Conceptual Pathways to jiu jitsu clarity As a grom, my child hood path danced the out skirts of martial arts, blurred forms that never imprinted, all I wanted to do was surf and be in the water so I did By the time I was a teenager in Culburra, ‘the Burra boys’ the dojo was the headland, mainy carpark or one of the fella’s backyards, and the curriculum was never refuse a call out Friday Fight Nights were sacred rituals, where 10 to 15 of us would glove up and throw fists with the precision of monkey drunken style. we’d beat the shiiza out of each other Afterward, we’d go halves in a 4-litre Fruity Lexia goon sack, it was like our communion wine of the fight club It wasn’t technical or gracious, but it’s what we knew Adulthood brought the attempted lessons of consistency and structure; six months on, a year off, a week back, then two more years away, a cycle of intention and entropy The forms; The “curriculums” often felt like encrypted codes, learn an armbar, they’d say, while I still drowned trying to pass the guard, recovering the guard or why I was kneeling to start a round But in the pauses between frustration and progress, a quiet clarity emerged: To evolve, I had to unlearn rigidity and embrace concept: Jiu jitsu isn’t a set of moves. It’s a philosophical key, forged through repetition, failure, and intuition. When used correctly, it opens a hidden door, not just to technique, but to a deeper, truer version of myself and capabilities as the saying goes “pressure makes diamonds or busts pipes” Jiu jitsu is not sport, It is an honest mirror - it shows you who you are when nothing is left but breath, instinct, and humility, facing your own truth and what your capable of ‘or not’ “The mats don’t lie” You can walk into any gym on earth, knowing no one and be invited to roll with true intention of belonging Only requiring physical language: gargle, tap, snap or sleep - respect the mats This art is not just a way of fighting, It is a way of being And for those who roll down this path, it becomes something greater than life itself; It’s a purpose to live

Sizzle in the Pan: Peppa Pig So there I was, deep in the trenches of dad life kids napping, half the house cleaned, the other half just silently judging me Then I realized something horrifying… I’d sat down and been watching Peppa Pig Like, actually watching it Not in the background Not for the kids Just… me… locked in… eyes glazed… soul slightly missing and squeed I looked around like I was caught doing something illegal waiting for the fuzz to kick the door in They would’ve assumed I’d fully given up Like, “Ah yep, he’s gone and done it, cooked like crackle in the air fryer, he’s one episode away from naming each plant and formed a personality disorder But honestly? It made sense Between dishes, tantrums, folding tiny clothes that keep reappearing like laundry gremlins I was pottering around, half-OCD, half-ADHD, and somehow landed on the couch mid shift Then, in true scott overthinking fashion my brain took a left turn after going right and missed the turn off I started wondering why the ocean’s clear but looks blue, then suddenly thought: What’s the difference between a Zippo and a hippo? One’s really heavy! and the other’s just a little lighter Laughing out loud to my own thoughts then BOom; Snap back to reality ope, there goes gravity, Eminem was right and I’d lost myself to a cartoon pig with a British accent then Peppa hits me with: “If you are jumping up and down in muddy puddles, you must wear your boots.” And I’m just sitting there like a grown Man nodding like “Yeah, that’s true” Now it’s Time to make some puree’ Funniest part? My mum used to call herself Nanny Plum to the grandkids until she realized Nanny Plum is basically a paid babysitter She downgraded to Nan real quick Oh, and by the way DYOR But Crocs are the sheeez knees Because bees? Don’t. Have. Knees.

Whilst everyone is creating; GRWM, out fit of the day, day in the life, I woke up like this, cat fish angles, filtered living, F.eye clout, I’m naked but not naked for attention, chicken fillet surprises, I’m organic but I vape, copy pasta, I seen it before Your not original posts And I’m over here showing you; At 7am in the morning Half way through a coffee And the 2 year old smearing oats through her hair saying she wants chocolate, I was removing baby poop from everywhere The little dude had it from “A.hole to breakfast” legs, bum, bouncer swing, his hands, my hands, my clothes, his clothes and under my finger nails Removing the baby jumpsuit over his head, which was the only way by the way, slid poop onto his face, hair and his little button nose It was so horrifically comical, Alfred Hitchcock would have gasped. I dry reached many times and the boys mum wet her pants from laughter or lack of pelvic floor exercises or both lol Life’s not glamorous but it is glorious, I wouldn’t trade finger nail poo or rolled oats hair styles for anything The unrealistic reels and perfect images, the feminine energy that’s aggressive and male energy thats submissive; is not it Poo nails is

Social media killed the cat “curious?” The dissociative truth and disconnection to self; it’s easier to scroll mindlessly than deep dive into the ocean of ‘see.’ Not sea, but see: the self observing, yet blind to its own course, hitting rocks, blaming the boat, and wondering why it’s sinking, type of depth that the shallows float we skim the surface architecture of curated identities that engage in digital connection, not to bond, but to buffer, to anaesthetize rather than actualize Ironically the very tools we engineered to communicate, to bridge distance and dissolve isolation, have become the architecture of our own disconnection to believe ‘we are connected technically yes, emotionally not We speak more but say less We share more but reveal nothing Are they hearing to speak? Or seeing me to hear? ‘I choose’ eye see you. Look, Highs and lows of tides, comes and goes like times, the permanency of anything is on schedule to be nothing Follow me on this thought; I believe we die twice First, biologically Second, culturally; when their name is spoken for the last time. Given that, the present becomes our only guaranteed moments of existence, now. it’s the only space in which we verifiably live Do you see? Yet many voluntarily divert that attention to digital platforms: Consuming curated content, comparing filtered lives, and engaging with superficial information loops designed to maximize time spent, not meaning; to spent time It comes at a cost: Choosing a screen over conversation a post over a partner or metrics over meaning, is a measurable shift in cognitive and social energy, from presence to simulation and a distorted expectation that is not reality, leading to a life experienced more through others’ narratives In short: If your attention defines your existence, are you exisiting? Don’t get it twisted like a double edged sword, good content is good content the rest is perspective and yes I’m posting about being more present on social media whilst not being present “The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” - Pan from never never land

“I zinc it’s working” Welcome to dad of sudoo voodoo Where nappy cream meets questionable genius magic Who would of thought; sudo crem and its property minerals blended are pure white gold for breakouts on the money maker so forth, I reluctantly slathered it all up on my face like a shame less skincare snobbery queen in question Yes, I did the the unthinkable The humble, chalky relic of infant hygiene that is Sudocrem, Slapped on like I was frosting at a Colombian cake party This alabaster paste is my nocturnal facialist and I’m not ashamed (kind of) Zinc oxide? The unsung bouncer of the dermal nightclub Escorting excess oil and hormonal havoc off the premises and kicked out like you asked a bouncer to smile Not having a Super morning, Meet your sudotonite A thick, unscented legend in a tub that’s seen more bottoms than a maternity ward And it works A dermatological mic drop, walk off, tko, no count winner Beholding a cross between a sentient marshmallow and a rejected mime audition trying to do a podcast But beneath this absurdist mask lies skin plotting its renaissance, even the French would agree it works and they argue about a blue sky, pink So, While the two tiny tyrants nap and the heir apparent dozes (scrolls) I lie still a porcelain vigilante Face smothered in shame proof camouflage, Reeking of audacity and antiseptic charms that would impress even Donald trump for the glow up skills Don’t believe me? give it a go you freckle fart from Kmart try something not endorsed by Kim K and her “i wake up like this” night cream worth $7b that doesn’t work Join the cult of clandestine clarity Because nothing says I’ve given up and then levelled up like, adultery pizza face treated with baby bum balm - sudo

We grew up sunburnt sugar fuelled high And 2 bob worth of chips was more than enough The weekend was one big beach day and running out of tomato sauce was a sin Demographically blessed with flip-flops and foam surfboards our reality was built on tan lines, seagull paranoia, and the sweet lollies from the corner shop Our environment was of zinc-covered dads doing cannonballs and cousins who think jellyfish are just spicy water balloons The world made sense back then waves came in, snacks went out and your only real enemy was the seagull who locked eyes with your chicken nugget But life? Life’s a sunscreen-slicked dichotomy One minute you’re licking Paddle Pops, next thing you know you’re a full-grown adult Googling how to clean sand out of your car’s upholstery The transition’s weird like finding out fairy bread isn’t a food group and that taxes aren’t optional But here’s the kicker if all you do is pass on that chip-greased joy the sandy beach towels still wet from the day before and the great mud crab-hunt and 2 bob of hot chips on the weekends You’re doing it right You’re surfing the weird wave of life how you grew up sunscreen in one hand, existential dread of sand in the other

The triangle effect of a full circle Each to their own Own to their each; sown Perspective grows where perceptions Thrown, like sh|t at a wall hoping something sticks In sharing of another’s tale; Positive, negative or the greatest of all time The narrative is seeded by the speaker’s associated tone of conviction, Jailed in one’s self deception sending a delusional projection The words may wear truth like a mask in certitude But it is the listener who weaves it as assumed veracity, The second hand coat now worn as an adopted truth You Ask, “What are they like?” The Answer; it will subceed any context unchallenged, owing to your belief in the dialogue that unequivocally adheres to you; the wall So begins the script, narrative, story line and judgement with out prosecution You’ll repeat a version veiled in cohesion Subconsciously you’ll search for signs to punch validation holes aligning with what you were told of certain curtains - blindly Not because you believe, but because belief was planted and absentmindedly parked before you arrived, pulling up in a tinted window mind This is the faltering will, the quiet bending of judgment toward a third party clause (read the fine print) Validating a portrait that may be no more than cognitive bias Painted in borrowed tones, the unwavering mind becomes a vessel for someone else’s version A story once lived and twice removed Still, worn as if your own veil of subconscious conspiracy theories with a corkboard full of good or negative under tonal vibes pinning red string between “They blinked twice” and “probably hates ice cream” It’s cognitive puppetry with mismatched strings from an unmatched attachment in a laconic bind The puppet? your opinion The shoe that doesn’t fit, a laced tongue of discomfort that rhetorically asks; “let’s walk and I’ll talk” Each to their own Own to their each Sown as poppycock Worn as belief

ADHD: The Burdened Gift Yesterday I went to a wedding alone, which was already a lot to process in itself A neurotypical human would of being super excited as they are for any simple, new or social setting event But for the neurodivergent me; I pooped three times, couldn’t eat, hands trembled, paced the house for hours, waited for the exact minute in my head to shower, get dressed, and leave, Questioned if I should go, Over thought possible disasters, Vacuumed twice Showered, showered again Procrastinated and cleaned the bathroom mirror All because of the unknown and breaking from my routine, going to a place I’ve never been, surrounded by some people I’ve never met it sends my nervous system into full apocalyptic collapse and overthinking volcanic eruptions The worst parts of ADHD aren’t just the distractions, forgetfulness, odd quirks and having to undress to poop It’s the mental loops: Thoughts creating entire disaster scenarios that may never happen, but feel as real as being tattooed 99% of the time none of it actually happens, But the feelings still do It tells my body: run away as if your Hussain bolt or fight like Tyson and take an ear It floods my system with stress, even though there’s no real threat If you love someone with ADHD and have a hard time understanding why they do it and get angry and annoyed imagine how hard it is for us to understand ourselves in these moments and try explain it, So you don’t think we are just being difficult pain in the asses for ruining an event or situation before it’s even happened from arguments and mood swings caused from the hyper sensitivity and body malfunctions Anyway… The wedding? It was amazing, beautiful and rich in love There was snacks, food, wine flowing and I tore up the dance floor like Jon Travolta took over me in spirit. And just like always; the outcome was the same as the 99% before it, The imagined fear never arrive but I still had to fight it to get there Be patient with your spicy friends we’re not your typical mate

A joke without a punchline is like 0% champagne at a celebration all sparkle | no spirit Laughing at a joke like that Doesn’t make cents and clearly never adds up to a dollar’s worth Kind of like a unicorn without its one magical horn, you’re just a horse Of course of course a horse of course So relatively, why? If there’s 8.2 billion humans on Earth (not even counting the layered lines of the liminal) that’s myriad But somehow those odds on a bet of one in 8.2b odds still feels worth it In the middle of this multitude butt-end of a joke, that’s not funny is a choice made: Engagement. Of truth. Cogent. A relationship isn’t random it’s a candour agreement of choice Let me put it plain: I choose you | You choose me Two, enmeshed in a synergy of connection that’s not afraid to offend someone to keep unity over everything Seen as a reflection of convergence, Meaning: I am you. You are me. We are seen. We are one. A dyad. No more. No less. So at the end of the day when all else is tucked in bed the sparkle will have a spirit and the laugh? It’ll finally make cents to a dollar of course

I am king Pott’a Slap my chest with a victoria cross of potta and Crown me king in washing detergent warfare tidying, arranging and pottering I’m like a caffeinated squirrel with a broom like a dust assassin hood up, eyes down, scoping out crumbs like its signed to Interscope, every sweep is a MGK diss track going all in on the kill shot I don’t clean for sparkles. No no… I’m not that kind of domestic deity Im like a possessed alpha dragon, flapping madly through the house like I’ve just discovered the prophecy that says: “Only when the last sock is re-united shall peace return.” There are two types of people in this world: 1.The minimalist placement princesses, everything’s neutral toned aesthetically curated like an influencer’s uninteresting Pinterest board of fluff cake 2.And then there’s me the logic gremlin, I don’t care if it’s pretty, I care if it’s in the RIGHT PLACE like some obsessive squirrel librarian with ADHD and a vendetta against clutter that drives me ‘nuts’ Do I finish one task at a time? hell na, absolutely not at all I’m a chaos goblin on constant side quests, Halfway through folding clothes I’ll notice the fridge magnets are wonky detour to realign them, trip over a stray toy then decide the toy box needs reorganising by theme, height, and emotional value, Half way into the toy box psychology appointment I’ll half make the bed and finish it after fridge magnets are straight And I freaking love it Cleaning chaos is my twisted kind of fulfilment It’s not a routine. It’s a sport It’s not a chore. It’s a calling It’s not mundane. It’s my therapy I stand sweaty, victorious, and slightly confused on the podium of my imaginary Domestic Olympics, gold medal swinging, mop in hand, and the scent of citrus disinfectant in the air like glory itself

Jellycat is life I worked until 12:30am last night Drove home, sorted clothes for the next day of work and sat for five minutes with half a glass of wine and all of a sudden its was 2am, Falling asleep at 2:15am Fast forward sleep to 6:50am my two year old the house boss woke me with some discernible words of regular demands: “Dad. Daddy. Dad. You sleep? Work. Sleep. Work. Daddy sleep.” Then, like a firecracker in a tin can: “DAAAAAAAD CHENNOOOOOOOO!” (Babychino, if you speak toddler.) Then came: “Daaaaaad. COFFFFFFFHEEEEE.” So, I’m up! running on 4.58 hours of sleep, brewing toddler chinos and adult coffee to be somewhat coherent There’s a few hours of yawns and blurry Bebefinn go by, but we managed to get to daycare at 9am with a lunchbox that could win Michelin stars, even Gordon Ramsey would say it was fugg’n excellent; Salmon and rice in a thermos, kiwi and apple carved like child-proof sculptures, seaweed crackers, sugar-free yogurt, sultanas, and ice-cold water straight from the alpines of Himalayan monks. lol As I was driving home later that dah after working, I got the call: Jelly cat is missing She won’t sleep Jellycat Bunny was left at school “I’ve tried every other toy and she said” noooooo…. I want bunny As the designated panacea provider and chaos forecaster, I retrieved the bunny from school disaster narrowly averted When I walled in the door at home, there she was: Sleep sack. Red eyes. Smiling. “Bunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnynnnnnnnnnnmynnnnny, I go bed.” I tucked her in and before I could say a word, she whispered: “I love you too dad” Jellycat is life Jellycat over everything for my world, Atlas Atlas, my world

Vacuous is as vacuous does Forest gump said it best “Stupid is as stupid does” I’ve decided I will cease and desist in dancing with pedestrian minded cretinism If they can’t prefrontal two step into a cortex Dip, they will never pirouette like a Prima ballerina mind I sometimes think; how nice and easy life would be if I was ignorant and naive to reality, signing along the dotted lines of the ‘Homer syndrome’ theres a few too many doh’s in the gene pools; it’s not there fault in some cases to understand entry level self awareness, let alone complexities of common sense behaviour they fall below the normative threshold of cognitive function Don’t get me wrong I’m just above the threshold level of academia, I’ve never finished a whole book or completed studies of any kind to receive a piece of paper at the end of it, but I’m self aware enough to know this I ‘make up’ with the abilities of hyper awareness and a plethora of common sense in life fortitude Theres a difference…. A conversation, point of view or chat with that of obtuse style type martyr complex will always end in an argument and them being offended It’s easier to be offended and argue then be open A point of view understood is a humble virtue Did you know when you interrupt in a conversation with your thoughts and opinions tells me; you don’t listen or understand what it means to have constructive dialogue, what your iteruption action shows me your more interested in the monologue of self interest’s that encroaches upon discourse to have a point made In other words for the words - you interrupt in a conversation because your entitlement of self is more important then listening or your just stupid and arguing is your only conversational skill in defiances So, I hope reading this offends someone It’ll mean…… The subject didn’t meet your threshold And it’s not that the concept was too complex, it’s just your bar is set dangerously close to ‘homer’ doh.

I’ve started working on PigPen series 2 art PigPen metadata will be updated & have a 3rd toggle switch to access the new art This is going to be a new look & will feel like a brand new collection No timeline as of yet, but expect to see some teasers in the coming weeks Oink

I regularly Laugh in my sleep belly laughing like a mad man at about 545am this GM I shoosh’d my 7 month old and called him a gremlin And then belly laughed for a few minutes I’m fully awake now and realised what I was doing I still think it was hilarious

Oi ya big beautiful man, @TOPGUNS__82 get some @ThePigPen_ and let’s do some spaces. Hope your doing ok bro 😘

What does the pope do? Serious question!

From janitor to pope of 1.3 billion if Francis can you can - the peoples

Aliens are real @elonmusk

Twelon X the free speech everything app I understand, I can be who I am and say what I’ve opinions about and maybe meet an alien one day like @elonmusk But gosh darn Shut the front door and shit the bed type of trigger I read posts and no filter reply like my dams dry

The eyes don’t lie Chico