Can't Touch This

I have returned! Not only figuratively but physically to the keyboard.

Yes dear readers, it has been many a moon since we have conversed. The shock of Frank Arrington death coupled with the stress and uncertainty of moving the entire Conspirasteve body politic to a foreign land conspired to render the vivacious yet humble author of this blog mute. However, not unlike an antediluvian damn, all things fail. So the failure of my enemies conspiring to destroy the Conspirateve nation have once again been dispatched..

That was the 'figuratively' portion of my mea culpa. Now on to the physical.

The Conspirasteve bunker is located in Manly Beach. a northern neighborhood in Sydney proper. Two kilos south of the Conspirasteve bunker of truth (tm) is a national park known as North Head. This being a popular destination for a sizable portion of Sydneysiders trying to get out of the city without actually leaving said city. It would not be hard to visualize the crowds.

I Conspirasteve, borne from the land of small population and large open spaces naturally gravitates to similar environmental conditions. With this in mind and being the natural explorer that has come to define the Conspirasteve body politic, it would not come as a shock that I would have discovered an previously unknown path in the park. This trail follows a WW2 era defensive granite wall from the western top of the head to a cliff face 40 meters above the mouth of Sydney Harbor. To the west is a rocky semi trail that leads down to a fisherman's cove between two massive cliff heads. I had took it upon myself to explore these western cliff heads. However I had been warned about the native wild life up in the cliffs, most notably the snakes and spiders. I Conspirasteve, being Conspirasteve dismissively nodded politely and set off on my quest to discover new lands! To blaze my own trail and claim land for the Conspirasteve nation!

The first thing I noticed about my new found home is the harshness of the "Bush"; Aussie speak for forest. This Bush is actually, well just that, bushes. Low brutal scrub brush packed densely into spaces dead trees stubbornly cling onto There are no leafy ferns to softly brush against your legs as you stroll by. Indeed, if your bare legs and Bush come into contact, the experience would be akin to brushing up against Freddy Kruger's custom made glove. This Bush is interspersed with open flat sandstone boulders. in which i had to leapfrog to and fro to even penetrate this harsh landscape.

Once at the bottom of the cove I was faced with the arduous task of making it up to the cliff tops through the Bush I had described earlier. I was determined! I was resolute! Hell I was the Fifteen minute rush master! what could possibly go wrong?  It is assumed that one should listen to the warning of the natives. I of course never like to assume anything. Something about making an ass out of something... I don't remember. Whatever. Once more into the breach my friends!

The first part of my journey was pretty uneventful, yet invigorating. I was free bouldering up a 55-60 degree cliff face, testing my new found Vegan diet for weaknesses. none was found. As I approached the top, I envisioned myself as a star tracker! a voyager! I would be the first to trek into such unforgiving territory! There was no equal! I was king of this mountain! Etc.   As I surveyed my newly conquered landscape, a landscape so forbidding and remote, that surely no one has had the fortitude to conquer it before!  I noticed something quite disturbing to a man who was in the process of discovering unkown lands, an EMPTY BOTTLE OF SPRITE appeared! Damn I thought, If I'm not the first man to climb this Olympus I must be the second, or god forbid the third. I felt satisfied in this thought until I started looking at the ground in which I stood. I started to notice strange carvings in the sandstone on which I perched.... I was standing on the graffiti grounds of ancient mariners. These long dead hooligans had carved the names of their ships and the dates their heinous crimes against mother nature were committed.. "The Conuga August 1885' ; NKY NIKKO MARU 1810", this had Japanese characters next to it;  The Melbourne 1889. I was aghast that these ancients hooligans had beat me to the punch by over 200 years!

Dejected, I moved north along the cliff top trying to keep my distance from the edge with it's vertigo inducing 300 foot vertical drop to the warm waters of port Jackson, where Great White sharks were spotted roaming the waters edge earlier in the day. I pushed on to higher and more forbidding areas of North Head.The evidence of the ancient scallywags were no longer visible. Surely they would not have trekked this far into Hells Gate. I once more felt I was the new king of this land.

Within 3 feet of the cliff face and it's forbidding drop was the thick impassible Bush that I had described earlier. The sudden realization on why so few souls ventured this far into the park shook me to the core. This place was dangerous. But I liked it. "U Cant Touch This" by MC Hammer played on an endless loop in my mind .I had come to a point where the cliff edge and the Bush had met. I was faced with the choice between trampling into an impassible landscape or turn back with the determination to return another day armed with a machete and a flask of whisky. I chose the latter. I was committed to blaze my own personal trail through my new kingdom. I was triumphant in my achievement.

 I had been leaving trail markers intermittently through my journey into this forbidden territory.  I was searching for these trail markers, lost in the though of self congratulations when I had came across a Pseudonaja textilis.. or commonly referred to as an Eastern Brown Snake .http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_brown_snake sunning itself on the narrow trail between Bush and the cliff edge.These are very aggressive villainous vipers. Not unlike a Florida Republican armed with a Stand-Your-Ground law and a 357. This local thug was not going to back down. I gave this vile vermin a wide berth. I chose to head into a rocky section of the Bush and go around the venomous sunbather. I felt i had cleared the space i needed to head back onto my previous road.  The moment I had turned away from the Bush toward the trail, I was astonished to discover that little fucker had flanked me along the trail and was heading toward Conspirasteve at a rate of speed physics would deem impossible!. Of course I had done what any other American male, full of testosterone, full of life, secure in the knowledge that I had come from the biggest superpower this world has ever known! I let out a scream so loud and high in pitch that it would be indistinguishable from a 6 year old girl and headed back into the Bush at DEFCON 1, where I was sure that motherfuckers cousins were lying in wait! I would be dead in seconds!

 And then it got worse..

 After about what seemed like 10 miles of warp speed, (but was more like 10 meters), I took a quick glance behind  a split second before I ran face first into a web spun by an gargantuan spider so massive the world has refused to confront it's existence out of pure primal fear. Thus landing the spawn of Satan on my cheek. I was once again presented with a choice. A  choice between calmly flicking away said arachnid from my cheek. Or, once again, scream like a pre-pubescent Justin Beiber fan, flip my new baseball cap off my head  with aggressive arm flailing motions around my head and face  and generally freak the fuck out. I chose the latter. I have heard of mothers being able to lift cars to save their children. It is now the Conspirasteve corporate policy to never question the ability of humans to perform super human feats. The speed in which i had ran would have made Hussein Bolt look like a speed walker.  After I had found a large boulder to perch, a boulder in which I'm sure I had lept up in one single bound. I was able to stop and pull the spiderwebs off my face and take stock. I was not dead (yet} from either vicious viper or Satan's personal Demon pet.

Strangely " U Cant Touch This" was no longer on my mental play list

Fuckin Australia.

Frank Arrington Then until Now

"Vocalize your thoughts Conspirasteve".. Frank Arrington circa 1993.

These words have rang eternal in my skull since the day they were uttered from Frank that August afternoon, We were sitting  at Captain Ankeny's on standby, drinking beer.( yes dear readers, we were on the clock)  discussing the difference in philosophies of Locke and Descartes. Empiricism Vs. Rationalism.. I was having trouble explaining my positions when he released those four words.Four words of devastation. Since that moment on, I have strived to achieve the dream of actually realizing that goal. It changed the way i approached music, art, and relationships in general. So simple a request, so profound the demand..

This is the way in which Frank would affect people in his life. He would  simply asking devastating questions about our own private existentialism. We would scoff, try to move on, try to forget, Yet like truth of any kind,  it   persists. Until I or you have exhausted all excuses f or not confronting the obvious truths about ourselves, our intentions, our stances on various positions and to be honest our worthiness to be his friend.
Of these challenges, to make me think about myself as it relates to the whole of the world and to others in my life, was unique to him. No other friend has challenged me as hard, while simultaneously drinking me under the table.

 Frank, I have missed you in my life since you moved away. You were a better friend than I. You would call me hopped up on "wine" sitting in your cabin in the woods, trying hard not to emulate Sam L Jackson's character from Black Snake Moan. (I'm pretty sure it was moonshine) Thank you for laughing when i let you know my racially insensitive comparison. I figured it was OK since you have been calling me a peasant since day one. I would be too busy to talk and i am so sorry. /I missed you the day you left my house last winter to get on  that airplane back to Chicago., We all did and do, now and forever.

I among many, am blessed to have known the The doctor/thespian/jazz critic/philosopher/bike messenger/punk rocker/drinking buddy and best friend known as Frank Arrington Thank you for being in my life Frank. I'm a better man because of you.

If you are where we all hope you are, please smack whitey and Mike Douglas in the face for me, BEFORE giving them a hug....

RIP buddy.

Mystery of theToilet Bowl Revealed

I would like to offer congratulations to our brilliant, yet humble and possibly drunk readership.  Because once more, left clicking onto our verbose and bravado filled blog has filled yours truly with joy and left our enemies dismayed. But enough I say. Enough! It is time to dispense with our much maligned soliloquy for the serious business of science!

While I, Conspirasteve, have been preoccupied with other endeavours, including, but not limited to: Extreme pogo sticking, heckling body surfers and yelling at concrete. A little known "clique" in the Conspirasteve Nation have been "tirelessly" investigating the above title. I have been informed that these experiments were conducted in a controlled environment, possibly a clean room, most likely a hotel room and a bathroom. Rumors of single malt scotch impeding the progress is being investigated. None the less! Our internal auditing is of no consequence to you, our patient yet highly stylistic readership. The time for truth or consequence is upon us!

While stationed in our previous headquarters in the Northern hemisphere (herein referred to as PHQ), there was some debate amongst various factions of the Conspirasteve Nation regarding which direction the toilet bowl would "swirl". Now that we are ensconced in the new and marginally improved HQ, located in the Southern hemisphere (herein known as the HQ.New Style), we are ready to put it to the test.

While the author of this esteemed blog has at times taken some extreme positions on various issues TRUTH will not be, and shall not be a position in which we shall "opine". There are some absolutes in this world, my insouciant yet heavily burdened readers! These are "body surfing bad, tacos good" type scenarios which are immutable. With these positions in mind, and without further ado, we at last present the findings of of the Conpirasteve Nation's "Mystery of the Toilet Bowl Revealed" findings:

 Yes indeed, the toilet bowl swirls in the clockwise rotation here in the HQ New Style as apposed to the PHQ's standard counterclockwise swirl!!! 

With these findings, we here at Conpirasteve Nation, deeply buried within the Bunker of Truth(tm), do heap congratulations upon EZ E's mom for correctly predicting the outcome of our months long experiment! To borrow from the local patwa: Good on ya mate.

Up next! :  In-laws and out-laws, a case study in duality.

Bunker of Truth:

"I don't feel tardy", David Lee Roth; Hot for teacher, Van Halen 1984.


Greetings and salutations dear readers. There has been some consternation among the Conspirasteve  nation's beloved yet insousant readership regarding the prolific nature, or lack there of, of  highly gregarious dispatches from abroad. Yes, indeed dear readership. it's a testament to the IQ level of such an astute readership that these charges that would be laid against the beloved, yet mildly disdained author of said blog.I, at this time would like to offer a humble 'my bad'. While i will conceed sloth is a contributing factor to the lack of postings, not all is what seems!

Of course it would come as no shock that there would be elements in  western society that would like nothing more than to quash the rebellious forces of truth, wisdom and beer!  It has been said that the rot of a nation, nay, the downfall could be directly related to the constriction of ideas,,,nay,, truth from the body politic as a whole. Who could be these villains that could so wantonly and viciously trample on the rights that should be bestowed upon us from our birth??? The insidious forces that are actively conspiring against the Conspirasteve nation are legion dear readers, While i'm not allowed to name names so to speak, these forces of generosity and evil go hand in hand,... The Conspirasteve nation has unfortunately come under attack by the forces of censorship! Indeed. from this moment on , all  dispatches will be brought to you from the newly erected Bunker of Truth T.M.

Do not fear dear readers. I will find a way in the near future to drink, hold council with said drink, and even possibly reveal once and for all the Mystery of the Toilet Bowl!

 We will not be silenced!

White Devil.

"History has shown, that the white man is the Devil"
Malcolm X

Greetings Dear -pure-as-the-driven-snow-yet-black-as-your-soul readership.
Congrats on finding your way onto my auspicious, yet humble blog once again.
I'm finding it a little difficult to sleep in my new "environs" , to use the parlance of another time. Why, you may ask, would the Conspirasteve Nation be left sleepless in the cocoon of paradise that we have found ourselves in? Alas, the culprit would not be found in an alternate climate in which we prevously  resided.

Once again, we at Conspirasteve Nation have added another enemy to the ever growing list of vile vicious villains in which to heap scorn upon...As we all know my brilliant readership. there can be no ying without the yang, Good without the evil, so on and so forth. So it should not have been a great shock to us that we would come across the White Devil of Paradise. None other than Cacatua Galarita...or most commonly known as the Cockatoo.

While these handsome birds fly effortless through the sky during the day without a voice or care in the world; apparently these White winged Devils like to congregate at the window of the Conspiriasteve bed chamber at dawn every morning screeching at each other as if they were feral house cats fighting over a carcass of mouse, whilst reaching the decibel level of a low flying Boeing 767.

Ah curse you Cacatua Galarita....... Curse you!!

Coming soon: The mystery of the toilet bowl revealed!

Conspirasteve down under

Greetings and salutaions dear reader.. After much ballyhoo and bravado being spouted from yours truly via a  rival blog. We here at Conspirasteve nation have finally got our act together to create our very own . At this time i  would like to welcome all who have found the courage, nay, the cojones to click on to this auspiciously titled yet completely prescient web-page The proverbial self pat on the back is in order at this time.................done?.... ok we'll wait.. As the title suggests, we are about to relocate our inner sanctum of round table discussion forums to newer, possibly better, but completely foreign climes, Sydney, NSW Australia.  .

This site is an attempt by the Conspirasteve nation to document our new environment as we attempt to navigate a new and potentially exciting new culture from the "Land Down Under", so aptly described by the seminal 80's band Men At Work.

Please feel free to check-in now and again  to get the full "skinny", (to use the parlance of our time ), from the "land down under".

Conspirasteve