As Mark Twain once said; "What do we call love, hate, charity, revenge, humanity, forgiveness?
Different results of the master impulse, the necessity of securing one's self-approval."

Talking to strangers. Cherry ripe. St kilda beach. Moshpits, raves and metalheads. Coburg drive in. Banana smoothies. The chumscrubber. My fuckwit mates. Luke's datsun 120y. Sleeping a lot. Any place that has beer. Making daisy chains on a lazy sunday afternoon. Camping. Essendon Bombers. Vanilla ice cream. Cute blondes. Walking in the pouring rain without an umbrella. Punk/indie/alt/rock music. Casi & her words. Documentaries. Nikki Sixx. Beanbags. My nana because she always knew how to inspire. Writing & drawing. Captain planet. Going fucking psych. Lifesavers. Apple pop-tarts. Tom & Jerry cartoons back when they really were cool.

Anything that is indeed, mosh-worthy or that I can go fucken bananas over in front of my bedroom mirror without anyone's laughing eyes judging me.

Something with lots of blood and gore in it that puts emphasis on blowing up shit and will leave all of my senses in a mind-numbingly good mood.

Everything that can be like a bed time story that will eventually put me to sleep ...as long as it isn't unadulterated fiction and can assist in the escape of every day reality.

I like those little golden books you used to be able to buy at the supermarket... Ever since they stopped selling them I have refused to read. besides, it suits my image to act as if I have the brain capacity of a two year old child. Hey, it seems to work for Paris Hilton...