Rather be alive...

“The function of man is to live.”

Why is this so fucking complicated? I mean, honestly, what more could there be to life than living? He who dies with the most marbles does not win. All your skyscrapers can't hide the fact that one day your cock will no longer get hard and you will die. Your fourth quarter earnings will mean less in a hundred years than your decomposed corpse. Chances are you will die knowing less about how to treat your body than the specs on this year's latest sedans.

I no longer care about your SATs, GPAs, C.V.s, GDPs, MBAs.

A revelation – what if life is not a competition? What if life was a collaborative project; a flower we watered and cared for, a hope for a blossoming, a hope for fruition?

I cannot even imagine what it would be like to wake up, look out the window, and think, “Look, we have made this. I have helped to make this.” Instead - “My god, what is this we have done? My god, what the fuck am I doing?” Too often we do nothing but watch as a small minority does their best to destroy the planet.

Fuck sixty hour work weeks. Fuck high rents. Fuck SUVs. Fuck Big Macs. Fuck all the wars being fought over oil which will, in the end, just fuck up the planet. Fuck the “education system” (aka. Debt Machine) we must follow to get a “decent job” (aka. More of the Debt Machine). Fuck that the ultimate dream in the First World is not to work – to win the lottery, retire early, inherit a shitload of money, etc. Fuck sitcoms. Fuck A&Rs. Fuck every cunt who has turned a community's sports team into a fucking brand/franchise. Fuck that happiness is getting what we want when we want it. Fuck that the Shape of Punk to Come was only a false dawn. Fuck that, in 2009, it's still understandable for a cop to assassinate a civilian while it's only ever crazy insane whack jobs who kill cops. Fuck modern democracy – you know my vote does not matter. Fuck that I will never see a herd of buffalo charging across the Prairies.

From the vaults...

My Lady, Lion Rock

Surely the green hills
That lay around her feet
Are watered daily by tears she sheds
As she gazes out towards the South China Sea,
Forever seeing this foreign city on native soil.

Are our souls too much sold
Than to find salvation or enlightenment;
Or something of pitch and depth, at least
Something more than daily work,
Weekly drunks and monthly bills?

Oh Lady of Lion Rock, whisper softly
And awake the cockatoos and kingfishers.
Call them and their many splendored colours
To carry our burdens upwards, dissipating like smoke.

Welcome Back

It’s been a nine year hiatus and I’m sure those of you unfortunate to have heard of Section Eight must be asking yourselves ‘What the hell?’ What the hell, indeed. Why bother?

I could go on a long, and rather boring, tangent expounding on the great Whys which seem to trouble college students and professors so much. Why write? Why tell each other stories?  Leading right the way down to the crucial question – Why do we live?

But that would be pretty lame-o. So, I’m not going waste anyone’s time explaining why. Not that it matters because you obviously have time to waste if you’ve managed to stumble into this illiterate hell hole.

Actually I really wanted to start a proper website for the return of Section Eight, but due to a severe bout of near fatal laziness, the cost of a web server and, most importantly, a complete lack of any thing interesting to say I’ve decided to start off with this literary eyesore of a blog.

I will update when I feel like it and I hope you'll check back in when you feel like it. 

Take care.