work

new face

On a business trip an a private mission

In a town I don’t care to mention

She’s running a business or primal needs and pleasure

If it wasn’t for boredom and adventure

We would have never met

We would have never met

The little regret that I had felt

Faded with the desire that emanated from your eyes and a touch to my belt

Her quaint smile hid your true intention that loomed under her collar

Another hour, another dollar

A child for every addiction

Another night with a new affliction

Different face same unfamiliar feeling

Different place same unfamiliar ceiling

In another life maybe a teacher or a nun

Her time has passed to see her place in the sun

I’m not her savior, or her father

I’m not her brother, or her lover

For her it’s just another night and I am just another customer








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01 – The Return Of The Jerk [explicit]

As if I could ever stay away huh? Another installment in the life of Billy Boarster the incurable bum. Another egocentric saga of self-pity and cynical gibberish to entertain your empty souls. Another venture into unabashed self-degradation and undignified honesty. Strap yourselves in, here I go…



Aaah, Nigeria… just clocked up my first year anniversary the other day. An entire year endured on the soils of the most fucking corrupt, polluted and hopeless nation on this earth. Another year chasing the dollar… Another year spent without the company of my own son… or his mother… or any other fucking family member or personal friend that give a smidgeon of meaning to my life. ‘Meaning’ left the building a long time ago… ‘purpose’ followed shortly thereafter… the last virtue still clinging onto the fence must be ‘sanity’.



As we drive I stare. I stare straight or sideways or any way… I just don’t focus my gaze upon any motherfucker on the side of the road. It’s just become too much of an inconvenience. Beggars, hecklers and seller all want my gaze. They are on constant 24/7 lookout for it. As soon as they find it, they jump on it with the vigor of a grizzly bear slashing a salmon out from the stream. Oh, if you’ve only seen two bread sellers running after a minibus of very poor passengers, losing their sandals as they try and outrun each other, just to make that N10 commission they get on a loaf of bread (about 10 Aussie cents, but it’s probably less than N10 as for the commission they get).

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02 - A Thursday Night Party in Ikeja [somewhat explicit]

After picking up the last passenger, we set off for Ikeja, where the party was being held. Being exhausted and somewhat hung-over from the previous night, I didn’t really want to go, and traveling to the mainland after dark, without an armed police escort, was strictly forbidden according to company policy. Still, the guys managed to convince me to come, saying it’d be “an adventure”. It was some American bloke’s birthday, and he lived way out near the airport because that’s where he worked and ran his business. I’d apparently met him at a party the previous week, though I was too drunk to distinctly remember him, and he’d insisted to the other guys that I come.



We traveled in a three-vehicle convoy, and coming up to the first mainland bridge we encountered our first “adventure” for the evening. There was a broken down truck ahead, slowing the peak traffic down to a trickle, so armed gangs of robbers were quick on the scene. They went from car to car, using Okada boys on the opposite side of the road as getaways. At first I didn’t register what was going on, when I saw two guys leaning in on either side of the front windows of the car next to us, yelling at both the driver and passenger. There’s always a lot of minor accidents here in Lagos, where people get out of their cars and yell at each other for ten minutes, before hopping back in to their cars and taking off. I thought this was such an incident… until the passenger handed over his mobile phone, some cash, and the robber pulled his arm out with a handgun in it! The robber then ran across the road and quickly jumped on his accomplice’s Okada and sped off. The two victims yelled “Thieves! Thieves!” to no avail, pretty much accepting what had just happened instantaneously as an everyday occurrence. This is Lagos after all. The guys in one of the other cars behind us witness pretty much an identical incident, but with different robbers, so we all concluded it was a gang on the prowl.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Okada - cheap asian moped (the most popular here being the "Jincheng" brand), used as a cheap (and dangerous) alternative to taxis. I saw a rider take on a passenger with two goats once...

Naira - local currency, $1US is approx. = N135

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Pride

Folder: 
2-Strength

Let down your ego and let the love pour in

Let go of yourself and see the brightness begin.

Too many people just live the illusion

Walking around in a mixed up confusion.

Things will be better if you just decide

to do away with your pride.



The sunshine blows in and the darkness disappears

and so does the sadness and so do all your fears.

Take your whole life and throw in this twist:

A lot of what you see really doesn’t exist.

The moon is having a strange effect on the tide.

Do away with you pride.



Pride will get in the way when you’re trying to grow.

And make you question the things that you know.

Make you lie to yourself and cut off the flow

of the energy moving through you.



It takes such tiny pieces to make up something large.

And little tiny particles can make an electric charge.

There are so many things out there to find.

And it’s hard to separate your body from your mind.

Don’t lock it up and keep it all inside.

Do away with your pride.

The last thing you need to do is run and hide.

Do away with your pride.

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0pcode abras1v1s

third from the left, center to the right

abrasive, and disconsolate, emerging from the night

distill the light, the dimmest sight

what i thought was wrong, was always right



always down the same path, but different every time

collapsing and decaying, beneath the ladders i shall never climb

all was thrown away before i could get it together

open your eyes, past this disguise you will never sever



under the skin, all the tortures within

needles and pins, will ease away all the sin

yet another day past i'm sure to forget

carefully placed in this moment i'll soon regret



a soul gone under, all plight and plunder,

light gone without thunder

all my past will never last, future comes too fast,

the present was never even there to begin with



scabbed hands caress this wounded machine

cuts and scratches, all skin and bones between

failure of the system, you know the drill

despair of me, for I’ve learned the art of nill



...but sometimes the weak, crawl out from underneath….

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06 – What did YOU expect? :op [probably explicit]

At 22:32pm what else should I be doing other than downing gin & tonics like they’re going out of fashion, whilst listening to my home-made “best of” NOFX compilation? Well, for starters I probably should be sleeping, considering I have to get up at the inhumanely crack of dawn of 6:30am, to catch a flight to the featureless Nigerian “city” of Kaduna, to conduct a “site inspection”. Already had a primary site inspection today (which I also filmed for good measure – our client tends to continuously stretch the truth with the all-familiar words “it’ll be ready in a couple of weeks”, so it’s good to have the extent of the lie on tape) of the next Lagos site that’ll eat up the better part of my freedom for the next 18 or so months - unless, of course, I get my foot in on the Italian market.

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08 – A Day in the Life of a Chump [somewhat explicit]

Wednesday, June 22, 2005



10:35am



If I were working in an office, as opposed to crawling under false computer floors and running hundreds of cables that interconnect one of Nigeria’s premier mobile phone networks, then I’d be having a coffee break right now. Well I’ve decided to take one, regardless of the fact that there is no tea or coffee in my vicinity. Instead, I have a bottle of lukewarm water and a laptop with MS Word. Oh, and let’s not forget Tool playing in the background. I’m alone in this particular switch room today so I have the privilege of blasting out any fucking music I like.



He had a lot to say, he had a lot of nothing to say, we’ll miss him – sings Maynard.



We’ll miss him? Well… He should be so lucky. As for myself, I doubt many people are genuinely missing me. I don’t even think my son misses me. He barely gets to see me. Last time I asked to speak to him I heard him say in the background, “No, I don’t want to speak to him!” I strongly doubt K*** misses me, despite her many words of forced encouragement. She says she thinks of me, loves me and misses me, but never offers any real assurance as to the validity of those words. In the end, that’s all they are; just words. I haven’t heard from her for a few days, but I guess she’s probably recovering from a self-imposed guilt-trip due to possible activities during last weekend. The silent periods usually follow on after the weekend. But K*** being K***, she’s usually shrugged them off within a few days, as if nothing has happened and life is as normal as it ever was. But then, I’m a chump, so I go along with it.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm so happy, I'm so happy, I'm so happy and pretty and gaaaaaay!

Amazing what an internet connection can do to a mind addicted to modernity.

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07 – Bombs, Invasions and Happiness [probably explicit to Americans]

That almighty quest… happiness. How do you know what the essence of this enigma is, if the beings that brought you into existence never actually displayed one ounce of it? How does a young developing mind calculate the necessary stepping-stones towards that blissful existence known as happiness? Does anybody really possess the wisdom to clearly define its meaning? How can we base our lives on the failings of our predecessors? How can we even think we know what we want from life? Ever?



*     *     *




Returning from our three-day “team building” outing, which took place at some agricultural research center on the outskirts of Ibadan, we had our bus searched for bombs, as we turned into Walter Carrington Crescent – the home of our office and numerous foreign embassies. Apparently there had been a bomb scare at the US embassy the day before, and every vehicle coming in was scanned and occupants questioned. Now, I can fully understand why US embassies are prime targets for terrorism – as there are millions of people across the world who think Bush and his cronies are the biggest terrorists of them all – but I sure do hope that this particular one doesn’t get blown up. You see, my office is next door and I live only a block away.



This brings me back to my last entry, to the part where we were all contemplating becoming rich in Iraq, just before I lost my train of thought and went on an “intermission”. What I wanted to say was this; last year I jokingly predicted something that I now believe to be true – Nigeria will become the next Iraq.

‘They have lots of oil and lots of Muslims… that’s all the criteria Bush needs for an invasion’ I said, as we swigged on our bottles of “Star” beer, still mind-boggled over what our yearly salaries would be, based on the monthly contract rates we could get in Iraq.

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05 - Drinking Imported Beer on a Modular Sofa Lounge [explicit]

June 07, 2005



So… back again. In fact, I’ve been back for over three weeks. And although this is now my third visit to Nigeria, I don’t think it warrants the creation of a new “volume” folder – it’s not like the last “volume” was overflowing with entries.



I guess now that I’ve (finally) been provided with a decent apartment, and now that M***** has left and I’ve technically inherited his driver, I don’t really have a lot to bitch about. This time I also successfully dragged a lot of music equipment with me so I have no qualms on that front. I even have a PS2 set up with a dozen games to choose from… a laptop with full admin rights, so I can install any fucking program that takes my fancy. A big fat fridge with a decent sized freezer compartment, along with all the cooking facilities I need, so I can make myself hot snack any time I fucking want. A hundred channeled cable television; albeit a crappy South African version showing mainly B-grade movies and a lot of sport and news that I can’t really stand. A toilet… a shower… a bed. A long row of windows exposing the incredibly polluted stretch of water between Lagos Island and Victoria Island. A cheap plastic/magnetic chess set that has never been used. Two cheap computer speakers blaring out rare Nirvana tracks from a high-end mp3 player. A constant scrolling of CNN headlines at the bottom of my TV screen.



Bush, Blair, African aid appeal, Pyongyang, 6-Party talks, Eurozone interest rates, Carlos Mesa Bolivian Pres. Resigns, Chinese Oil producer CNOOC… Nepalese violence… U.S. & Iraqi forces detain 23 suspected insurgents… Protests in Egypt… North Korea’s nuclear program… Two non-Israeli workers killed… it just keeps coming… it just keeps coming…. Enough!



“Something in her eyes… must be the smoke from my lungs,” sings Kurt.

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