Saturday ramblings…

Ahh Saturday… not quite a weekday, not quite Sunday.. that slice of nothingness in between, where an uncertain anxiousness prevails. Not that the week holds anything of importance, it is just there. Filler. Time as a concept moving over it without change. The days turn into weeks, and they in turn become months.. years.. *sigh*

My brew did not ever become spirit. ha. shame. As sickeningly rank as it was, it actually was decent. eugh but never again. I think finally the naltrexone is having a definite impact on my urge to obliterate my thoughts. Or the mirtazapine. perhaps both? either way, it is now only from a lack of mindfulness in times where I feel stranded, that drives me to imbibe.

I still have a heavy heart when it comes to her. I think I always will. I almost held a precious flower, almost inhaled a wonderful fragrance others have known, that I will never. If the things that were said, were true, then at least we shared something… sadness fills me however, as I ponder what might have been, what should have been. But the words that were once spoken to relay my hearts devotion, now feel distant and vague. like a dream. and so I *sigh* once more… I will always love you.

Who knows now what comes next. Change is everywhere. For better or worse, I do not know. My Job provider is now being re-purposed. I will no longer be with them, after so many years… so many times they promised me help, so many times they failed. And now they are being ripped away, for a completely new mob to start afresh. And so I will now have to explain every single damn thing to someone brand new, build that communication. For all I know this new place will be 100% arse. All I know, is I am looking at it as positive. but should they push me beyond my capabilities, I will stumble, this I know.

I have finally been to my first session with the Next Step psych. And it was miserable. She appears to be uninterested in hearing what I have to say, which makes talking therapy pointless. Everything has fucked up, where I had placed so much trust. I needed the combination of all aspects to work as one. Urges, mood and talking. I ended up barely grabbing the tail end of one as the other lost it’s strength.. fucking prick of a world, and this country is the epitome of it all.

I feel bereft of strength. yet not weakened any longer. Nothing holds interest still. My body is wrecked by the last year or so. I look haggard and wretched. and I don’t care. I have no one to impress. I am not seeking to impress. We all die, and in death we all look the same. I certainly will not spend the remainder of my life attempting to find a mate. Ha, if my family is any indication, I’ll be dead in 9 years anyway. And I’ve spent my entire life self abusing, self medicating, intoxicated, inebriated, fucked up, off my face, delirious… whereas my father and his brother were only smokers and ate like typical poms. Both dead before 53. And I only fear the moment I realise my time has come, but not the fact it will… I fear that moment when I come to the realisation that this is it, everything I intend to do, I will never get to do, that thing I am about to do, 5 minutes from then, will never happen… gasping my last breath, as my last thoughts are of infinite nothingness.. it comes to us all. and no one will mourn me when I am gone. so let it come..

I look around this miserable world and I see painted cretins, adored by mindless miscreants who look down on reality from their artificial places of excess. fuck them. everything has to be fit, toned, tanned, all the bullshit.. you’re all going to die, you fucking idiots. Spend your lives wasting it on bullshit. as I look around my own life spent on nothing. nothingness. I came into the world with nothing, I lived with nothing, I will leave with nothing…

I offer the world nothing. I expect nothing. forced to abide by rules and laws I have no power over. A slave. a number in a register, owned by a government to be used as currency.

Saturday… as the week darkens and Sunday dawns, you have nothing for me.

Fuck this I need coffee. perhaps it will soothe the sneer on my face, fill the emptiness in my soul. And perhaps not…

Homebrew Pt 2

As impossible as it seems, the brew is still going well. It’s going to take time, I can tell. A hydrometer reading was still off the scope. Stupid beer hydrometer. But even more insane, a taste of the test draw revealed it has no abhorrent taste. Still sweet as all hell, but to be expected.

Constant air lock activity, not as active as I would have wanted, but no signs of ceasing the boil. A semi pleasant wort smell, and in all honesty, a fairly acceptable taste.

Certainly not a good taste, but from how I concocted the insanity mix, it seems to have worked rather well.

The cooler temps and the fact that I used bakers yeast will obviously result in a longer boil.

But having the setup running again, I can anticipate a trip to the brew supply store and a purchase of some goodies for the next brew.

Ahh it was funny, trying to open a dialog with Jody. Why did I even bother. A lost cause. Just as with Dary and her disgusting troll friends. I am just going to stick to my hobbies and forget I even had a heart.

sugar shine…

Desperate to keep busy, the only hobby that still keeps me in any way content is brewing. I’m shit at it, but that’s not the point. I can’t catch fish either, but I love fishing. Shame I cannot combine the two…


So, sans any real ingredients, I google’d a plain sugar brew. Obviously to make “fuel” in my still, so there is no need for it to have taste beyond not being fetid. ;)

6kg of plain sugar, with 1kg of that boiled with 1 can of tinned tomatoes, some vitamin B complex tablets and 1 sachet of bakers yeast, to create the yeast nutrient. I dunno. It’s a vague step, one that may very well result in 22 liters of foul water that will be ditched. But you cannot succeed unless you attempt.

And tinned tomatoes.. what else are they any good for?tomatoes

In my 25 liter brew tub I added boiling water and the remaining 5kg of sugar, mixed it till all dissolved, and then after ensuring everything in the tomato puree was sufficiently blitzed with a bamix, and everything had boiled, dumped that into the tub and added cold water up to 20 liters.


Checking the temp, it was slightly under 30c, and knowing it was probably a little too warm but having read people upward of 35c have had vigorous fermentation (albeit with more esters and fusels, just heads and tails to discard) I dumped in 2 sachets of bakers yeast. Again, no ingredients, all going on kitchen based shit…

SG reading was off the chart initially, I’d guestimate about 1055. my hydrometer only goers up to 1040. cheap rubbish kit thing.

I really hope it gets down to a reasonable level, meaning the yeast has eaten all the sugar.

Tandaco Dry Yeast. Fingers Crossed!yeast

1:35pm 10/04/15 it was closed and the air lock is in place.

The yeast was years old so I am either going to have no activity or slow activity.

I have successfully ferments with this before, a rather explosive banana brew. well, 2 liters of fruit pulp sugar and yeast, which exploded all over the place upon opening, to the fragrant stench of wine and slight banana. I never did get to drink it.

The nose on this wort is rather interesting. definitely has the vitamin b to it, but also a pleasant tomato tinge. It will be interesting to see how it tastes before distillation.

If it gets that far. But if it does, I will turn 20 liters of wort into 5 liters of spirit, which I will run again and then charcoal filter. even if 2 liters of clean spirit, that will keep my “alcohol heater” going for some time, and not bad for shit just laying around the kitchen.

EasyStill-Gear-Patrol-Full2:05pm 10/4/15 – Happy to see air lock activity has already started. slow, but there. Ahh relief ;)


And now for something completely different…Facebook can fuck off. :) every one bar 3 people on there are worth talking with, and I cannot justify the pain I suffer every time I wonder what she is doing, in her sordid pathetic world. It occurred to me recently, she told me not to think about her “Real Life” friends. I guess when you say you’re going to marry someone, you are seriously playing them along if you don’t even consider them “Real Life” to you…

Roll on Home Brew, I don’t care if you taste like fucking sewer water, I can hold my nose. And I’ve bought worse over the counter before.

welcome home winofiend. back to where the only one you can hurt, is yourself.


I have no idea what to do any more. Completely exhausted. Nothing left to focus on, nothing to motivate me, no goal to achieve or place to rest. Just the same thing, the same endless pain. Trying to be positive is so tiring. I can’t play guitar, I can’t code, I can’t do anything bereft of anything good inside of me. To have meant so little to someone who meant so much to me, crushing every cell in my body. I want to scream at the world. But alone, no one would hear.

This prison cell, this coffin, this miserable existence.

To yearn and crave, yet teased. Once more taken advantage of… I just have no idea what to do any more…

Going Home

Here I sit, sober, aware of my situation, my so called life, the things I’ve failed to do, the things I fail constantly at doing… without substance or hindrance to my thought process. and I realise I have only one option. The worthlessness of my life has taken it’s toll. rendered me far too broken for repair. I cannot even begin to describe the heaviness in my heart. and it is always this way. always. there are never any alternatives. it’s why I closed my eyes to the world for so long and hid.

and yet, here I am, once more.

I now promise to myself I will never open my heart again. I will never speak words of love to another. I will never show feelings.

I now promise to myself that I have a time. I have a specific day. I will ease myself towards this day, and with deliberation, with conscious effort, painlessly, and without mistake, submit myself to peace. Ahh that relief. just knowing I have this promise. Whatever now happens, can happen. there is nothing that can harm me any more. to close my eyes and sleep. no regrets, no loss, no anxiety. all released back into the universe.

I cannot win this game, so I move over for the player who can.

When, will be decided. I have time now. How, is already decided. but I will not rush into something without first having pondered it for a time. it is MY promise. and not for any one else to have input in.

I write this, I guess, to allow resolution. When the day arrives I feel it only appropriate to write once more. but until then, I will write no more.


Utterly beyond repair…

I waded through the human soup, the endless stench of morning frailty and complete lack of self hygiene, and through it all my mind raced. One thought after the other, none waiting to have effect, but all combining to destroy my concentration. Absurd morons with pathetic issues, numbers, words. Racking my brain to even retain the simplest of things I needed to know, where had it all gone? How was I so lost. I arrived, and with not a coin in my possession, forced every step to the journey towards the place where I felt exposed. Revealed, a fraud, a shell. Entering the glass doors, I pressed the button on the metal plates that would transport me to the place I dreaded most.


I made it into the room where there were people milling around a coffee machine, and had to get a glass of water. My heart was pounding, I was sweating, my eyesight blurry. I could only run on auto-pilot.. and then I was at the desk. Someone had moved all my things, am I at the right desk? Did I somehow become so confused? No, this is where I had spent hours. I logged in, and saw the numerous emails flooding down, none of them making any sense. meetings, tasks, replies from arrogant fucking cunts who could have worded their responses better but instead felt it was acceptable to ridicule someone for not knowing something. The bleakness screamed at me, my mind was gone. blank. I could hear every single word spoken around me, every mouse click, every tap on the keyboard. my tasks were simply foreign to me. I had no idea how to clear my mind and focus, and it was getting time to take calls. I couldnt swallow, I couldnt speak. I couldnt move, I was shaking inside and out. the sweat dripped down my face and I felt nausea, weakness…

The only thing I could do was flee. without a word, without a look, I went. I walked and walked and walked. If I stopped I would crumble. I was broken. beyond repair. how had this happened AGAIN. my heart still races, I still cannot calm myself, I am still burning with shame. I walked to the job agency who for so long had tried to help, and walked into the office. A familiar face saw me, smiled, asked where I had been, they had been trying to contact me. I felt a slight sense of comfort before I could barely speak once more, trying to explain what had happened.

Back to square one, in a world full of squares, that never seem to change. I am just that fucking useless. the guilt, the sense of worthlessness is oozing out of me, flowing into everything. if I could drink right now, I would be dead by the morning…


The Imaginary Friend.

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. She was a very sad and sick little girl. She was sad because she was lonely and spent all her time in bed, because she was so sick, and couldn’t ever go out to play. The doctors didn’t know how to help the little girl and she was always sore and so unhappy.

One day she decided she wanted a friend, and so she made up an imaginary friend, someone she could play with and talk to and have fun with. But no one could ever know about her imaginary friend so she kept him inside a tiny wooden box. Every day she would open the box and talk to her imaginary friend, and they’d have so much fun. They would spend hours just talking, playing together, laughing, sharing stories. She loved her imaginary friend.

But no one could ever know, so every day she would have to close the box, and hide it so no one else never knew about him. They wouldn’t understand why she would have an imaginary friend.

After a while, her imaginary friend became so happy to see her, that he told her  that when she was better, he wanted to leave the box and become real, so they could do real things together. They talked about how they’d play and have fun and just be friends forever and ever. The little girl was excited about this and said “Oh yes, can it be now? I wish it was now.” and that made her imaginary friend so happy. So he waited in the box for the day that she was better, and he would finally become real and be with her in the real world.

One day, a new doctor said to the little girl, “I think we can try something to help!”. But the doctor wasn’t sure if it would really help, only that he would try. The little girl was so scared, because she wanted more than anything to be better. Her imaginary friend knew this, and he told her that she was stronger and braver than she thought, and told her that she will be even better than she was before she was so sick. And so the little girl took the medicine the doctor gave her.

At first, she didn’t feel a lot better. But soon, she started to feel like she could get out of bed. This made her imaginary friend feel so happy, because now she was getting better, and soon she would let him out of the box and they could be together. They could finally play in the real world, and he wouldn’t have to stay in the cold wooden box any more.  “I’m so happy !!” he thought.

As she got even more better, he heard her start to go outside and start to play with her old friends that she hadn’t seen in so long. She sounded so excited and happy to be able to play like she used to. But now, she didn’t open the box as much any more. But that was ok, because he knew that when she was really better, she would let him out and they’d do all the fun things they talked about.

But more and more, he heard her playing outside, laughing, having fun and she didn’t come into her bedroom as much any more. Her imaginary friend was stuck in the cold, dark box, wondering what she was doing. And even though she didn’t open the box every day any more, he was just so happy to hear her laugh and to know she was getting better. But now. when she did open the box, she wouldn’t talk about the things they used to talk about. She would just talk about how much fun she was having with her real friends.

One day she opened the box and her imaginary friend asked “When can I come out of the box, and be real?” but she didn’t answer. She just said she was too busy now, and didn’t have the time to talk to him as much. Less and less she opened the box, and her imaginary friend sat in there, alone and sad, still waiting to be real and to be with her, because without her, he would never be real.

Until one day, she opened the box and didn’t say anything. Her imaginary friend said “I want to be real, when will you let me out? When will we play and do all the things we talked about?” and the little girl replied “But you’re just imaginary. I can’t be real friends with you, can I.” and closed the box.

The next day when she opened the box, she saw that it was empty… because it had turned out that the little girl was the one who had become real, and her imaginary friend had simply been a story she told herself.

The end.