tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28553729095018428292024-03-13T21:06:57.359-07:00Borles Speaks - Boarding School StoriesBorn limitless, taking each day as it comes. Just a collection of a few stories from a certain boarding school from a certain part of a certain state in a certain country.Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-64648029802304103262012-05-02T06:29:00.000-07:002012-05-02T06:29:51.938-07:00Love & War<i>Prologue: This is supposed to be the part of a story that gets added in when the story makes no sense. However, the story probably won't make any sense anyway - but that's okay! I just want this paragraph to explain one thing: in the world that I had to adapt to, we were conditioned as we rose through the college. Once I had progressed to my final year, I had learnt a lot of harsh truths. In this year, our cohort had to take on the roles of our previous mentors. And we had a... unique way teaching others around us.</i><br />
<br />
I was awoken from my slumber aroundabouts 2 in the morning. I heard running, hushed voices and laughter. Something ran past my room, followed by three others.<br />
<br />
Quickly, I made my way to The Islander's room. It was obvious what was going on.<br />
<br />
"Quick, get up!" I whispered loudly to The Islander as I tried to rouse him from his deep sleep. "The goddamn natives have gone wild! Some imbecile has introduced them to gold tops and it's anarchy out there!"<b>. (Note: "the natives" refers to any other groups of people who engaged in the same activities as myself, but were not within my immediate friend circle, oftentimes younger than me.)</b><br />
<br />
<i>My paranoia and eccentricity was not dulled by the fact that I was coming off the cusp of a large weekend (it being a Sunday night). No, if anything it was heightened. I was in almost a fitful state.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
"My god man, can't you understand the solution to this madness? If we are to ever sort this mess we need to be on the same level as these apes! Get the god-damned mushrooms out of the freezer and roll up a reefer, it's time to teach these buffoons a lesson!" I yelled, rousing The Islander and steeling him for the night ahead.<br />
<br />
<b>And so an hour later, there we were. In the thick of it. Sneaking like wanted men through the halls, searching for these natives. We soon came to find them outside - on the school ovals, giggling at nothing. Goddamn animals.</b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
"Ho yuss" was the call I made as I approached. Their wide eyes flickered towards me, pupils the size of dinnerplates, taking in the figures of me and The Islander as we strode into view. Soon, we began dishing out some of our own substances that we had stockpiled for such occasions. See, our point of view is that if someone's going to dabble in these sorts of things then they need to know the extremes of what they're involved in.<br />
<br />
<b><i>They had to go to hell and back just to see the view.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
So we gave them reefer, to relax them - also adding a sense of paranoia for inexperienced users. More mushrooms, for we were already tripping pretty hard and hey - we wanted these boys to have a "good" time.<br />
<br />
<i>As a </i><i>coup de grâce, we gave them amphetamines. Not much, about half of a really effective dose, but with these inexperienced drug users who were already bent out of their minds on mushrooms and reefer, it was like giving cocaine to a goldfish - it was too stupid to consider. However the deed was done, and it was time to see it all play out.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Well, if there's one thing I've learnt, it's that I don't like mixing stimulants with psychedelics. It makes you edgy, why do you need speed to stay awake if you're heads bursting with psychedelics? Also, at the end of the trip it's almost impossible to sleep - much harder than if you just smoked a few spliffs and went to bed. But perhaps the most dastardly effect of all is that it makes you brutally <u>aware</u> of your trip - it slaps you in the face and makes you think "what the goddamned hell is going on here? This can't be real!", and the mirage of (un)reality is shattered.<br />
<br />
We could see it already. The natives were jittery, keen to leave the open expanses of outdoors for somewhere a bit more sheltered. Of course, light would come in time, heralding a new school week.<br />
<br />
<i>Sure as hell was turning out to be a Silly Sunday. Lord knows what these loathsome beasts would do to one another within a confined area.</i><br />
<br />
After the natives left, me and The Islander had a cigarette at the bench. Pleasantly tripping, The Islander wondered aloud "what do you think will become of them, the natives?"<br />
<br />
<i>"Well you see my island friend, that's up to them now."</i>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-77196044580104267302012-04-16T21:38:00.000-07:002012-04-16T21:38:28.750-07:00Consistent..?Fuck, really need to stay consistent with my writing. Heaps of shits just been going on work-wise, and haven't had the time! But I'm working on a few stories for all of your amusement, watch this space!<br />
<br />
-borlesBorleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-63507643500032080652012-04-07T20:44:00.000-07:002012-04-07T20:44:45.814-07:00Snitches Get StitchesAhh yes, <i>"Snitches Get Stitches", </i>'twas a motto that many of the members of my immediate social circle could quite happily live by. <div><br />
</div><div>See, there's two types of risk management. Either a) <b>Preventative </b>or b) <b>Curative</b>.</div><div>But, who necessarily says that they can't be the same?</div><div><br />
</div><div>With the things that I got up to in my time at boarding school, neither me nor any of my friends could afford to be caught out due to loose lips or big mouths. By enforcing this rule, we could both prevent and cure the problems at hand. We could cure it through vengeance, and prevent it by setting an example. It may seem harsh, but we'd learnt through trial and error that when someone crosses you in this world, you've got to take them so far down that they'll never even consider wronging you again.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i><b>The first was Pinga.</b></i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>Pinga was fat. And a mess. And he smelt. He had the personal hygiene of a barnyard animal and the social skills of a brussel sprout. Because of this, he was prone to "toot his own horn" in front of his peers.</div><div>Pinga had somehow made it into my group of acquaintances because he was a smoker. Yes, we were on first-name terms. No, I did not like him.</div><div><br />
</div><div>See, we were in the "clean up" process of one of our nights of ruckus (as described in <i>The Nights</i>, an earlier post of mine), and Pinga had managed to deduce what we were up to, and wanted in. Naturally, it was easier to give him a few alcoholic beverages than to refuse and run the risk of his resent turning against our group.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><i>That was our first mistake.</i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div>Within 24 hours, word was spreading about our activities. This was the first time that we'd had this problem, so we evaluated the entire situation as a whole, and deduced that the most likely leak of information was to come form Pinga, he was the unknown variable in the equation.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After deliberation with the group, it was decided that Yeah Man and The Bird would converse with Pinga, and aim to stop this leak. Within an hour they had come back, after a verbal warning and slight interrogation of Pinga, and told us that we had nothing more to worry about.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><i>That was our second mistake.</i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div>He was a fucking good liar, old Pinga. I'll give him that. While we were thinking of how we could be more discreet than we already were, he was desperately trying to raise his social profile with tales of our exploits. Imagine a fat, greasy, mess of a man reading you all the stories that are on this blog, changing details as he sees fit. Oh and before you ask, I'm not fat, and I'm not fucking greasy.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyways, to cut a long story short, myself and The Chaser ended up stumbling upon a lead with regards to Pinga. Turns out he had been pilfering our supplies of alcohol and sharing it with other undesirable fellows. We confronted one of the people he had drank it with, and they confirmed this. With concrete evidence, and a solid reason to punch someone, The Chaser was in his happy place.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>See, The Chaser never liked Pinga. But what The Chaser did like, was punching people. Coupled with the anger over the stolen alcohol and the huge huge danger that Pinga had put our group in, The Chaser was in an almost blind fury.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><b>Pinga was in trouble.</b></div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div>So soon after school had finished, The Chaser and I started the hunt. We started at The Dairy, the smokers frequenting ground, but to no avail. The same with the ovals, and the more common bong-spots. However, Pinga was nowhere to be found. Deflated by this, me and The Chaser started walking to The Fortress in order to consume some leafy greens to lift our moods a bit. But as we were walking down the path, the unmistakable form (and smell) of Pinga became apparent. How he managed to get down there never ceases to amaze me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Looking up, you could almost see a glint in The Chaser's eye as he started running to The Fortress, with me close behind. As he ran up, you could watch Pinga's facial expression go from surprise, to concern, to shock, the absolute ball-numbing fear as The Chaser drew his fist back (whilst still running) and threw it full-force into Pinga's cheek. Never have I seen a more distinct look of satisfaction on The Chaser's face, than after that moment.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>You also have to remember that The Chaser was by no means a small boy. standing at 6'0 at age 16, and weighing in at 85kg, as well as being notorious for fighting around the school and town, a punch from him would quickly put all but the largest of men on their backs. Immediately after, Pinga was stunned, on his back, bleeding from his mouth and a near-instant black eye forming. But after that, nothing was said. Pinga left The Fortress, and obviously thought about his misdeeds, as he came to me later and apologised for his mistakes. He begged me for forgiveness, to be given another chance to be in our circle.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Did I forgive him?</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i><b>I sure as hell wasn't going to make a third mistake.</b></i></div>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-55157056807023348052012-04-02T07:01:00.002-07:002012-04-02T07:01:55.543-07:00Oh shi-I just realised I left word verification for comments on too. Probs to those who've made comments, I know how much Captcha sucks. All fixed now though.Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-45642480500029039682012-04-02T06:58:00.000-07:002012-04-02T06:58:48.707-07:00Yeah man!So, dear readers, let me tell you a story. This is a story of a friend, we called him "Yeah Man". We called him this because the most memorable thing about him was how he would stand with his arms crossed, <i>bob his head,</i> and say "Yeah man!" when agreeing to something. It was hilarious.<br />
<br />
Yeah Man was one of those guys who are so engorged by self-belief, that they feel invincible. An opportunist, he would always be looking for the next form of excitement, ranging from mushroom trips to his personal favourite, Butane. However, he was malleable. A follower. It mattered no though, as this was always the cause of hilarity too. When trying to convince him of something, you could hear his mind changing. His dialogue would go from "Nah man!" to "Maybe man!" and then to "It's possible man!" to "Yeah man!". all the while <i>bobbing his head.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Now, me and my circle of friends knew that Yeah Man lived by the saying <i>"If you're gonna do it, do it big"</i>, but one Sunday afternoon was saw "doing it big" get taken to a whole new level.<br />
<br />
As the college was Catholic, on a Sunday we would have to travel in buses, <i>en masse, </i>to the local church in order to celebrate Zombie Jesus or something. Normally we would go to the congregation pleasantly buzzed from some fine leafy greens, and Yeah Man had talked of eating magic mushrooms beforehand. We warned him against the idea, citing the risk involved for himself and those around him. However he was adamant that he do it.<br />
<br />
<b>So on that particular Sunday, that crazy motherfucker ate 50 Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, and went to church.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
When I saw him, the first thing I noticed was his face. Drained of all colour, he resembled a store mannequin.<br />
Then his eyes. His pupils, the size of dinner plates. No colour left in his eyes.<br />
<i>Oh, and the bobbing of the head.</i><br />
<br />
My good friend The Bird came to me for advice. As Yeah Man's best friend, he felt obliged to stay by his side, sober, to guide him through the afternoon. But he was worried. He explained to me that Yeah Man was plunged so far deep into a psychoactive pit that he had suffered complete ego loss. He know longer knew of himself, his friend nor family. All he knew was to follow The Bird.<br />
<br />
See, nobody knows what happened to Yeah Man at that church service. I didn't wish to associate him in the state that he was in, and neither did anybody else. So he hung around the back, flitting among the edges of the pews, absorbed in his own world. He refuses to say what he learnt from that day, and up until today still doesn't talk about it. But he was changed. He had not only toed the point of no return, he had leaped over it.<br />
<br />
<i>Probably while bobbing his head.</i>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-54395696791012023292012-03-30T23:13:00.000-07:002012-03-30T23:13:24.113-07:00So...Well yeah, I kinda gave up on this blog for a bit. had a lot of things on my mind and so on. But the writing helps, I know that for a fact. People say I ramble when I talk to them in person, I guess I just want to tell my story. Here I can ramble all I want.Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-19975591103080589042012-01-20T06:56:00.000-08:002012-01-20T06:56:36.039-08:00The End Days Part 1<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-AU</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">So it's been a while since I’ve written on here. Guess it doesn’t matter, I doubt anyone reads this. This is just my escape. I can tell the stories without fear of retribution. I can let out all that I wish to tell without worrying that my name will be attached to it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i> I’m just another storyteller, and this is just another story.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I’m going to talking about the last few months of my enrollment at that school. Those months were nothing but pure turmoil. With the pressures of senior year, it was easy to become lost.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I had another dream about lions at the door; they weren't half as frightening as they were before. But I’m thinking about eternity, some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Term 4, Senior Year</u></div><div class="MsoNormal">A new principal, hellbent on the eradication of students such as myself. An influx of newfolk, oblivious to tradition. Tempers soaring, making mistakes more likely. Rash decisions. Allegations, stories, truth? A camping trip, a fistfight. A change of scenery... day student? “A risk”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Term summary: Disaster.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It all began with The Skull. He came upon a wave of mystery. Set to reign over us with an iron fist. Nothing stood in his way. No tradition left unmolested, no student left unharassed, why? The school had gotten a reputation, and not a good one at that. Needless to say, the previous regime had become lax, and the long fingers of anarchy came curling around the college. But that was all about to change.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let me put forward two scenarios. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is scenario A: I was downtown one afternoon with my good friend The Islander. Whilst stopping for our preferred beverage of Cookies & Cream MegaShake from Wendy’s, I received a phone call. On the other end, a voice. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Uh, hey man. Um... I was just wondering uh... if you could uh help me get some... stuff? You know...”. </i>Needless to say he was talking about a certain psychoactive plant. Being the good friend that I am, I agreed to help him, and after a long day of no success, I finally found a source for him. I gave it to him, and we went on our merry ways<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is scenario B: I was downtown one afternoon with my good friend The Islander. Whilst stopping for our preferred beverage of Cookies & Cream MegaShake from Wendy’s, I received a phone call. On the other end, a voice. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Uh, hey man. Um... I was just wondering uh... if you could uh help me get some... stuff? You know...”. </i>Needless to say he was talking about a certain psychoactive plant. However, I had learnt through harsh experience never to do this. No matter who, as soon a network is formed and you’re caught in the middle of it. Every instinct I had warned me from this, and trusting my gut I replied in the negative. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Nah mate, I can’t do it. You’ll have to find someone else.”</i>. And so I enjoyed my MegaShake, and the day was merry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Flash forward 24 hours, the same person who had called me have been caught consuming cannabis during the night. At some point the day before, they must have gotten it from an individual. At some point, my name had been mentioned. I was public enemy number one, allegedly supplying minors with illegal substances. Suddenly, all contact with either of those individuals was cut. I didn’t know the story, I didn’t know how to deal with the situation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Snitches get stitches.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Soon , an investigation begun, and I was the prime suspect. The new principal, striving to make a name for himself, needed a scapegoat. I was easy. “Past incidents with this sort of thing” was a line I heard a lot. But I couldn’t change the past, I had been lazy and gotten caught.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was faced with a dilemma. A lose-lose situation. A game of Russian roulette with a fully loaded revolver. Option 1: I accepted that I couldn’t win against the system and resigned to my fate as a scapegoat for The Skull, leave boarding and complete senior year. Or Option 2: I could fight for my name to be cleared, but in the process be suspended from the college and not graduate that year. I had to make a choice, and I chose Option 1. I had waited for too long to finish, and I was going to graduate no matter what. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>And so I left the dormitory. I said my goodbyes, and did what I needed to do. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I don’t know what I was feeling. It was a soul-crushing hollowness, and I almost had the sensation of falling that whole time. Where was I falling? A black dog had begun to follow me, and I would find in time that it would on grow bigger, and come closer. Bad times were coming.</b></div>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-68925284455465443562011-11-09T06:02:00.000-08:002011-11-09T06:02:07.467-08:00A brief trip to normality.Now, I'm going to take a quick break from my usual subject matter to talk about something important.<br />
When you're in a place like a boarding school, it's very easy to feel isolated, even when you're surrounded by people. Sure, your mates will always be there for you, but there's a constant feeling of loneliness. A desire for... companionship. I began to feel this towards the end of grade 11, and it was all brought about by one very special girl, who I would grow to love more than anything in the world.<br />
<br />
It all began with a friendship. When I first met this girl, I immediately knew she was different. The moment I set eyes upon her, I knew that she was like nobody else I'd ever met before.<br />
<br />
So we began as just friends, talking mainly through texting and the internet, and meeting occasionally. eventually, I began to develop feelings for her, but being the big mach man that I was, I tried not to let them get the better of me. Over time, these feelings grew until I just had to be with her. Little did I know she felt the same way, but was also afraid to show it. Eventually though, through "an arrangement" and a few not-so-subtle meetings, we learnt of each other's true feelings. And so it began.<br />
<br />
<i>A relationship is sometimes a tricky thing to understand. Your partner can make you sad, angry, confused, every emotion under the sun. But at the same time, they can make you the happiest person alive. How does that work? I dunno, but I love it.</i><br />
<br />
So really, I was the happiest I'd ever been. Until I fucked it up. A stupid mistake very nearly cost me what had made me the happiest guy alive, cost me a lot of trust, and destroyed in seconds what i had built over months. But I resolved to never let what I love slip away from me. No matter the fights, the pain, the hurt, the anger, the sadness, it was worth it. Just to be able to call her mine, and know that she loved me and I loved her - it was worth it.<br />
<br />
<i>I don't know what really kept me going sometimes. To know that I had ruined what had kept me going, ripped me apart inside.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
And to this day, we have our problems. We have our fights. We have the late night arguments that leave us going to sleep pissed off and waking up pissed off. We have those days where we just want to give up. We disagree and say things we don't really mean. But in the end, it's worth it. It's worth the fights, worth the tears, worth the worry, just to know that I'm fighting to keep what I love, and doing my best to keep it right. And although there are fuckups and disagreements, trust issues and arguments, it doesn't change how I feel.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Fight for that which you love, because to know that you tried and failed will always feel better than letting it go and thinking "what if...?".</b></i>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-23623225339192754182011-10-22T22:10:00.000-07:002011-10-22T22:11:26.529-07:00Tripping, of the bad variety.Psilocybe Cubensis. A psychoactive mushroom, oftentimes found growing out of cow manure. Contains the chemicals Psilocybin, which metabolises to Psilocin in the body and loves to act on the serotonin receptors in the brain. Often called "magic mushrooms". Now, of all places to locate a large paddock of cows, with opportune growing potential for these fungi, why the hell did they put it at the back of a large all-boys boarding school? I don't know, but me and my mates sure were appreciative. Maybe at times a bit too appreciative.<br />
<br />
Let's talk about my bad trip.<br />
<br />
Now, it was the first or second night back in boarding. Grade 10 I think. I had returned from holidays with my first psychoactive experience fresh in memory. As far as I knew, these mushrooms brought only boundless joy and euphoria to an individual, and no bad could come from their repeated and frequent use.<br />
<br />
Boy, was I about to learn the lesson of a lifetime.<br />
<br />
My friend "The Bird" had been harvesting mushrooms that day, and as the afternoon came he approached me with five or six large golden-top mushrooms. I was eager to begin tripping, and downed them as fast as I could. You see, I was yet to learn the golden rule of psychoactives: <b>set & setting.</b><br />
<b></b>Set refers to your mindset. With psychoactives being a mood <b>enhancer,</b> one quickly learns the right mindset for tripping. If one is in a good mood, they will be in a better one, if one is in a bad mood, then will be in a worse one. Easy to understand, yeah?<br />
Anyways, setting refers to where you actually are. Usually to trip you want a nice relaxed atmosphere, with not too many people around and nothing to stress you out. Therefore, a person can have a fun or relaxing trip.<br />
Well uh, my set and setting wasn't the best. My set: just gotten to school, slightly homesick, worried that I was going to get caught on mushrooms. Setting: in a dormitory, with supervisors and rules ever-present.<br />
<br />
<b>Uh-Oh.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
Within half an hour of eating the mushrooms, I was tripping balls. Sitting in the dining hall, all I could see was my spaghetti twirling around on my plate, like a bunch of worms fighting for territory in the earth. Drinking green cordial made me imagine of slime, dripping down my throat like the sloppy excrement of a Steven Spielberg creation. Pudding, chocolate mousse. Need I say what that reminded me of?<br />
Once I finished dinner, I practically ran to our smoking spot, with the ground swaying beneath me like some sort of nightmarish roller coaster. Upon lighting a cigarette, I could imagine every individual molecule of poison and tar making it's way into my lungs and bloodstream, coagulating and forming pits of cancerous cells in my body.<br />
<br />
<b>This wasn't going well.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
When I returned to the dorm, I realised I had a roll call. Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, this was fucking brutal. A mindfuck on a scale that I couldn't even comprehend anymore. Sitting down in the common room, the floor rushed up to meet my face. An eerie orange hue appeared to coat everyone around me, like a bad fake tan, reminiscent of the Jersey Shore cast. But I was still my normal colour, what was happening to me?<br />
<br />
<b>The worst was yet to come.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
Sitting in my room during the allocated study period, I pulled myself together. A bit. I decided to do my homework, where I had to write a detailed description of what a ritual is. Let's just say, I found my schoolbook outside my window the next day with the words "A ritual is a certain set of practice-fuuuuuuuck this brooo, I'm tripping balls fuck this." with several "sad faces" and weird Escher-esque drawings underneath. Last time I try homework on shrooms.<br />
<br />
After study, I raced out again for another cigarette. By this point in time I was convinced that I was the last sane person on the planet after a semi-apocalyptic situation where evil spirits had found their way into people's heads and turned them into zombies. Everyone was my enemy, so I had to move in the shadows to avoid detection. Once I got back to my bed I hid underneath the covers for about 3 hours in order to protect my brain.<br />
<br />
If you've never had a bad trip, it's impossible to imagine what it's like. It's like every bad feeling you've ever experienced, any amount of grief, anger or loss, comes back and is concentrated into a few hours in your brain. The terror is indescribable. While trying to hide myself under the covers of my bed from the evil spirits flying around my room, this was going on in my brain. Eventually, I decided I needed another cigarette.<br />
Walking through the dorm with just the eerie glow of the emergency exit lights showing you the way is a very strange experience while you're tripping. The whole time I was walking, I was calm and in control. But suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, as if I could sense someone or something watching me. I turned around and looked along the corridor, and saw a... thing, a shadow, a spirit, whatever you want to cal it - racing towards me. I stood there in shock while it just raced into me, and as it hit me all I could feel was cold. And with the cold came sadness, a wave of emotions racing over me like the shadowy blackness of whatever it was I had seen. So I continued on out to the verandah and rolled a cigarette.<br />
<br />
<i><b>And while I smoked, I cried. I cried and I cried, for everything and anything I'd ever done wrong. For the people I'd hurt, deliberately or not, I cried. Until there was not a tear left, I cried.</b></i><br />
<i><b>It's an odd experience, crying on a whim like that. But the next morning when I woke up, I knew I wasn't the same, but I definitely felt better. I felt like I had acquired some form of greater knowledge, maybe not in academic terms, but in life terms. After that night, I knew more about myself than I had ever imagined.</b></i>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-12765723789938772872011-10-05T05:38:00.000-07:002011-10-07T01:52:56.169-07:00The nightsThe nights are prime-time. At night, the fun happens.<br />
<div>At a boarding school, you are under constant supervision. However at night, most people tend to fall asleep right? And thus, the night becomes your biggest friend.</div><div>There's the sex, drugs and drinking that make up the reasons for you to stay up, sneak out and turn into a menace to society. But also, there's something else. You're in control, you're doing what you want, nobody is telling you what to do! And so that's why you go out, you go to the parties, drink rum with the boys on the oval, smoke pot at the shack, get laid in the school hall, and cause havoc in other dorms. <b>You're in control.</b></div><div><br />
</div><div>So story time. There was this one night, a Tuesday if I remember correctly. I had gone to bed, head pleasantly buzzing due to certain chemicals stimulating the CB1 and CB2 receptors in my brain, and I had pleasingly embraced the tender arms of slumber. </div><div>That was until about midnight, when a mate (we'll call him G), came and roused me, tempting my sleepy brain with pilfered rum, beer, vodka and leafy greens. Of course, being the level-headed fellow I was, I promptly jumped out of bed in order to sate my curiosity regarding the whereabouts of more.</div><div>Soon enough, the source was revealed. A group of my good friends had pilfered several cartons of alcoholic beverages from somewhere (the location shall remain nameless), and had promptly decided that a half built house on the cross country track, located immediately adjacent to the school grounds, was the place best suited to consume these. In addition, another friend had made a trip in order to pick up some "leafy greens" (if you know what I mean).</div><div>And so eventually, a semi-large cohort of friends were there. These included: "G", "Yeah Man", "The Bird", "Eli", "Andy", "Jaw" and myself. In time, "The Chaser" joined us, upon returning to the dormitory after a late night sex session and finding me absent from my room. If memory serves me correctly, the night consisted of us getting catastrophically intoxicated, notoriously weird and just generally rowdy. With the group consuming well over 6 cartons of alcohol and fifty dollars worth of high-grade leafy greens, a complication must be imminent, right?</div><div><b><i>You betcha.</i></b></div><div>Around four o'clock in the morning, G was overcome by intoxication. On the newly laid carpet in a half-built house, his body decided it was time to reject the contents of his stomach (which had a pretty, fluorescent red tint to it, the aftermath of one to many red Vodka Cruisers. Obviously he needed a good night's sleep if he was to be awake and ready to go to school in four hours, so The Chaser and Andy were commissioned to take him to bed, while the rest of us went our separate ways, our night quietly drawn to an end.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>Overall, much fun was had, and the week after was spent completing a rigorous community service program, getting rid of the leftover alcohol in the most efficient manner, if you know what I mean. </i></div>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-793159342280166032011-09-30T06:07:00.000-07:002011-09-30T06:07:51.934-07:00What this is really about.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t really know why I started this blog, or what it’s about... I guess I want to tell my story. To be honest, I’m kind of a bit confused where to start. I mean, the most logical place to start would be to be at the beginning, right? Maybe when I first stepped foot in boarding school, and walked in to the double room and laid my eyes in the raised bed and desk underneath, coupled with a cupboard? It’s hard to explain that feeling when you first walk in. It’s like... a sudden realisation. A sudden realisation that wow, this is your new home. Your parents weren’t bullshitting – they really would send you to boarding school if you fucked up again. Then they leave, and give you your goodbyes. You can hear your dad talking to you, trying to give you some advice on living away from home, but you aren’t listening because you can see your mum crying behind her sunglasses. You know she’s trying to stay strong so that you’re not embarrassed, but all you want to do is hug her and tell her you’re going to straighten yourself out. Because despite everything that’s happened, you’re not going to let her down again. But of course, in time you do. You fuck up again. You have to make those phone calls again and just accept the fact that you’re a fuck up. A grand fuck up, maybe, but a fuck up none the less.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So yeah, that’s what this blog is about. A fuck up. A fuck up who called a bluff and realised too soon that they sure as hell weren’t bluffing. A fuck up’s stories about fucking up. Occasionally you fuck up and get caught, but hey, live and learn.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just try not to fuck up.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-35522832719807303772011-09-22T01:47:00.000-07:002011-09-22T01:47:04.582-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><b>Life is a storm my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, and be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man, is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout,"Do your worst, for I shall do mine."</b></i></span>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-45005320544560824772011-09-22T00:25:00.000-07:002011-09-22T00:25:41.515-07:00A memorable passage;<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As an atheist, I was surprised to find a bit of meaningful scripture, but this one really strikes home when you're in an environment like that.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>John 15:13: </b><i>"</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><i>Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><i>(New testament - New International Version)</i></span></span></div>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-10691351522413865562011-09-16T22:27:00.000-07:002011-09-16T22:27:30.875-07:00Schedules;<i>Grades 9-11</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
6:30 am - Wake up -> get dressed (in school uniform) -> go and have some breakfast<br />
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7:30 am - Morning jobs (sweep corridors, clean tables, take bins out etc.)<br />
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8:20 am - First class starts<br />
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10:15-10:45 am - Morning tea<br />
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12:25-1:15 pm - Lunch<br />
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3:00 pm - School finishes<br />
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5:45 pm - Dinner<br />
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7:00-8:00 Study<br />
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9:00 - Bed<br />
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<b>NB - If you're a smoker, put smoke breaks in between each of these.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><i>This is the schedule that you are expected to live by, day after day.</i></b>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-89827884935686771612011-09-15T22:44:00.000-07:002011-09-15T22:44:44.600-07:00A brief overview.<b>So really, I'm just starting off with this whole blogging thing.</b><br />
During high school, I was enrolled at an all-boys boarding school. During my time there, friends of mine and I got up to a fair bit of "mischief". I think I'll just use this blog as a tool to put these stories that I have out there, without really compromising me or anyone involved.<br />
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Please note: the likelihood of these stories being completely accurate is extremely low. Most of these stories contain events that I, as a good student and lawful citizen would never even consider doing.<br />
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<i>But hey, believe what you want.</i>Borleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2855372909501842829.post-3845211409040554062011-09-15T15:40:00.001-07:002011-09-15T15:40:24.853-07:00BORLES?|Bor|n Limit|les|s<br />
=BorlesBorleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13356705846643710214noreply@blogger.com0