrimaLoft, Gore-Tex and hobo gloves, Ken in travel clothes, lazy, cotton pants, t-shirt, fresh win a new windbreaker, not water proof.
Hours to daylight the boy begins to drift, apologies as he slides down into a position for sleep. Once more, with an epic journey left incomplete they spoon for warmth. Forth-ward more a world of dreams envelopes, the forest a feverish bustle of eery cracks and snaps, pray vulnerable. As day becomes light a blanket of cloud obscures view of obstacles ahead, sleeping bag wet from new rains, still warm. Fog clearing, the phone alarms, the day for climbing, only a distant memory, future turned past. prepared for battle they traverse the sliding hillside, the run off now a stream, yesterday’s mud now puddles, foreseeing leaving being anyway worse was beyond imagination. Reality was a wet branch whipped to the face, shoes instantly joining the ranks of puddles, pants meaningless and a shower constant from above. Now this has to be a military exercise, water only thickening the drooping canopy of alder, like swimming in molasses, Thai Bow through a gauntlet of Chinese water torture, Guantanamo water boarding, The thought of dry clothes, food and greens dancing in the boy’s mind, stockings soaking wet legs forth-ward. Then after the final bough threw its punch, the van a sight for sore eyes. Four hours of van nap, a knock, James and Kyla with a tent all slept in, joy for them.
Teacozy, drying OUT!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
When the Stage Goes Black
The Curtain Goes Down
Flip up the screen, smack a key, and all systems go... and all systems go. The screen remained blank, beside the fact that the power button lit and internal organs were heard coming to life. Power down, power back up, and still nothing. I scoff at the boy, that's what he gets for trusting in a Mac, Worked fine every day for years and with no pre-signs of failure, no something gone wrong, just colossal absolute failure. So off to an authorized dealer, Tom wanted to support a small mom and pop store, but the train system only went one way, straight to down town Mac-vill, big box central. With a hundred buck diagnostic fee he swallowed his pride and headed for the train. "Stop narrating my life" the little boy screams “you’re starting to piss me off". With that he grabbed his other hat and with a desperate leap I was in his pack, city bound. After having Mr. Service stick his first aid kit in the USB, pushed a few buttons asked it to look left, now cough. Diagnosis got to head to the real Mac store, what no fee. First, have to go online and book an appointment first with a "genius". Just to tell the boy if he needed a new 2 grand part and whether he is the fortunate recipient of a free recall part. If not it’s a new computer and all the adobe software.
Well that's just another great day being shat on by the computer industry.
Teacozy out!
Flip up the screen, smack a key, and all systems go... and all systems go. The screen remained blank, beside the fact that the power button lit and internal organs were heard coming to life. Power down, power back up, and still nothing. I scoff at the boy, that's what he gets for trusting in a Mac, Worked fine every day for years and with no pre-signs of failure, no something gone wrong, just colossal absolute failure. So off to an authorized dealer, Tom wanted to support a small mom and pop store, but the train system only went one way, straight to down town Mac-vill, big box central. With a hundred buck diagnostic fee he swallowed his pride and headed for the train. "Stop narrating my life" the little boy screams “you’re starting to piss me off". With that he grabbed his other hat and with a desperate leap I was in his pack, city bound. After having Mr. Service stick his first aid kit in the USB, pushed a few buttons asked it to look left, now cough. Diagnosis got to head to the real Mac store, what no fee. First, have to go online and book an appointment first with a "genius". Just to tell the boy if he needed a new 2 grand part and whether he is the fortunate recipient of a free recall part. If not it’s a new computer and all the adobe software.
Well that's just another great day being shat on by the computer industry.
Teacozy out!
Mission Down By the Bay
Code Name Watermelon Grow-op
On the day of my birth, in the final hours as my mother strung the last few threads through, I was taught a valuable lesson, one so profound that until this day I would never quite believe. She told me, as her hand worked feverishly to finish the quiltie warm epidermis of my exoskeleton (it’s okay to use paradox descriptive nouns when I'm personifying myself, it sure is great being a toque), "At every pot of gold there is a rainbow". On this very day there was not one but three. Now I don't mean, if I was tripping off my rocker I'd be cracking out in religious ecstasy 'triple rainbow'. Today the rainbow but appeared thrice. That is two more times than the baby Jesus, and many times less than molested altar boys.
So what is the point of this story other than the boy had a great fucking day photographing and exploring on bicycle until his ass throbbed like another worked porn star. It means that with this great revelation of spirit I extrapolated new moral hygiene. Some may call it elitist narcissism, but they preach fluoride in tooth paste, drugs and vaccines. For I, Teacozy, it was the best damn bar of soap, a day which forth ward to infinity I hold neutrality to pessimism. Any who speak it will give excuse to ignore, as they speak only of failure. To those who say, can't I say one final word, 'must'.
"Is that a teacozy on his head?"
Teacozy out!
On the day of my birth, in the final hours as my mother strung the last few threads through, I was taught a valuable lesson, one so profound that until this day I would never quite believe. She told me, as her hand worked feverishly to finish the quiltie warm epidermis of my exoskeleton (it’s okay to use paradox descriptive nouns when I'm personifying myself, it sure is great being a toque), "At every pot of gold there is a rainbow". On this very day there was not one but three. Now I don't mean, if I was tripping off my rocker I'd be cracking out in religious ecstasy 'triple rainbow'. Today the rainbow but appeared thrice. That is two more times than the baby Jesus, and many times less than molested altar boys.
So what is the point of this story other than the boy had a great fucking day photographing and exploring on bicycle until his ass throbbed like another worked porn star. It means that with this great revelation of spirit I extrapolated new moral hygiene. Some may call it elitist narcissism, but they preach fluoride in tooth paste, drugs and vaccines. For I, Teacozy, it was the best damn bar of soap, a day which forth ward to infinity I hold neutrality to pessimism. Any who speak it will give excuse to ignore, as they speak only of failure. To those who say, can't I say one final word, 'must'.
"Is that a teacozy on his head?"
Teacozy out!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Media Pass To The Puppy Olympics:
Sadly this story will be shortly sued by the Olympic police for copy right infringement.
Today was another beautiful winters day “cold” according to the locals, the boy was in flip flops (why he has chosen to wear them I can’t imagine) and refused to wear his trusted toque. So I relaxed in the comfort of a lawn chair facing into the backyard. I tried to catch a few rays in the mid day sun to no avail, my appearance remains gray and lifeless. The boy, doodled and went for a skate, seeming restless. Me, I gazed into the abyss, plotting a brainstorm.
A great distraction was the playful nature of the Puppy. After terrorizing the aloha plant and attempting to murder the chilly bush, before she bit the red fruit and had a swift lesson (swift being it needed thrice told), she invented a circuit of Olympic proportions. It went something like this; tag the lawn chair, sprint the court yard, jump the pond, avoid the chili plant. Then grab an aloha branch baton, run it between the cedar bush and fence, between the olive trees and into the long grass. Get distracted by a passing bird or fallen pine cone, become randomly frightened, chase the tail three times before its back through the olive trees squeezing the fence picking the aloha up, dropping it off by the remnants of its disembodied self.
Then the final leg, a sprint finish back to tag the chair all while avoiding the chillies. Stop the clock, what’s the time, place a bet down, for a new fastest time and off she goes again. Well, as you can see winter days are jam packed and full of surprises. For now I’m back to that sun tanning, Teacozy out!
Today was another beautiful winters day “cold” according to the locals, the boy was in flip flops (why he has chosen to wear them I can’t imagine) and refused to wear his trusted toque. So I relaxed in the comfort of a lawn chair facing into the backyard. I tried to catch a few rays in the mid day sun to no avail, my appearance remains gray and lifeless. The boy, doodled and went for a skate, seeming restless. Me, I gazed into the abyss, plotting a brainstorm.
A great distraction was the playful nature of the Puppy. After terrorizing the aloha plant and attempting to murder the chilly bush, before she bit the red fruit and had a swift lesson (swift being it needed thrice told), she invented a circuit of Olympic proportions. It went something like this; tag the lawn chair, sprint the court yard, jump the pond, avoid the chili plant. Then grab an aloha branch baton, run it between the cedar bush and fence, between the olive trees and into the long grass. Get distracted by a passing bird or fallen pine cone, become randomly frightened, chase the tail three times before its back through the olive trees squeezing the fence picking the aloha up, dropping it off by the remnants of its disembodied self.
Then the final leg, a sprint finish back to tag the chair all while avoiding the chillies. Stop the clock, what’s the time, place a bet down, for a new fastest time and off she goes again. Well, as you can see winter days are jam packed and full of surprises. For now I’m back to that sun tanning, Teacozy out!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Sea Letter Series
The Horse and Man, a Headless Messenger: Part 1
The Scorn of Phillips Bay, a pitiful swell from the sea waters that morning. The Sky ran with the blood of a thousand slaves. So as he road a shore the horse appeared a glistening pink (effeminate in connotation), when alas it was truly a noble white (like the whore Appletosh).
His rider, a young man in the rags of a once clean suite. His skin looked as though it had been left unattended in a bath for several weeks. This of course not the least bit shocking, having just ridden in from what appeared to be a long ocean journey. From his appearance it required not, the work of a CSI Sherlock to ascertain that the traveler had come 'long way up from Canadia way' to deliver the boy a message. For where the mans head once sat, amongst a monster mash of crabs, a flag pole had been implanted. At its point flapped unspoiled from its journey, the red white and maple leaf.
In the mouth of the majestic beast (a once proud free roamer of the earth), lodged within a decor diamond incrusted case, a hand written letter. The boy unfurled said note and from atop his small, oddly shaped head I peered down to read:
With the shock of seventeen virgins meeting Bin Laden’s remains (not necessarily for the first time), the boy dropped the letter into the sand. As swift and veracious as the letters almost magical appearance the hungry mash of giant crabs clapped and snatched it up, carrying it off back into the sea. The horse and its companion, as if driven by a force unknown, now lay a heap of bone and mush regurgitated by the sea.
The Bones and Mush, with Cloth: Part 2
With emotions overwhelmed, I hand my pen over, the boy will write.
For now we hide out at -39.97 by 144.69, fugitives of the WBD’s most wanted.
So for now Teacozy out!
FREE MARC EMERY - One year unjustly locked away
The Scorn of Phillips Bay, a pitiful swell from the sea waters that morning. The Sky ran with the blood of a thousand slaves. So as he road a shore the horse appeared a glistening pink (effeminate in connotation), when alas it was truly a noble white (like the whore Appletosh).
His rider, a young man in the rags of a once clean suite. His skin looked as though it had been left unattended in a bath for several weeks. This of course not the least bit shocking, having just ridden in from what appeared to be a long ocean journey. From his appearance it required not, the work of a CSI Sherlock to ascertain that the traveler had come 'long way up from Canadia way' to deliver the boy a message. For where the mans head once sat, amongst a monster mash of crabs, a flag pole had been implanted. At its point flapped unspoiled from its journey, the red white and maple leaf.
In the mouth of the majestic beast (a once proud free roamer of the earth), lodged within a decor diamond incrusted case, a hand written letter. The boy unfurled said note and from atop his small, oddly shaped head I peered down to read:
“The great democracy of minorus governmenos has fallen. The party for which you voted was not successful. With this news we regret to inform you The Stephen Harper Government summons you for military service or to serve a mandatory minimum sentence. - Sign Ottawa"
With the shock of seventeen virgins meeting Bin Laden’s remains (not necessarily for the first time), the boy dropped the letter into the sand. As swift and veracious as the letters almost magical appearance the hungry mash of giant crabs clapped and snatched it up, carrying it off back into the sea. The horse and its companion, as if driven by a force unknown, now lay a heap of bone and mush regurgitated by the sea.
The Bones and Mush, with Cloth: Part 2
With emotions overwhelmed, I hand my pen over, the boy will write.
“For Many of you reading this, it is possibly to late. Teacozy had assured me 'we had more time'. Sadly, since this message took so long to arrive via horses mouth, many of you are certainly now serving mandatory minimum sentences for simple possession. By this time we are fully entrenched in an endless war against the citizens of Afghanistan for the crude underground and pipes rolling over the hills in which they live. Surely all same sex marriage licenses have been burned and the DEA plus American MP have been welcomed in, to support the fascist regime leading our country over cliffs edge.
Fear not, for I shall not give myself over to the Worlds Biggest Douche now running our country and will remain at large until freedom is reborn. - sign Yours truly, Thomas"
For now we hide out at -39.97 by 144.69, fugitives of the WBD’s most wanted.
So for now Teacozy out!
FREE MARC EMERY - One year unjustly locked away
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Black Man’s Burrito
Well Thomas is questioning me but I’m going with the correct term for this instance, black man, and to ruin the story, the white boy took the burrito, typical.
So the kid went out with his friend and this fellow named ‘Zippy’. This name, which in no way describes his pace, but rather acquired from a ultra stoned Canadian filling in for a fill in as a radio DJ. After clarifying on the phone, a song request and shout out, Canadian dude finds he could not read his own writing and fires the request out to Zippy. It’s sad to say a lot of Canadians are like that. I don’t mean high all the time, stupid, that’s what I’m saying. This isn’t to say the rest of you are any the wiser.
The three boys headed to a huge block buster of a book store that was closing down. Now maybe Australians don’t do a whole lot of reading, but I know they love buying things for no reason (just like Americans), but it was no wonder, most the store was filled with shit books. The kid tried to buy three books, I convinced him to put them back. How rash the discussion making skills of a starving boy, thankfully he still listens to the ol' Teacozy, even in moments of starvation.
So after that tortuous experience, Mexican food, where the boy ordered a quesadilla rolled like a burrito. Now keep in mind this place works much like a subway, where “fresh” ingredients lay front facing and you request your ingredient to a basic extent. After watching his quesadilla get ushered away to the fryer, he shuffle left (because everything here is opposite) to the end of the counter, where he selected the most interesting man’s beer and paid.
After I harassed the new girl who failed several times to process the order, the boy grabbed the wrapped food item that just moments earlier was put down next to the till, but further from his reach. I tried to mention it probably wasn’t his but at this point he was far too hungry to listen to even me, let alone notice the large black man who had ordered right after him. Sitting with his open beer, he unwrapped the unique creation that he had ordered. Cam managed to observe its similarity to the other orders.
So as he dove into the black man’s burrito absent to noticing it was merely a beef and bean burrito, with no vegetables and spicy as hell. I watched the girl who had made his quesadilla wrap walk over and I couldn’t help but laugh (as we teacozy’s do). It was only moments before whitie or as Cam calls him slim (thanks to a barista that assumed he didn’t want mayo in his sandwich, which happened to be correct, but then assumed he wanted slim milk in his latte, because well if you hadn’t notice the boy isn’t terribly fat, she reassured herself he wanted this by stating “slim” after he ordered [not even in a questioning manner, but more as a statement]). Moments later the look on Tom’s Face was priceless, with a mouth full of black mans burrito, face wide with shock. He knew now what he had done, but to his surprise she handed him the wrap stating she would otherwise have to throw it out. Score he thought, “lunch tomorrow, for free!!!”.
Well, we all learnt, whether you say African American or as I like to say, Black Man in Australia’s Spicy ass Burrito will make you suffer greatly the next day, several times.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Footie Bags (C)
Good morning all, the boy; pardon me, Thomas says I have to lay off the anger so hateful towards the human race. I quote Tom now “we aren’t all that bad, in fact most are quite pleasant, they’ve just been lead down the beautiful garden path to the pasture with the rest of the sheep and ‘sheeple’.”
Pleasant, ha, I’m yet to see evidence of that, but yes sheeple you most certainly are, and based on this next story I rest my case.
The boy is making me apologize in advance, as based on the title of this one; he fears it will end in a rant, Alex Jones Style. So today Thomas was fortunate enough, so he thought, to take the lovely Cameron’s (that’s the boy he’s staying with) mother’s season football tickets for a joy ride.
Now football here isn’t soccer and it’s by no means American football. It’s kind of like rugby's ugly sister, it’s a bunch of men kicking and punching an oblong ball to their teammates on an oval field that looks like it was stolen from the track club. The scoring is the same, six points for a goal and one for kicking it through the side posts. That’s really the gist of it, all you need to know for the story, the rest you can research on your own.
So as I was saying, it wasn’t much for a joy ride for our young hero, (how vain, he liked that one) Thomas even left the game with a ripping head ache and had to take transit all the way home.
So Thomas walked to the train station, fifteen minutes from the house. On the way we were harassed for change by two able bodied young men sitting outside Safeway, who from what I could see (Teacozy’s not having very good vision, I relied on the boy for confirmation) looked less homeless and more like they had just finished a hard night of drinking and now were strapped for “change” as they so requested. The boy was polite, pardon; Thomas, saying only his train fair, which was a lie, so I yelled at them to suck my dick. I can only imagine they wondered how much they could get for something like that and if it would taste like tea.
So the train was packed by the last couple stops previous to the stadium and the grounds where filled with jersey’s and scarfs sporting the home teams black with red stripe (why jerseys outside North America haven’t evolved beyond a basic pattern indiscernible from their opponents is above my understanding, they stick to their roots like the chinese and chopsticks). The Boy (he’s given up at this point with the whole name thing) weaved us through the craze to a quiet side entrance where we strolled in. A lady sitting near us even missed the first quarter waiting outside in line to buy an extra seat.
So after waiting some time, as taking transit always causes you to be way earlier or much too late, the game began. The home team came out strong and by the end of the first quarter the Essendon Bombers (yes just like Winnipeg, and it turns out the fans are quite similar as well) led their opponents, a new team, the gold coast suns 97-1.
Now as the game rolled on you would suspect that the fans would relax back into their seats and the Bombers would sit back, work on some defense and ride the lead to victory. Well that’s exactly what the team did, however unfortunate for them, as well Thomas and I for that matter, the fans wanted murder, and they wanted the Gold Coast’s Blood to flood the field (similar to that which they experienced last summer). These reactions came in the way of booing, screaming, yelling obscenities and general nonsense that for the most part would have the coaches shaking their heads in shame.
Needless to say this continues to such a point of severity that other fans began to look in disgust. What really pisses a Teacozy off is how people could get like this at a meaningless fucking sporting event, but when their government lies, cheats and steals their basic liberties, murder helpless beings just trying to live, with the help of corporate backed filth money based through a valueless monetary system controlling their freedom you all became a bunch of hopeless pacifist pussies, including dingle berry Tom here.
Yet I understand, it’s so you can justify your fat, ugly consuming lives by working a job you can’t stand. Wait, what!!! No I don’t get it.
Teacozy out.
View From The Seats
Sheeple in the station, going back for long exposures some evening
This is the original Cobs Bakery, where we get baked!
Pleasant, ha, I’m yet to see evidence of that, but yes sheeple you most certainly are, and based on this next story I rest my case.
The boy is making me apologize in advance, as based on the title of this one; he fears it will end in a rant, Alex Jones Style. So today Thomas was fortunate enough, so he thought, to take the lovely Cameron’s (that’s the boy he’s staying with) mother’s season football tickets for a joy ride.
Now football here isn’t soccer and it’s by no means American football. It’s kind of like rugby's ugly sister, it’s a bunch of men kicking and punching an oblong ball to their teammates on an oval field that looks like it was stolen from the track club. The scoring is the same, six points for a goal and one for kicking it through the side posts. That’s really the gist of it, all you need to know for the story, the rest you can research on your own.
So as I was saying, it wasn’t much for a joy ride for our young hero, (how vain, he liked that one) Thomas even left the game with a ripping head ache and had to take transit all the way home.
So Thomas walked to the train station, fifteen minutes from the house. On the way we were harassed for change by two able bodied young men sitting outside Safeway, who from what I could see (Teacozy’s not having very good vision, I relied on the boy for confirmation) looked less homeless and more like they had just finished a hard night of drinking and now were strapped for “change” as they so requested. The boy was polite, pardon; Thomas, saying only his train fair, which was a lie, so I yelled at them to suck my dick. I can only imagine they wondered how much they could get for something like that and if it would taste like tea.
So the train was packed by the last couple stops previous to the stadium and the grounds where filled with jersey’s and scarfs sporting the home teams black with red stripe (why jerseys outside North America haven’t evolved beyond a basic pattern indiscernible from their opponents is above my understanding, they stick to their roots like the chinese and chopsticks). The Boy (he’s given up at this point with the whole name thing) weaved us through the craze to a quiet side entrance where we strolled in. A lady sitting near us even missed the first quarter waiting outside in line to buy an extra seat.
So after waiting some time, as taking transit always causes you to be way earlier or much too late, the game began. The home team came out strong and by the end of the first quarter the Essendon Bombers (yes just like Winnipeg, and it turns out the fans are quite similar as well) led their opponents, a new team, the gold coast suns 97-1.
Now as the game rolled on you would suspect that the fans would relax back into their seats and the Bombers would sit back, work on some defense and ride the lead to victory. Well that’s exactly what the team did, however unfortunate for them, as well Thomas and I for that matter, the fans wanted murder, and they wanted the Gold Coast’s Blood to flood the field (similar to that which they experienced last summer). These reactions came in the way of booing, screaming, yelling obscenities and general nonsense that for the most part would have the coaches shaking their heads in shame.
Needless to say this continues to such a point of severity that other fans began to look in disgust. What really pisses a Teacozy off is how people could get like this at a meaningless fucking sporting event, but when their government lies, cheats and steals their basic liberties, murder helpless beings just trying to live, with the help of corporate backed filth money based through a valueless monetary system controlling their freedom you all became a bunch of hopeless pacifist pussies, including dingle berry Tom here.
Yet I understand, it’s so you can justify your fat, ugly consuming lives by working a job you can’t stand. Wait, what!!! No I don’t get it.
Teacozy out.
View From The Seats
Sheeple in the station, going back for long exposures some evening
This is the original Cobs Bakery, where we get baked!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
How We Do
I know you’re wondering how the kid’s doing, I get it, a tea cozy isn’t that interesting, but I’m working on it, I mean come on the kid’s not that fantastic. I’m Teacozy, I’m hot shit, can’t you see that, damn it. The kid’s fine, doing just fine, well apparently he wants to be addressed by name, Tom’ doing just jiffy, I’m sorry its Thomas not Tom, get it right Aussies. Thomas is a bundle of fucking joy as usual, yeah there.
Now back to me, I’m funny too, I heard some beings talking in the park earlier; they said some funny stories, let me pass on a few of my favorite quotes from some conversations, maybe you will get a laugh too. “There he is with the wheel barrow and her lagging behind with a fag in her hand”, yeah I got a kick out of that one. Another there where two hippies walking together and the girl “I can tolerate him kicking the cat, but I don’t like it.” Okay so maybe you had to be there. Thomas is saying I’m crazy and you won’t find that funny.
So onto more pressing matters, I suppose you're wondering what my big plan is, well mainly it is top secret, work in progress, so I can’t tell you otherwise it wouldn’t be top secret, do you get it, probably not, you stupid beings. But here’s a basic low down, mind you may not understand. I’ll put it simply for the stupid. The world around you, well you’ve kinda fucked things up and well to be frank shits falling apart around you. Sorry you didn't get that, because I can see you’re not doing a damn thing about it. So maybe you see where I’m going with this. You’re too stupid to have changed yourself and I see you (and grand) haven’t taught your children what to do in case of an emergency crash landing. So maybe you see, someone has to do it because, well I’m seeing how long fixing your shit fuck ups is going to take and well I'm seeing the future, your fecal matter is hitting the fan.
Teacozy Out.
Now back to me, I’m funny too, I heard some beings talking in the park earlier; they said some funny stories, let me pass on a few of my favorite quotes from some conversations, maybe you will get a laugh too. “There he is with the wheel barrow and her lagging behind with a fag in her hand”, yeah I got a kick out of that one. Another there where two hippies walking together and the girl “I can tolerate him kicking the cat, but I don’t like it.” Okay so maybe you had to be there. Thomas is saying I’m crazy and you won’t find that funny.
So onto more pressing matters, I suppose you're wondering what my big plan is, well mainly it is top secret, work in progress, so I can’t tell you otherwise it wouldn’t be top secret, do you get it, probably not, you stupid beings. But here’s a basic low down, mind you may not understand. I’ll put it simply for the stupid. The world around you, well you’ve kinda fucked things up and well to be frank shits falling apart around you. Sorry you didn't get that, because I can see you’re not doing a damn thing about it. So maybe you see where I’m going with this. You’re too stupid to have changed yourself and I see you (and grand) haven’t taught your children what to do in case of an emergency crash landing. So maybe you see, someone has to do it because, well I’m seeing how long fixing your shit fuck ups is going to take and well I'm seeing the future, your fecal matter is hitting the fan.
Teacozy Out.
Teacozy World Blog
Intro One.
Thousands of years ago a being poured hot water over leaves to create flavoured water. Today British nobles and peasants alike enjoy this warm beverage. To keep them warm they wrapped the pot in a cloth hat, those hats have since been used to keep the heads of these beings warm, and in a land called Canada they call me a toque. Me, I’m no regular tea cozy, I’m one with big ambitions; keeping things warm is much too simple a task for me. So I’ve found myself a young boy, open minded, with little future, another pig walking a beat, a movie set light boy, as his head master commented about him when he was nine.
So I bought him a sketch book, showed him the way of the pencil and brush. Fed him drugs blew his mind wide open. Taught him how to dance with the rock, after graduating “high” school with honors in fine arts, put him through art school, a damn good one I might add. He earned a degree, something useful, to mold the mind of fools. Taught him composition, light and colour, handed him a camera, made him pull the trigger. He was a little slow to figure and put these things together, with my persistence these important foundations were sponged up by the young boys mind.
Of course there is much more background to this kid’s story, but enough with that now, let’s skip to present day. Got the kid in Melbourne, even though he tried to miss his flight (can’t leave him for a second and he goes trying to mess things up). Spent the long weekend learning the lay of the land, the kid’s got a friend here, crashing with him and his lovely mother. Explored the city some and wandered the suburbs around the house. I love the burbs, don’t know what it is yet, all the stupid beings spread out on winding roads, much like the weaves of my outer shell.
Today I took the kid looking for Kangaroos but we got fogged out, now I’ve him wondering east toward the city, enjoying the rays at the beach and listening to what the stupid people are telling each other. I’ve posted a shot of me in the Sydney airport reading my new book and a few shots around the new digs. For now, there’s some more exploring to do.
Keep you posted once I get this kid doing something half decently fun.
Well for now it’s Teacozy out!
I guess this might matter to you, the kid’s named Thomas.
To me he’s just another transport devise, a way to get around and get this mission done.
Thousands of years ago a being poured hot water over leaves to create flavoured water. Today British nobles and peasants alike enjoy this warm beverage. To keep them warm they wrapped the pot in a cloth hat, those hats have since been used to keep the heads of these beings warm, and in a land called Canada they call me a toque. Me, I’m no regular tea cozy, I’m one with big ambitions; keeping things warm is much too simple a task for me. So I’ve found myself a young boy, open minded, with little future, another pig walking a beat, a movie set light boy, as his head master commented about him when he was nine.
So I bought him a sketch book, showed him the way of the pencil and brush. Fed him drugs blew his mind wide open. Taught him how to dance with the rock, after graduating “high” school with honors in fine arts, put him through art school, a damn good one I might add. He earned a degree, something useful, to mold the mind of fools. Taught him composition, light and colour, handed him a camera, made him pull the trigger. He was a little slow to figure and put these things together, with my persistence these important foundations were sponged up by the young boys mind.
Of course there is much more background to this kid’s story, but enough with that now, let’s skip to present day. Got the kid in Melbourne, even though he tried to miss his flight (can’t leave him for a second and he goes trying to mess things up). Spent the long weekend learning the lay of the land, the kid’s got a friend here, crashing with him and his lovely mother. Explored the city some and wandered the suburbs around the house. I love the burbs, don’t know what it is yet, all the stupid beings spread out on winding roads, much like the weaves of my outer shell.
Today I took the kid looking for Kangaroos but we got fogged out, now I’ve him wondering east toward the city, enjoying the rays at the beach and listening to what the stupid people are telling each other. I’ve posted a shot of me in the Sydney airport reading my new book and a few shots around the new digs. For now, there’s some more exploring to do.
Keep you posted once I get this kid doing something half decently fun.
Well for now it’s Teacozy out!
I guess this might matter to you, the kid’s named Thomas.
To me he’s just another transport devise, a way to get around and get this mission done.
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