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Friday, February 1st, 2008
5:49 am
Is it true that most men don't like cats? I don't just like my cats, I love them to the point where I constantly pat, stroke and squeeze them. I make it my mission each day to make them two little purring balls of content. They're my babies. I never grow tired of them.

Booby has an obesity problem though. A kinda serious one. For the first time in our lives so far, I'm able to be strict and keep him to a diet. He knows how to pout and look sad. He knows how to make me melt. But I don't have a choice anymore - what, with killing him with kindness and so on. It started to become apparent when I'd pick him up and he'd weigh about as much as a small child. His huge body now waddles, which is not the grace I expect from a cat. I must confess to feeding him treats and more, not to mention filling his bowl up with massive amounts of cat food because I know if I don't I'll end up with a cranky little guy. So, now he constantly bothers me.

I tend to get annoyed if he constantly pesters me for food. I'm getting over that too, and it's important because that's another thing which has made me crack and run for the tuna and chicken. Now, when he gets under my feet in the kitchen, I pat him and scratch his chin. I simply must stick to this diet.

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Wednesday, January 30th, 2008
6:20 am
One thing which really bothers me is waking up excited for nothing. Where does that excitement go? I'll tell you. It's a scientific conservation of energy thing. All excitement that isn't converted into satisfaction becomes disappointment.

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Tuesday, January 29th, 2008
8:33 am
Depressed. Not about anything in particular, which is the best and worst kind of depressed. I feel like I've had a lifecrash. Everything moving so fast, blurring, and then suddenly stopped. Thank Christ I did stop. But that stop has brought on a kind of inertia.

I had a virus. It was our 500th blisteringly hot and humid day in a row, and I had a virus. That's when I walked through my kitchen and twisted my foot a whole 180 degrees horizontally the wrong way. I could hear muscle tear and tendons break like rubber stretched too far. That hurts. It really. really. hurts. And I already had a virus. And it was the 500th blisteringly hot and humid day in a row. And I was working hard on my constipation. I had those laxatives that are in chocolate form, and they were all soft and melted.

And my cats were being fussy too. "We'd rather starve to death than eat that tinned crap you bought for us." The thing is, they sometimes eat dirt off the floor. For crying out loud, Crunchy has had a go at the kitty litter once or twice. But juicy fish? I may as well have crapped in their bowls. I hold off giving them their dry food in the hopes they'll be forced to eat it through sheer necessity, but in the end I have to give up and scoop their entire breakfast into the bin. What a waste.

So there I lay. Howling in agony. Sweating and yet shivering with a fever. 41 degrees outside yet I'm huddled under layers of blankets. Brrrr. Cold. Then the switch. It's not cold! It's hot! My air-conditioner has broken down. I only have one fan to keep me going. If that breaks my day gets worse.

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Monday, May 7th, 2007
7:56 pm
I'm watching Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and it seems my dialogues are part of some twisted Tennessee Williams play.

Perhaps my life.

Maybe this is why I love Tennessee Williams more than Earth.

He was aiming at my heart and soul alone, and hit dead in the middle.

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Thursday, March 1st, 2007
8:03 am - Hail to the bus driver
To all the bus drivers of all the buses I've been on in the past 3 or 4 years: I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being the only person in Western Australia who doesn't say "Thanks" when he gets off the bus. Still, my paranoia when it comes to you all isn't entirely my fault.

Why was it when all this started you guys decided to single me out for your hatred? I remember the days when nobody thanked the driver. The good old days. Then for some reason society decided it was proper to thank the drivers. Shit, I played along. I might of even thought it was nice at first. But then it started happening.

Passenger One : Thanks driver!
Driver : Have a nice day!
Passenger Two : Thank you!
Driver : You're welcome!
Passenger Three : Thanks a lot!
Driver : Thanks buddy!
Me : Thank you!
Driver : *silence*

It wasn't like this just happened once or twice. This started happening on all the buses I got on. It started getting to the stage where as I reached the exit my heart started thumping out of fear that I'd be rejected yet again. And not just rejected. The only person rejected. In the end I couldn't take it anymore, and stopped thanking the diver altogether.

So I'm sorry I'm the only guy who doesn't thank you guys. But still, you've only got yourselves to blame.

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Monday, February 26th, 2007
8:56 am - God Bless Claude Rains
Battle of the Worlds is being constructed in the Workshop on the New Supidity Messageboard.

If you like, you can check out the New Supidity Site Here.

Being a bad-movie geek doesn't mean you simply seek out bad movies and watch them, like a normal person. The whole attraction of bad movies are the stories that surround them, and the inspiration they give for conversation, creation and original work. Bad movies get better each time you watch them since you have to be familiarised with all the small aspects involved. Nobody understands this unless they love bad movies themselves.

I was having a few drinks with my neighbour Michelle a week or so ago when I tried to explain to her that my hobby involved bad movies. To my surprise she was completely baffled. Sometimes reactions range from hostility to concern.

The one thing that eludes them is that while good movies let us view works of art, bad movies allow us to create art and see the human behind the more invisible screen.

Let good movies make us forget, and bad movies remind us.

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Saturday, February 24th, 2007
10:31 pm
You know, this feels like a sad entry for me. It's the last time I post something creatively supid on my journal. From now on my journal becomes.....a journal! I'm creating a workshop on the new Triumph of Supidity forums where I begin my next photocomic, photoshopped comic, film review and photoshops. Anything creative that's private I'm putting here though - with a big fucking padlock on.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - The Final GaspCollapse )

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Thursday, February 22nd, 2007
7:45 pm
My collection of b-grade movies to poke fun at, make comics from and create stuff out of now stands at over 1000.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - Part ... *sneeze*Collapse )

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Monday, February 19th, 2007
7:17 am - I forgot what I remembered
I've started to gain an appreciation for old junk, and a love for second-hand stores. This probably means I'm becoming an old man. I sometimes suddenly fall asleep if I wait too long between drinks. This probably means I'm becoming an old man. When I go shopping these days I really appreciate specials and bargains. This probably means...never mind, it's nap time.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - The Dramatic Chaper!Collapse )

And another thing. Young people these days have no respect for anything!

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Sunday, February 18th, 2007
11:16 am - I'll never see Robert Wagner the same way again...
One of the strange things about doing these comics is that I'm getting a very close look at films that I would have struggled to watch normally. I'll come out of this remembering Beneath the 12-Mile Reef scene by scene. And I've actually enjoyed it.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - The Voyage ContinuesCollapse )

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Sunday, February 11th, 2007
12:31 pm - Update
Triumph of Supidity is coming along better than I expected it would. Should be ready any week now.

Until then there is the next chapter of Beneath the 12-Mile Reef.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - Oh How He LingeredCollapse )

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Sunday, January 28th, 2007
8:05 am - Horror!
I'm missing the Robot Party of DOOM and Young Indiana Jones comics on my hard drive. Since my server has changed they are no longer on the net at all. Does anyone have these two?

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Monday, January 22nd, 2007
4:00 pm - I Accept!
When I come here to post a chapter of a photocomic it gets harder and harder to think of something to write in introducing it. But I always feel like I have to have something. Here I have hit the bottom, writing about my difficulty in writing this.

The challenge I took on for "Beneath the 12-Mile Reef" is that I haven't seen the whole film and make the plot up as I go along. At first my intention was to not rely on a plot at all and just kick it around with nonsensical tangents - but I'm enjoying finding a way to integrate each scene with what's gone before.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - The Next BitCollapse )

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Thursday, January 18th, 2007
9:11 pm - What Lurks Beneath
As I post the latest chapter of Bt12MR I'd like to take this opportunity to say hello to everybody. Because I'm a very nice guy.

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef Continues...Collapse )

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Monday, January 15th, 2007
10:00 am - Beneath the 12-Mile Reef
I've been spraying my 2nd Photocomic all around the place, but finally due to a special request it's up on my LJ. Take care good people, this means the first part here is nearly 60 shots long. Holy CRAP!

Beneath the 12-Mile Reef - Part ICollapse )

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Monday, January 8th, 2007
3:58 am - Crunchy
What else can I say? Crunchy!

More Crunchy!Collapse )

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Monday, December 18th, 2006
2:08 am - That's (disturbing) Entertainment - With the occasional spoiler
Any half decent film takes us from our normal everyday life and throws us into another world for a few hours. Occasionally really great films make it hard for us to resume our lives without taking with us a sense of having witness the film as a real-life bystander. Of these the trauma of truly disturbing scenes or parts of these movies leave an emotional impact the lingers in the memory and heart for a long long time. Compiled below are 10 films and the disturbing scenes that accompany them that I believe are the most effective of all. Some of them even leave a permanent imprint into cultural memory and the shared rememberance we all have of haunting discovery.

Idi i Smotri (Come and See) (1985) - Life was hard enough in Byelorussia without the crushing burden of living at a time where the Soviet Union was in threat of being conquered. Idi i Smotri gives the viewer a very uneasy and sour taste of life hardened by the deprivation of war and the regime's demands on all citizens. There's no silver lining and the one moment of blossoming love is interrupted by a massive attack by German bombers. All the shock and sorrow we've been through however turns into gut wrenching "I-Can't-Watch-This" horror when a German patrol hunting for partisans arrives at a dusty Byelorussian town. What follows is torture for the townspeople and the viewer as the pain and shooting is taken up to another level. They are slaughtered not by bullets or bombs but by being burned alive. No surprise there for a historian, but for people who grew up watching John Wayne and reading Commando comics the expicit nature of death and sorrow in this film makes them put away their comics and sanitised war films, finally treating war as the obscenity it is. The movie takes us inside to take part in imagining what it's like to suffer death by burning. If you watch this with your friends there will be stunned silence.

Se7en (1995) - He cut off the head of Detective Mills' wife. He cut it off, led him into the desert and had it delivered. And his plan worked, the killer himself became the last victim. Who saw this coming? From time to time I watch predictable thrillers and think the tales we tell have become so worn out the art may start to die. Then comes something so full of imagination, and so sharp it delivers a knife of ice to the heart, to confirm that there are a lucky few who have the gift of creating. By the time we get to the horrific end of Se7en we've already been to the very depths of hell and back - but it still may have died a slow death over the years if it had stuck to the formulaic chase at it's conclusion. Instead we have three wildly different characters at the crescendo of a film with a grey streak running through it's moral stance and no real winners or losers despite John Doe's success at bringing his plan to complete fruition. The final scene was so disturbing people thought about this film for weeks after seeing it, and perhaps it led them beyond a simplified view of good and evil into a realm where what is crazy, sane, ugly and polluted often wear masks and depend on us playing the game. When good and evil become black and white then what is good can do evil deeds with no question. Fade to grey.

Funny Games (1998) - I don't know how many times I've read about attempts at using violence to satirise the use of violence in films. Funny Games is the only film I've ever seen successfully do it. The fact that the acting, direction, script and everthing else flows forth in a flawless way makes this achievement glorious and makes it one of the best - but most difficult to watch - films of all time. It's crowning glory is it's record-breaking 10 minute single shot of two survivors reacting to the last 4 or 5 hours of psychological torture. It's not blood that makes our skin crawl, fear is a very psychological thing and if we believe the characters on the screen are real, if we believe they could be us or our loved ones, then we share their spot in that house. The first reaction of the mother, instead of freeing herself, is turning off the television. Why? I talked about this with friends after the film and it made sense. It's actually the first thing I'd do. You must never be reminded of reality - because when you're psychologically blackened and wounded for life reality has become a forbidden dream. Shut it out. The blood, the wailing sorrow, choking on the sheer spasms of tears and hopelessness. The fear. The end. One ten minute shot - and you never forget it. The characters have literally looked us in the eyes and asked us if that's enough. We wanted a realistic ending when we started watching right? If that's the case, it's not the end. If we want pain, we only have to keep watching.

Saving Private Ryan (1998) - As this film was released there was much talk about the graphic nature of the opening sequence as American soldiers storm the beaches in Normandy. Despite this nearly every person who went to see it on the big screen recieved a surprise. A rather severe pounding as the gap was breached between Hollywood's depiction of war and the real thing. Truth be told men are made of mere flesh and bones, so when they come face to face with mortars, flamethrowers and bullets their death rarely meets the standards sheltered people hold in their minds of a soldier clutching their heart and falling dead. The first step along the road to terror so large it can drive someone insane is seeing heads explode, men torn limb from limb, the slow desperate dance of a man in flames. Their very organs and intestines drop or fly from their body in defiance of the public's view of war. And they don't die easily. Often hours of hopeless agony confront these men with gruesome mortal wounds. The second step we must follow is the game of chance battles nearly always are. When you run across a beach under machine gun fire there's little skill involved in staying alive, and at any moment you may feel and see yourself torn by metal and assaulted by pain, facing the daunting prospect of certain death after the agony. Saving Private Ryan took us there, and the now popular use of hand held cameras worked their illusionary best by putting us on the beach and making our hearts freeze. The rest of the film could never shake those images from us, so like Full Metal Jacket everything that followed seemed somehow diluted. But the opening 20 minutes lives on in conciousness of mainstream cinema.

Batoru Rowaiaru (Battle Royale) (2000) - It sounds too stupid at first. Every year a class of students are sent to an island to kill each other until one if left, or else, if they don't, all of them die. But apon viewing this famous film (in turn adapted from the famous comic book), it becomes clear that the very surreal quality of such an absurd proposition makes you uncomfortable. Reaction from the characters seem, through sheer force, to make it believable. Methods make it real in our eyes. Before long we're sharing the disbelief and agony of young kids forced to kill or be killed. You can't help but have your sensibilities shaken when school children kill each other, no matter how "Japanese" the construction appears to be. Just see. Just watch and see if the two friends, a boy and a girl, don't make you hurt as they leap from a cliff in terror due to the fact that they realise what is being asked of them is impossible in their eyes. Suicide committed by people who are still terrified by the very course they take is so hard for us to imagine that it's horrific by it's nature. Films have explored the psyche of those forced to kill before in non-war films and in innumarable ways in war films, but when it comes down to kids too young to ever deserve such a fate we watch something nobody has considered, and something which is considered beyond cruelty. Travel beyond that darkness, into the sorrow of wasted ends, and you horrify yourself and remember when you saw a horrible event in a disturbing but otherwise powerful film created by a culture far removed from both East and West.

Requiem for a Dream (2000) - Rarely will a film successfully build apon sadness and pain until, by the time it reaches it's final climax, it delivers an upsetting montage of images and tragedy for us to swallow. Requiem for a Dream not only does this once, but three times with it's tightly interwoven tales of poisonous hope as out of reach as the moon. Ellen Burstyn's Sara makes a sad mistaken assumption that she's going to become a participant in a television show she is obsessed with. She subsequently becomes addicted to the weight-loss pills she takes to prepare for this, and eventually spirals out of control into madness. Her son, Harry, a junkie along with his girlfriend (Jennifer Connely as Marion) watch their dreams and plans slip through their fingers. Harry ends up in prison, eventually losing his arm to an infection he tries to hide and Marion performs in low-brow sex shows so she can be paid with heroin. The effectiveness in my eyes is that we never linger too long on one character but flash back and forward into their nightmare world, each as bad as the last. We know them, but that only means we are the only ones that have a close bond with them. The world outside treats the characters with such cold indifference it's made plain that even if we try to help them the odds are stacked against us. Harry, already a broken man, in his hospital bed. Sara, once caring and concerned, has no sanity left. Marion, in the scene most upsetting for us, is forced to perform anal sex with another girl through the use of a toy as her eyes betray the fact that she has already become cold and dead. We see these people occasionally on the street, but shut out any hopeless attempts to deliver salvation. If we don't, we know we'll stagger under the emotional weight that we feel in this film. All the while the dream is dead, and destruction is alive.

I Spit On Your Grave (1978) - Rape is one of the most difficult subjects a viewer of films is forced to confront. Of course the rape of the poor woman in this film is one of the worst films have to offer. Surprisingly it's not the most uncomfortable scene in this film. Universally deplored, I Spit on Your Grave (or Day of the Woman) hands us something in which we suffer horror for one of the perpetrators. I admit that most of the people who suffer are men, but cutting of a man's penis off is an act that will certainly create trauma comparable to rape. It's a struggle to comprehend why one of these woman's attackers joins her in a bath, seduced under false pretences, without suspecting vengeance might come at any moments. Ask a psychiatrist and maybe they'd be willing to admit that these men are so convinced rape is something women desire that they have no real appreciation of reality. But really, all it boils down to is a way to create a scene in a horrid revenge movie that isn't easily forgotten. At one point he says "That's so good it hurts" to the knife handling woman who slices off the penis, and screams in psychological and physical agony as she locks the door and lets him slowly die. One last shot of the dead man punctuates the horror of the whole mess which serves as nothing but the attempt of the film to shock us. It surely succeeds in shocking us with both the rape and the mutilation but does absolutely nothing educationally or spiritually to enlighten viewers across the world. Shocking.

Jaws (1975) - Sometimes a classic movie can almost be compared to classical music or novels. It can be replayed any number of times and by enjoyed due to every moment resonating in perfection. I've seen Jaws too many times to keep an accurate count, and despite sinking into the to overall quality of what comes I did at one time lose sight of the sheer terror of it's famous opening. Maybe drugs could have given me that extra focus and empathy to feel it, but eventually it was Open Water which immersed me in the unknown horror living under the surface of an environment in which we don't belong. Never since have I forgotten the anguish of one poor girl's painful death far from shore in the jaws of the greatest killing machine in this age of evolution. Does she cling to false hope or does she scream for help in such a gutteral way to God to deliver herself from the ultimate intense suffering? Either way cinema goers in 1975 heard and saw it with full force. A film that needed no extra source of consumption for shark or audience gains something which leaves someone with a moment that lives forever when they see it, and what is an ageless classic becomes one of the top ten films of all time. Let that scene resonate over the rest of the film and you see what people did over 30 years ago. I don't want to call Jaws a "blockbuster" because of what that term has come to mean in our age. It's simply a film that everybody went to see because they were aware of the effect seeing it had over their friends and family. One horrific moment made Jaws one of the only films that can be considered a classic and a blockbuster.

Threads (1984) - Threads is one long horrific 2 hour moment. There were suprisingly few films made speculating on the result of a full nuclear war, but there need not have been any after Threads (based on actual government research determining the results of such a war) came out. The films flicks back and forth between documentary style exposition and the story of families and one government agency which becomes unable to act due to the destruction and utter breakdown of the 'threads' that hold modern society together. So what is the moment that stays with us? Is it the second explosion closer to where our characters are? The moment where we watch glass milk bottles melt like ice under a blowtorch? A husbands hopeless attempt at finding water for his horribly burned and agonised wife? The slow death of government workers painfully attempting to mobilise plans drawn out? The walk through streets of rubble, populated by broken men and women? The rape? The scene of life decades later where a sick kind of dark age people plough the land for scant reward? The video hooked up where crowds watch a children's television show in an apathetic way? Perhaps for once it's a film where every man and woman has their own moment that stays with them. For me it's the wife. She tried to protect herself under the advice the population was given, but she's burned beyond recognition and her only constant in life are screams of pain and need of water. For you it may be the blood constantly trickling down the stairs of a hospital harking back to the days of painful amputation and slow death.

Wolf Creek (2005) - Harking back to an old horror classic, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, always calls forth one scene. A girl is hung by her very flesh on a meat hook as she watched a friend being dismembered. There's a certain terror invoked by such scenes because it's a moment where all hope is gone. There is no escaping and so the fear is maximised by hopes absence. In 2005 audiences were scared in large numbers by a film which focussed on the growing number of Australian serial killers. Such killers may take advantage of their environment, and in Australia that advantage is the sheer size of the continent/country. Find someone on the road and you won't be disturbed. Kill someone and they won't be found in a land of wide endless empty spaces. If it's not bad enough facing a cruel killer who loves to torture his victims hundreds of miles from anyone, imagine being incapacitated due to your spine being severed. A young character has been fighting hard to escape, but coming across a hard experienced man who has no trouble cutting her fingers off when encountered. Pain and anguish and fear burns the psyche. But when he describes an old method of extracting information from the Viet Cong in Vietnam, that of severing their spinal chord so they have no hope of escape as they are tortored spells intolerable cruelty. He does this and our hope for an easy death (at least) is gone. Ivan Milat. Bradley John Murdoch. Maybe those names made it mean more in Australia, but overall John Jarret's astounding acting as he portrayed the most memorable villian of modern times, Mick Taylor, gave us enough depth to drown in that one hopeless horrifying moment.

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Thursday, December 7th, 2006
12:25 pm - Hey Mr Bee Man
After 12 years I finally got myself a new adrenaline injection that could save my life. I gotta say, I'm tempted to go out to grab a bee and make it sting me to try it out.

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Monday, November 27th, 2006
3:05 am - Don' Be Messin'
Yesterday I sustained the worst cut I've ever had in my life. More on that later. What's most important is what I realised this morning. That cut finger has given me valuable street cred.

Rappin' can't be that hard, but you gotta have the cred to back it up with. I knew then that I needed an urgent change in wardrobe, and an album cover to impress those corporate fat-cats that us artists ironically join forces with. I tried to find my Eagles beenie, but had to make do with a loud pair of bathers wrapped around my head. I put on something black, but unfortunately my house is completely lacking in 'Bling'. Still, I looked like a shit pap grool muthafucka.

So, I took a picture of myself with my real mean killin' face. Don't try this folks. You just don't got the cred.

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Wednesday, November 22nd, 2006
8:26 am - Thanks!
To my LJ buddies who voiced their approval through this large undertaking I say a big thank you. It's been a fun ride, and I'll start another one fairly soon. It'll be either a B-Grade Sci-Fi movie or a B-Grade Action movie chosen at random. Just to see what that's like.

This comic will be put up at Triumph of Supidity, which looks one hell of a lot better this time around and is now only film based so I can concentrate on doing one thing well rather than 7 things really poorly.

Friday the 13th - The FinaleCollapse )

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