Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in Heterodyke's LiveJournal:

Saturday, May 15th, 2004
3:52 pm	Welcome to the Twilight Zone I woke up in a darkened spaceship. There was no sign of any of the rest of the crew. The canister lay on the floor near my outstretched hand. I picked myself up and coughed a few times. The air smelled musty and dusty. I shook my head to clear it and tried to figure out what had happened. I looked around. The only light was red emergency lighting which, given the decor of the place, made it look like the set of a cheap porn film. What the hell. I hit the nearest intercom unit to try and bring up some "wokkachikka" guitar music but the thing was dead. I'd have to do this on my own. I staggered off into the gloom. After searching the ship for a while I managed to trip over Rudolph. He was lying facedown in the middle of a corridor. "Rudolph?" I shook him and managed to get only a low moan. "Rudolph?" There was something strange about him. I rolled him over on to his back and reeled back. He had grown a long, stately beard. "Rudolph? What the hell?" His eyes flicked open. "Captain?" His Walter Koenig accent was gone but it had been replaced by something else, something sinister. "Iz that you, Captain?" I staggered back from him as he dragged himself to his feet. "Captain, zumsing ztrange iz happening." I'd seen enough. I ran off down the corridor. I made for the bridge. Maybe if I could get some kind of signal out. I didn't know much about space navigation but by god, I knew a lot about dramatic tension and there needed to be some attempt. I found myself lost in the eerie atmosphere and ended up running in panic, looking for anything that could reassure me. I suddenly turned a corner and ran into a crowd of the crew. All of the, boys and girls, had grown long beards. When I hit them they spoke to me in one voice. "Captain, zere iz zumsing ve haf to talk vith you about." I think at that point I screamed and passed out. When I came to again, I was dressed in a leather bikini and tied to a pole. Damn my insistence on installing a King Kong fantasy room in this spaceship! The crew were all kneeling in front of me, naked except for their beards. They were chanting one word, over and over again. I couldn't quite make it out through the beards and the accents but I knew it wasn't for my sake that they'd arranged all this. I struggled vainly against the ropes, making sure I showed off as much cleavage as possible as I did so. Hey, who am I to thwart convention? Besdies, if flashing a bit of leg could get Fay Wray off the hook then I figured it was worth a shot. I even tried moaning a little, just to make sure. One of the crew members had found a drum somewhere and started up a frantic beat. They all got to their feet and began a frenzied dance, twirling around each other, beards swirling in ecstacy. At the height of the dance a giant figure suddenly appeared in the distance. Unsurprisingly, it sported a great bushy beard. More surprisingly, it wore spectacles and a sailor suit. My crew pulled back into the shadows as it approached me. It - I guess I should say 'he' - reached out one giant hand and pulled me from the pole. All very Freudian, I'm sure. It walked off ... through the wall of the ship. It was almost as if we had gone into some other dimension or something. I'd expected swirly special effects but all that happened was the the walls fell away and the light changed from red to grey. The time had come to take action. "Oi, beardo. Who are you, anyway? You're not the first giant guy that's kidnapped me, you know and let me tell you: you're no Johnny Depp." He stopped, looked down at me. "You haf to azk? You don't know who I am? You zhould know. After all, ve come from ze zame plaze." I shook my head. "Uh-uh. You might come from the land of the bearded weirdo but I belong solidly on plant infinite sex, so if you don't mind dropping me off I'll just get on with it." He laughed, then, and it was unnerving. "Of courze, you are ze zupprezzed libido, ze exzitement unt adventure zat zhe never got to haf. You're lucky, you know. I ended up dead for my effortz. You zimply get to haf more fun." This was getting beyond weird. "Who the hell are you? What is this about? And who is 'she'?" He put me down then and squatted down next to me. As he did so, as he talked he seemed to shrink until he was only a little taller than me. "I can't tell you. I can't do zat to her. It vould deztroy her if you knew too much. But I haf to zank you. You zaved me from eternity when you opened ze canizter. My killer wanted me to drift forever, alone in ze night." "Your killer? What are you talking about? Who killed you?" He lifted a finger and pointed behind me. "It voz ..." Current Mood: Jungian (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, April 22nd, 2004
2:05 pm	The Speed of Light Beer According to Einstein, if you travel at near the speed of light for any period of time, when you get back your boyfriend will have moved out with the peroxide bitch from up the road and taken your stereo with him. Now personally I've never experienced that first hand, mainly because I've never allowed any man to hang around longer than it takes for him to clean his semen stains off the curtains but I have been travelling near the speed of light for a little while now and all I can say is if that time dilation thing works then Kirk must have spent a long time at light speed. I had to leave Mars in kind of a hurry. After they made me Queen they started reviving all kinds of ancient rituals that they used for the kings and queens of old. Most of it I was OK with but there were parts I just couldn't deal with. The bit where my every whim was satisfied? That I could handle. The thousand naked men and women who served me hand and foot? I was pretty cool with that. The part where they wanted to cut me open and rip out my heart in order to satiate the sun god? That I wasn't so keen on. So I stole a spaceship, packed it with all the essentials (beer, love slaves, clean underwear) and got the hell out of there. Big mistake. After a while I began to regret not taking my chances with the bloodthirsty mob. There's all these guys who want to tell you how exciting space is, how it's full of billions of billions of stars and alien planets and all this stuff, how it's infinite in size and tastes slightly of marshmallow and so on. What they don't tell you is how mind-numbingly dull space is. Space is about as much fun as an art exhibition by Yoko Ono. The reason they call it space is because no one's filled it in yet. Give the place 5 years and a bunch of property developers and maybe it could go somewhere but for now space is just a big nothing. That was, until about the fifth week. "Keptin! Keptin!" This was Rudolph, one of the boys I brought along to entertain me. His main skills were this incredible thing he could do with his tongue and impersonating Walter Koenig. Not much of a resume, sure but I can assure you that what he did with his tongue was pretty damned amazing. Unfortunately, after five weeks both Rudolph and the beer supplies had run dry so I was made to endure endless Walter Koenig impersonations. "Keptin!" "Rudolph!" "I've spotted something off the starboard bow!" I had to admit, that sounded like an event. I hit a few buttons at random until a picture of the object appeared on the TV thing. It was a small canister of some kind, floating through space. It looked pretty badly burned but it was roughly the size and shape of a cocktail shaker which was good enough for me. "Rudolph, get that thing on board." "Yes, Keptin!" Twenty minutes later we were in the storage bay staring at the thing we had retrieved. On closer inspection it looked less like a cocktail shaker and more like the kind of vase goths keep dead roses in. The entire top seemed as if it would screw off. Keeping mindful of quarantine procedures I stepped up and gave the thing a sniff. It smelled of gunpowder, bitter almonds, kerosene and something else, something animal. Not finding anything particular sinister about that combination of scents I grabbed the thing and began unscrewing the lid. It was stuck, and also bloody cold but I managed to make some progress. Slowly it gave and I was able to get the lid off completely. Almost immediately a strange smoke came pouring out the top, a smoke that was filled with the kind of pictures children see in clouds on a sunny day, provided these clouds are formed by the burning of chemical plants and the children have been breathing too deeply. I gasped and choked as half-formed images swirled around me. I saw pictures of my childhood, pictures of the mother I never know, pictures of my father in strangely evocative poses. I turned towards the crew but they had bolted in panic. With the smoke filling my lungs, I grasped my throat and pitched forward, unconscious. Current Mood: exploratory (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 19th, 2003
11:48 am	DEAR PRESIDENT OF EARTH INCORPORATED STOP HAVE CONQUERED THE PLANET STOP AM NOW QUEEN OF MARS PATENT PENDING STOP PLEASE SEND SUPPLIES OR I WILL SEND MY INTERGALACTIC LOVE SLAVES TO RAID YOUR PLANET STOP MARS NEEDS GIN EXCLAMATION MA RK EXCLAMATION MARK EXCLAMATION MARK LOVE HETE RODYKE (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 16th, 2003
5:36 pm	Mars needs Heterodyke The canals on Mars were once used as storage pits for religious pamphlets. The face on Mars is the face of Elvis Presley. And the laughable polar ice caps are formed by the massed sexual frigidity of the underground-dwelling, three-eyed, Pimms-drinking Church of Christers that inhabit the place. I have been here - I'm not sure. The year is longer, the day is longer and the air smells suspiciously like those pine tree shaped air fresheners that hang in Toorak Tractors. The only industry here is religion. I have been recruited by one of the less dominant religions on the planet - the Church of Christ. On Earth these guys are a bunch of laughable charismatic revisionists who read the Good News Bible and wouldn't know good old fashioned fire and brimstone if they choked on it in the sacramental non-alcoholic grape juice. On Mars they clean they underwear twice between each wearing and launch machine-gun assaults on the All New Adventures of Buddha Church next door. I feel I was lured here under false promises. Jesus Christ in the back of the car turned out to be a 1970s radio receiver on which a guy who sounded suspiciously like Charlie from the original TV series informed me that he had chosen me as one of his New Revised Angels. Specifically, I was to be the Angel of Getting People To Chill The Fuck Out. Calming people down has never been a specialty of mine but once I got to Mars (did I mention that I was intrigued?) I had to admit that he had a point. These people are so uptight that the nametag they handed me on arrival reads "Hi! My name is H*********". It's a strange situation here. All day people run around shooting Buddhists then falling to their knees and praying for forgiveness, while I wander through them in my Angel suit going "For f****'s sake, get the f*** over it. J**** C*****! They're just f***ing Buddhists!" The ability to pronounce punctuation was included in the Angel Powers Kit I was handed on arrival. So far I have found little to link me with my mysterious benefactor. The only clue I have found so far has been an empty packet of Chicken Noodle Cup'o'soup which I found mysteriously lodged in the rubbish bin after eating a whole packet of Chicken Noodle Cup'o'soup the night before. On the grand scale of divine revelations it scores about a minus infinity but frankly I'm a little p***ed off with the whole thing. I mean, Mars needs women, right? But not this crowd. They're about as interested in s**ual liberation as I am in sobriety. Which, I might add, has become a big problem for me. I keep having to nip out to the Church Of The Divine Booze-Up when no one is looking. Religion on Mars is strange. I always thought religion was about gods and salvation and all that but the thousand year war here has sparked some strange cults indeed. Apart from those already m******** (What, I can't say "m********? What's wrong with m********? S***!) there's the Church Of Saving Elbows, the Church Of Oh Look, A Ducky!, the CHURCH OF ANNOYING IRC TYPES and the Church Of U*********** I*******. I haven't figured out what that one is yet but I'm negotiating peace settlements as I speak. There's also this weird mob that jump up and down hitting themselves with wheels of cheese. I don't know what their name is yet but the head honcho looks hauntingly familiar. I think I may have s**** with him once. OK, it's time to go. The Buddhists have just launched a zen bomb through our window - it's triggered by "negative" emotions and since this lot are basically guilt on wheels I think there might be some - oh. There has been. Ah, well. Better luck next time. Current Mood: busy (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, October 24th, 2003
10:00 pm	No more religion I am no longer a goddess. It's hard giving up deity. It's kind of like being the monarch of some obscure European country that no longer exists. You sit around at home waiting for invites to society dinners and drinking cheap wine in a dress that was worn by your great great grandmother. Every time the phone rings you hope it's a tabloid magazine because you really want to get angry at someone for invading your privacy but it just turns out to be another telemarketer. I always answer the surveys. Partly because moping around the house gets boring and partly because I like to throw the statistics. But my depression and loneliness got old pretty quick. I lasted barely an hour after my fall from grace before the solitude got to me and I was back down the pub. ...but something was wrong. The pub was full of tall, pale men in bad suits drinking Pimms. I spent a few minutes trying to convert the word 'yuppy' into something that meant 'young and downwardly mobile' before making my way to the bar. Even the bar had changed. For a start, no one tried to buy me a drink and I was forced to fork over a handful of diamonds for something pale, yellow and fizzy in a glass, something that tasted like overly-watered cordial and sat on the stomach like cold dishwater. I struck a match on the No Smoking sign and lit a cigarette. Within seconds some guy approached me. I immediately felt more at home. A full hour of loneliness? Couldn't handle it. Buying my own drinks? Not my thing. Someone telling me I wasn't allowed to smoke then trying to hit on me? That I was prepared for. It's happened to me a lot - in pubs, cafes, cinemas, shopping centres, museums, narcotics anonymous meetings ... the lot. But this was different. Instead of a lecture or a pick-up line the only line this guy had was, "Have you heard the word of Jesus?" I was taken aback. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go and I informed him of this in the hopes that he'd steer things back to normal but he persisted with his line of questioning. "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your saviour?" I looked around the bar. Everyone was staring at me. It was then that I noticed something else strange about them. They were none of them wearing shoes. They were all wearing lapel badges that read "Jesus is Lord." Oh, and they all had a third eye directly in the centre of their forehead. Being a goddess, you kind of get used to extraneous body parts and dangling participles. But I was mortal again now. I should have picked it up immediately. "Jesus is the saviour of us all." "Not of me he isn't." "Yes, he is. If you ask him." "No, he isn't. And I'll tell you why. Because I travelled through the realms of darkness and despair. I crossed a bridge of light. I drank of the river of forgetfulness. I wrestled the giant who stands on the edge of night. I answered the Sphinx's riddle. I cleaned the Augean stables. I ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. And I came to the gates of Heaven. There I opened the book of life and I read through until I found my name. I read my name aloud and then I tore out the page, thus damning another hundred thousand souls to either hell or purgatory. I took the page and I tore it to pieces and I swallowed them. I have no place in Heaven for my name no longer exists in the journal of God. I spat in the font with which the blessed are anointed, I slapped the face of St. Peter and then I wrote the unknowable name of God on the gates of Heaven in fiery letters using the sword I stole from the cherub who guards the gates of Eden. I have no place in Heaven. I have no place in Hell either. They won't accept me because basically I'm a nice person. My only choice is purgatory. I will wander the earth forever, never growing old, never dying. I will be there at the end of time and then, only then, will I be granted eternal rest. That is why Jesus Christ is not my saviour." I've found this line usually results in either silence or sex. This time, though, it didn't work. "I know the one who summoned you. I know the one who created your LiveJournal. I know the one who made you a goddess. I know the one who wrote in the sky. His name is Jesus Christ and he lives in the back of my car." I have to admit I was intrigued. I quickly finished my drink - then quickly had another because it may have been disgusting but at least it was alcoholic - then followed him outside. Current Mood: disenfranchised (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 28th, 2003
1:12 pm	Revelation and revulsion Starting a religion is easy. Just walk naked down the street at midday. You'll seen have plenty of people following you. From there it's all been a bit of a rollercoaster. Within the first few minutes I had been offered 3 dates, any number of drinks and a house of my own. Naturally I accepted all offers. I figured that they all wanted something in return but they could get used to disappointment. Once I'd moved into the new place and got drunk enough I decided it was time to plan my religion more thoroughly. I had a few male followers but I needed more. I am a jealous god, after all. So I gathered the works of the greats; Jesus Christ, Elvis Presley and L Ron Hubbard. A word of warning: never read about these three men while drunk. There was an unfortunate incident with a 16 year old girl, a white satin suit covered in rhinestones and a crucifix. I decided to diversify my reading a bit, although I didn't cut down my alcohol intake at all. After all, people keep buying me drinks. Possibly because I still haven't put any clothes on. So I read about Lao Tzu, Mohammed, Moses, Buddha, Vishnu, Krishna, John F Kennedy, Errol Flynn and E Gary Gygax. Nothing satisfied me. I'm a goddess, not a god. This religion was going to be different. So I sat down and watched a bunch of Katharine Hepburn movies. That did it. Soon I was enthroned on a set of diamonds and gold - which is really uncomfortable when you're naked so I opted for a silk beanbag instead. My followers were instructed to drink, smoke and fuck all they wanted but are strictly forbidden to watch daytime television or wear orange socks. You've got to ban something. It's a shame about the daytime television but what's the point of religion without suffering? It was about this time that trouble broke out. It seemed that a hundred foot tall demon had broken out of hell and was terrorising the city. As the only deity in residence people were expecting me to do something about it. I pointed out that this was a job for a superhero and since I didn't wear underwear at all, let alone on the outside, that I was hardly suitable for the role. But they would brook no argument. Religious fanatics can be a bit pushy at times. So I decided to go and see what I could do. I wandered into town, following the sounds of destruction. When I got there I was horrified; this demon was the splitting image of Johnny Depp. A hundred foot tall Johnny Depp. In latex. Yum! I stood there, suddenly overcome by a wave of adjectives from a cheap porno novel before he looked down and noticed me. Boy, did he notice me. He grabbed hold of me and held me up to his face to get a better look. Johnny Depp close up is nowhere near as cute; I could see right up his enormous nostril. I don't know what it was, something in the nature of being 100 feet tall and holding a naked woman, I guess, but he seemed overcome by the desire to climb the tallest building around. He grabbed the side of the Rialto tower and began to haul himself up. I screamed a bit, just to keep up the illusion but my heart wasn't really in it. I just lay back and tried to savour the fact that Johnny Depp was clutching my naked body, albeit that I could straddle his finger and ... well, let's say the thought crossed my mind. Anyway, we got to the top, he placed me delicately on the roof, stretched out his arm and gave a great bellow of triumph ... ... and that's when the aeroplane hit him smack in the face. Later investigations revealed that it was full of extremely lost terrorists but I arranged for that all to be hushed up. If you're going to claim an act of goddess then the last thing you need is a rational explanation getting in the way. I got down from the top of the Rialto by the simple method of lighting a cigarette (don't ask me where I got it from) and waiting for a police rescue guy to turn up and ask me out on a date. I gave up being a goddess after that. The weather was starting to turn cold. So now I'm back to living in my brand new house full of gold and diamonds. Hey, just because you give up the job doesn't mean you have to give up the perks. Current Mood: godlike (Comment on this)
Monday, July 21st, 2003
9:58 pm	Contact It's been a while but still no further instructions have come. I've done everything in my power to encourage their arrival, by which I mean I've drunk a lot of beer and had a lot of sex. After all, if I was trying to contact someone through mysterious means then I'd sleep with them and leave a note tucked in a bodily crevice, so why hadn't someone done this to me? I was beginning to think that maybe it was all a peculiar hoax and that there was no hidden meaning behind my existence until this morning when someone knocked on my door. I answered the door naked in case it was Jodie Foster. It wasn't. I tried to hide my disappointment. The guy at the door tried hard to hide his embarrassment. He was a Mormon. He never had a chance. "Yes?" "I ... err ... oh." His nametag identified him as Elder Jacobs. I asked him what had become of the younger one. He made his excuses and left. A lot of my conversations seem to go like that. The rest involve a lot of pleading for sex. It gets monotonous sometimes. I was about to go back inside when I chanced to look up and spotted a plane doing skywriting. It was a windy day and a lot of it had faded but two words were still legible: THE ONE. I stood there and watched it dissipate into cloud before I realised what the message was. THE ONE. There is a single, indefinable being from which all matter and essence proceed. And I am her. It was so obvious! The message had been delivered, even if contact hadn't been made. Some people find religion. Me, I was going to start one. I walked out into the road and began to gather followers. Current Mood: epiphanous (Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 9th, 2003
4:10 pm	3am internal The pub was a waste of time. No one there knew anything. I sat drinking double Bastard and Colas until my eyes peeled and nothing happened at all. I had developed a new method for turning gay men straight that I decided to try out; I cornered them, drunk, and went on about how society labels us all and that therefore the ultimate way to rebel against anything is to rebel against labels, including such labels as "heterosexual" and "homosexual" and that if they really wanted to rebel, as indicated by their designer punk clothing, then they should sleep with me. It didn't work. I decided to see if I could use the same argument to turn a few straight men gay but all that got me was a tray of drinks bought for me and more phone numbers than I could scribble on the back of a beer mat. Three days later I was still there, uninformed but drunk. The guys there had also begged my permission to start a lottery for who got to go home with me. I agreed on the condition that I could pick the winner and that the results of the lottery would be ignored. Also, I got to keep the takings. They agreed to this. Hope springs eternal. I ended up going home with an older guy who told me he wanted to be my sugar daddy. I suggested that maybe after we slept together he could be like a sugar ex-husband and send me sugar alimony. We're still in negotiations over that one. So now it's late and I'm hunched over my keyboard, dressed in plain white cotton Bonds underwear. I say this in the vague hope that Ethan Hawke is reading this and wants to come over and visit. The people next door are having a party to which I was invited but declined. He is an architect and member of Rotary, she is a cosmetic consultant and part-time member of the human race. This party is really just an excuse to hit people up for their latest charity drive, or Liberal party fund-raiser, one or the other. But I have better things to do. There's a gorgeous young thing passed out in my bed. I'm not planning on sleeping tonight. I'm about to wake her up. Current Mood: aggravated (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, July 5th, 2003
11:44 am	And so it begins The phone rang at some ungodly hour of the early afternoon, dragging me out of bed. I answered it as best I could with the remains of my last lover still clinging desperately to my ankles, begging for one more time. I kissed him firmly but gently in an "it's all over, baby, sorry" kind of way. He collapsed into sobs on the bedroom floor. I picked my way across several days discarded underwear (all his) and the occasional broken promise. Pausing only to light a cigarette and make myself a coffee I got to the phone. "Hello?" "Hello, I'm calling on behalf of Gobblydook Bastard Insurance Incorporated. May I speak to the Homeowner please?" I knew instantly that something was up. None of my friends know this phone number. Hell, it's unlisted. So how had the telemarketers got hold of it? I could only assume one of two things: either they were the people who were trying to contact me or they were agents of the enemy. I thought about it for a few minutes, sipping at my coffee and knocking another Marlboro Red from the packet. Telemarketers. Would the good guys pose as telemarketers? "Who is this? Who sent you? What do you want from me?" The interrogation didn't go well. After only a few questions she hung up on me leaving me with little in the way of answers. I had no time to lose. The house was obviously being watched and it was already nearly 3 o'clock. I had to get to the pub. I took a few minutes to dress. To avoid detection, and also because I intended to drink until I couldn't see straight, I would be catching public transport. That meant no-fuss casual clothes with a bit of give in them and enough reinforcement to protect me in case a riot broke out. They often did around me. I always put it down to my perfume. I opened my wardrobe. It was, as usual, entirely filled with blue jeans, white t-shirts and leather jackets. I had hoped against hope that some strange, very specific pervert had snuck in while I was sleeping last night and replaced the lot with a fine selection of designer dresses and custom fetish gear but I was disappointed, yet again. I selected clothes identical to the ones I had thrown off in my passion last night (was it that recent) and began the long trek to the tram stop. It was raining. Damn this city. Damn it and its weather. Why couldn't I live somewhere normal and sensible like, oh, I don't know, the South of France in a beach chalet surrounded by beautiful bronzed young men who existed only to perform my bidding? I tucked my collar against the rain and continued on my not so merry way. The pub. That was the key to this whole thing. It had to be there. I would go to the pub. Current Mood: active (Comment on this)
Friday, July 4th, 2003
8:08 pm	Hello World Well, this is my first entry. I'm not sure how this journal even got started. I woke up with a piece of paper clenched in my fist on which was scribbled a code, a few instructions and finally the word "wait". Not having anything further to do this morning, I decided to make a journal. What the hell. So now I'm waiting. When whoever it is is ready I'm sure they'll let me know what's going on. Current Mood: awake (Comment on this)