5th of September 2005
I guess for the most part what I hated most about RMIT was the people who paraded around like superstars because they got to 
wear the tab of being a designer, it didn’t really matter what they did but so long as the world or more specifically the people around them knew them as designers it was ok to strut down the corridors in that casual gait that only celebrities can do. I hate it mostly because I couldn’t give a shit about design and in my mind it’s not really an occupation, more of a vocation, a calling, and a humble one at that. And so for these people to walk around with such arrogance at work that was little more than pointless styling carried by an excuse of deep cultural worth or whatever the fuck people call it these days pretty much made me want to beat them senseless with their own limbs and then force them to eat parts of their body and stab/scoop out their eyes with an ice-cream scoop. And in a smaller aspect, my own insecurities of my position and worth among society, and that I say is a very small part. In the main what made me hate and regard design as nothing more than peasant filth were these people. I suppose I hated it so much that I drove myself to find an escape, to find some little corner of paradise that I found palatable. Maybe in a strange way it was because of that I decided to come to America and actually carry it through. After 7 years I guess it was time I actually carried it through. For those of you who don’t know, since about 1998 or so there’ve been a number of attempts for me to go study in the United States or England, of course that the time what my parents expected me to study was medicine. And year after year I just put it off, even in first year and second year when I went around and got all the information it still took me until the end of second year and some what into 3rd year for me to push it through to the final parts and finally carry it through, and I think I surprise myself, because now what the fuck was I suppose to do? Well there wasn’t anything left to do except to go. And now I’m here, here and like all things in life, I found myself in the same circumstances that I’d tried to avoid. I’m still going to class and being taught by the people who drive me insane, and the urge to simple kill them all is still there and growing. I guess this is truly my city of lost hope. So if I’ve hit the bottom surely the only way left to go is up? Or at least horizontal and constant, surely it can not get any worse. Well I guess it hasn’t really gotten worse, the problems and things I hated at RMIT and back home are here 
with me still, its just a different place, the problems needed as much of a change as I you could say. People get the idea that I hate it here, I don’t hate it, I have everything that I need to life comfortably, minus a few things here and there, but they are no consequence. I have my computer, I have the internet, I have my music, I have my books, my pens and pencils. There is nothing here that I didn’t have back home, nothing here that stops me from doing what I do best, materialistically, I am content. But that’s not really as important to me as the comfort of isolation. I’m a solitary man, for a better choice of words, I like being alone, I like knowing that there’s no one around me. Now I live with 750 other people and its almost unbearable and there’s no escape, there are no class rooms to escape too to read, no silent corner to find solace. I think my best bet is someone dies and my room mate moves out.
wear the tab of being a designer, it didn’t really matter what they did but so long as the world or more specifically the people around them knew them as designers it was ok to strut down the corridors in that casual gait that only celebrities can do. I hate it mostly because I couldn’t give a shit about design and in my mind it’s not really an occupation, more of a vocation, a calling, and a humble one at that. And so for these people to walk around with such arrogance at work that was little more than pointless styling carried by an excuse of deep cultural worth or whatever the fuck people call it these days pretty much made me want to beat them senseless with their own limbs and then force them to eat parts of their body and stab/scoop out their eyes with an ice-cream scoop. And in a smaller aspect, my own insecurities of my position and worth among society, and that I say is a very small part. In the main what made me hate and regard design as nothing more than peasant filth were these people. I suppose I hated it so much that I drove myself to find an escape, to find some little corner of paradise that I found palatable. Maybe in a strange way it was because of that I decided to come to America and actually carry it through. After 7 years I guess it was time I actually carried it through. For those of you who don’t know, since about 1998 or so there’ve been a number of attempts for me to go study in the United States or England, of course that the time what my parents expected me to study was medicine. And year after year I just put it off, even in first year and second year when I went around and got all the information it still took me until the end of second year and some what into 3rd year for me to push it through to the final parts and finally carry it through, and I think I surprise myself, because now what the fuck was I suppose to do? Well there wasn’t anything left to do except to go. And now I’m here, here and like all things in life, I found myself in the same circumstances that I’d tried to avoid. I’m still going to class and being taught by the people who drive me insane, and the urge to simple kill them all is still there and growing. I guess this is truly my city of lost hope. So if I’ve hit the bottom surely the only way left to go is up? Or at least horizontal and constant, surely it can not get any worse. Well I guess it hasn’t really gotten worse, the problems and things I hated at RMIT and back home are here 
with me still, its just a different place, the problems needed as much of a change as I you could say. People get the idea that I hate it here, I don’t hate it, I have everything that I need to life comfortably, minus a few things here and there, but they are no consequence. I have my computer, I have the internet, I have my music, I have my books, my pens and pencils. There is nothing here that I didn’t have back home, nothing here that stops me from doing what I do best, materialistically, I am content. But that’s not really as important to me as the comfort of isolation. I’m a solitary man, for a better choice of words, I like being alone, I like knowing that there’s no one around me. Now I live with 750 other people and its almost unbearable and there’s no escape, there are no class rooms to escape too to read, no silent corner to find solace. I think my best bet is someone dies and my room mate moves out. 
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