A survey

Alright, we were playing a new game at Rachel's called "would you rather." Basically a prompt to that the infamous, gruesome game you play when very bored. It sounded good at first, but it seemed to argument focused. Anyway, a question (player devised) came up of "Would you rather be knowledgeable and miserable or ignorant and happy?" Now, to me, this is a no-brainer. Being an existentialist, I know the price of knowledge. I also have little, if any, pride. So happiness trumped everything. But the other four players chose knowledge and misery. Is that a sign of bad priorities? Or what? I don't know. What would you have chosen (and why)?

Feelin' Frivilous

- Birthplace: The Pits of Hell
- B-day Month: Dawn of Time
- Current Location: K-town
- Eye color: blue
- Hair color: brown

- Height: 7' 22" 3"'
-Righty or Lefty: Yes.
- Zodiac sign: Virgo. What? Well I am!
- Your heritage: Satan. Or Mr. Clean. I can't remember...
- Shoes you wore today: Squirrels. Unskinned.

- Your weakness: Pain.
- Your strengths: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Aren't we all just comedians?
- Your fears: Torture.
- Your perfect pizza: Cheese. Maybe pepperoni if I'm feeling risky. I'm so naughty...
- Goal you'd like to achieve: Beauty.
- Your thoughts first waking up: "I hope I wore a condom."
- Your bedtime: 3:46 PM
- Your most missed memory: Where I left my... wait. What?

- Pepsi or coke: Cocaine, all the way. Pepsi's too mainstream.
- McDonald's or Burger King: Burger King. Because clowns in yellow body suits and I have a history of "unpleasantness" and bloodshed during immense turf wars.

- Best friends: Jack Daniels, Charles Kennedy, Paddy McSatanPants (the leprechaun on my shoulder)

-Boyfriend/Girlfriend: The latter, please.
- Adidas or Nike: They're both made by starving children in third world countries. What's the diff?
- Lipton ice tea or Nestea: I have no clue who broke your stereo with that cherry bomb, Mr. Wilson.

- Chocolate or Vanilla: Vanilla. Or Chocolate. Oh how I loathe you both...
- Cappuccino or Coffee: They're both made by starving children in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Smoke: There's fire? I LIKE FIRE!!!!
- Curse: You mother teresea loving son of a socialist, I want your badge number!
- Sing: I believed it's spelled "S-O-D-O-M-Y." Stupid internet surveys...
- Take a shower everyday: Only because I care.
- Do you think you've been in love: I've been in many places. What's it to you? No, I didn't bring you a souvenir. Jerk...

- Want to go to college: "Want" is such a harsh, unforgivable word.
- Where: The belly of an Iowan fisherman.
- Like(d) high school: Yes. With a bit of ketchup, most things are pleasant enough. Hmm... Now THAT'S a kinky thought...

- Want to get married: I'm all about efficiency!
- Believe in yourself: Do I exist? Sure. Will I exist tomorrow? You be the judge.

- Get motion sickness: Yes. And I'm also sick of your fat lip!
- Think you're attractive: Would that make me gay?
- Think you're a health freak: I wouldn't say "think" so lightly.

- Get along with your parent(s): Not talking does wonders.
- Like thunderstorms: Sure.
- Play an instrument: Yes.
- Country/Place you would most like to visit: It involves pants. That's all you're getting.

I n | t h e | p a s t | m o n t h . . .
- Smoked: Oh, I think that's a given.
- Done a drug: I think Bonnie said it best: "midol"
- Had sex : Yes. I've been a male all my life.
- Gone on a date: I don't know the exact number, but over 18 x 365 + 4months
- Gone to the mall: Why you gotta treat me like that, baby? You know I love you!
- Eaten an entire box of Oreos: If by "oreos" you mean "innocent, succulent babies snatched from the clutches of their unsuspecting, sedated mothers" then no you sick freak.
- Eaten sushi: I've two words to answer this question- Freud and Oratory
- Been on stage: All the world's a stage. So... salmon?
- Been dumped: No... my corpse was cremated.
- Made homemade cookies: SWEET MOTHER OF GOD. Sort of.
- Gone skinnydipping: I wish... I had more time.
- Dyed your hair: If I had any! Dye, that is.
- Stolen anything: yeah right.

H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Been extremely trashed or extremely intoxicated: Does cows think about sex more than nuns? I'm just curious.
- Been called a tease: I tease death AND LOSE!
- Gotten beaten up: And down. And... metaphysically.
- Shoplifted: MY WATERMELON!!!!!!!!!
- Changed who you were to fit in: To fit into your pants, I'll change anything! I guess my waist is the most important part though, eh?

- Age you hope to be married: 79
- Described your dream wedding: Hmm. Something involving sacrifices, police, and citywide socialist revolts.
- Thought about how you want to die: Yeah. Something involving drama, romance, and acts of defiance. Or penguins.

I n | y o u r | l i f e . . .
# of people I could trust with my life: It's my life! I saw it first! Mine mine mine! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
# of CDs that i own: CDs meaning cocaine deposits? Hah, you wish!
# of piercings: MINE SPLEEN!
# of tattoos: Wasn't he the guy who worked for the Lone Ranger? Or maybe the midget on Fantasy Island? That jerk stole so many kidneys...
# of scars on my body: Sporks hurt more than YOU'LL ever know...

F a v o r i t e . . .
- Color: Blue. The color of... blueness, blueitude, and blueosity.
- Food: Pizza. PIZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Squirrels.
- Subject(s): I will not let you subject me to that. You'll be wearing THAT? On second thought...
- Animal(s): She's a maniac! No, seriously. Help me.
- Sport(s): I'd like to favorite YOUR sport!

H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Bungee jumped? They're all made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Made yourself throw up? Mmm. Watching Sean Hannity. Bulimia for the amputee!
- Been in love? Oh, I've been there. Bring a flak vest. And the spleen of one pure black albino
- Made yourself cry to get out of trouble? no, but i do start crying.
- Cried when someone died? my first dog. Since then, I've been the one killing, and ,like pimping, it involves lots of strippers.
- Lied? Maybe?
- Fallen for your best friend? I did not have sex with that mountain goat. Those are doctored photos. Yes. I do think I look fat in them.
- Been rejected? I hate you all.
- Rejected someone? I didn't mean it guys. Really. I love you all.
- Used someone? Ok, I'm just having fun at all your expenses. I'm sorry. Um... cheers?
- Done something you regret? See "what I think when I wake up in the morning"

R i g h t | n o w . . .
- Clothes you're wearing: Not applicable.
- Music you're listening to: Like a Rolling Stone... OF DOOM!!!
- Time where you are: 11:24... wait... 11:25...wait... 11:26... gosh darn it, how long do I keep this up?

- Smell you're... eh, smelling: I have no clue.
- Current Desktop picture: Circle:"Sometimes I wonder if there's a point to my existence." ... Square:"Sometimes I think about gravy." Genius.
- Book you're reading: An Idiot's Guide to Illiteracy
- CD in the player: No. Oh, god, no.... stop the memories, mommy. Please?
- DVD in the player: ANGUISH LIKE MELTED BUTTER!!!

L a s t | p e r s o n | y o u . . .
- Hugged: Joseph Stalin's cold dead grandmother.
- IM'd: Rudolph Giulianni
- Yelled at: You.
- Missed terribly: You.
- Felt loved by: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Spoke to: Look into my eyes... Hah! Got your wallet, sucker!
- Cried to: My pillow

W h o | d o | y o u | w a n t | t o . . .
- Get really wasted with: The Dalai Llama
- Get high with: Jesse Jackson
- Look like: Fred Sanford
- Talk to face to face: Those jerks Ashley and Murphy from the Oldies station. I've a chainsaw that wants to ensure they've faces fit for radio...
- Talk to indirectly (on the phone, online etc.): The Governor of Kansas

R a n d o m . . .
- In the morning I look like: Death Incarnate if death incarnate wears dresses.
- All I need is: THE VOICES TO SHUT THE HELLO DOLLY RIDE THE TROLLEY TO THE DEPTHS OF OREGON
- Love is: Lovely.
- Flowers or candy: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?

Much better than Synonyms

Hershey, I guess you tried, but you'rej ust not comparable. I'm sorry. *sigh* I am such a little girl...

Does that make me an underage lesbian? Hmm. David, you'd better go take a cold shower.

Addendum

Oh, congrats to me for making it one year wreck (my fault) free! This Christmas was much better than the last, let me tell you. I'll be leaving tomorrow for the grandparents, so no internet til late Tuesday. To those who are skimmers and join late, your Christmas whatevers are below. They may not be entirely accurate, but I tried to get across how I feel (and about people, that's quite difficult for me). Have a safe and happy duration of break. I'll talk to you all later. Farewell!

A Minor Retraction

Well, I figured a few things out tonight at our lil' Christmas Eve thing with my mom's side of the family (and the subsequent Christmas night, since I keep getting distracted writing this...).

1. I hate the gift giving aspect of Christmas because I simply can't do it. I can write poems (quality varies, of course), or when it needs to be less serious, "raps". And that's it. Poems are only good for a few people, and I have to be inspired to actually finish one, so they're rare anyway. So I feel particularly guilty because I get things and I have no idea what person wants in return. At the moment it's not a money issue. I've got plenty. I just don't know people like that. I don't form complex opinions and remember everything about them. It's the con side to not holding grudges or judging others, I also don't pry into their psyches unless asked. It's also probably the primary reason I'm so horrible at Loaded Questions...

2. The real reason I should dislike Christmas is because it shows what should happen the entire year. We had a great time last night, just hanging out with the family. They only live 25minutes away, tops. And yet, we never see them. It takes a holiday like this to get us together. And we think "we should do this more often." And yet we don't. That's what's wrong with Christmas. We shouldn't need a Christmas. We should get together quite often; we get along quite well, it's fun, everyone has a good time. But we don't. It's limited to the very rare holiday and it's not right. Everyday should be treated like Christmas, with togetherness, kindness, generosity, and whatever. Instead we have to be "reminded" about it. Meh. Meh I say!

3. I still dislike getting presents. No, I hate it. I don't want any. So... keep them away!

4. Well, in order to not be a hypocrite, I'm going to write things to everyone who's posted in my blog (because they're the ones who might actually read them). These are my Christmas presents, truthful sentiments about people and how much they really mean to me. Of course we don't say these things enough, and Christmas is a nice reminder. Hmm. I suppose, to avoid further hypocrisy, I should say them more often. Then again, that might get old in and of itself. So... Christmas works. Blast! It appears there is some use for this holiday. Although there shouldn't be. Because these things should already be known. But...anyway... before I talk in more circles... (I could send them privately, but where's the fun in that)?

Andy- You're quite an interesting character. You're like no one else I know (for better or worse). An almost paradoxical combination of personality traits, it provides a perspective I'm not used to and one that I really benefit from associating with. Not quite as romanticly inclined as I'd like, but it's good to have someone to talk about relevant world issues with. I actually do value your opinion, and I listen to what you say; you're one of my favorite people to seriously argue/debate with. I really hope this year you'll loosen up a little and stop worrying about love, life, and personal failure. Everything will turn out well if you plan a bit, but don't get caught up in the throes of life. Relax, enjoy, and let yourself be happy with the present.

Derek- Well, what can I say? It seems you've got most everything the way you like it. And if not you certainly do a good job of hiding it. I hope college goes well, I'm sure you'll succeed and do quite well in life as long as you stay away from cocaine and strippers. Separately they're assets to performance, but together they just get messy. Remember that!

Ellen- About the same as Derek. I don't really know you that well, but I wish you the best of luck when you head out to college. If your away messages are an indicator of college performance, you'll be a dean in no time. Enjoy the last legs of high school!

Catherine- I'm assuming you're still alive, so just incase I must say I think you're a good sinner with a person problem. Er... Well, you get the point. You've got a great sense of humor, a wild and crazy yet somehow not extreme (don't ask about that one) way of life I find intriguing and pleasantly disturbing. I also think you're quite a nice person, but I haven't seen you since college so you may no longer have a soul. I guess I'll settle for "keep your pants on, and when you don't just be careful."

Lauren- It's nice to have someone as often bored and available as me to talk to. Although I'm often distracted and not there as often as I should, I do appreciate our conversations. I hope you'll continue to talk to me through the loud noises and shiny objects. You really are interesting and creative, in your own way, and I hope you pick up some self esteem (and a good man!) this next year. You could really benefit from both, and you deserve them.

Erin- Meredith believes you're "amazing", and I'd say that's not far from the truth. We actually have conversations past the normal fluff most people discuss, and I really do appreciate them. Matters that aren't exactly of world import, but still deal with intriguing social issues that I normally don't get to talk about. You always seem willing to be helped, and that's quite an asset in our conversations. I enjoy assisting you and talking with you about things romantic, parental, or whatever and I'll continue to help in anyway I can. Hopefully this year you'll get a bit more perspective, but also stop so persistently doubting your own. You're a good person, don't forget it.

Lee- You may have slept with more of my relatives than the government has record of, but you're still a good friend. We may not talk nearly as much as we did in drumline, but I still appreciate your wonderful personality. Our fights should be the stuff of legend, but as it is they're just great fun. I hope your sister grows coherent or at least puts something in the vacant space between her ears; your patience with her is remarkable, evident by the very fact she is still breathing. I hope college goes well and wish you the best of luck in life, love, and the petty squabbles in between. I think you'll have good fortune in regards to all three.

David- As sad as it is, you're my best guy friend. You're a sarcastic jerk, but it's sort of endearing to someone who can appreciate good jabs and rarely be affected (Sticks and stones may shatter my malnourished frame, but words only cause superficial scrapes that have a low chance of infection). It's nice to have someone I can talk to about not doing homework relevant to me, classical music, and addicting crack-like online games. I certainly don't know you as well as the hordes of freshmen girls that I corrupt daily, but it's a working relationship. Strangely, unlike most guys, we don't talk about hawt chixxorz. We've got pr0n for that! Just don't get sucked in and use it as an excuse for the real thing! MMORPGS, I mean. We won't go into pr0n... Have a great remainder of your senior year, keep up the happiness (no more of the angsty David's of days long past), and good luck when you finally get into college. Hopefully we'll keep in touch (I'd like to be kept updated about the list of atrocities sure to be included in your surprisingly emminent obituary as they unfold. Should be an interesting few years...)

Elizabeth- You know, you may be one of the most annoying and infuriating people I know. Merry Christmas! Heh, really though, I appreciate that you're there for me even if you don't have the answers I seek. Whether I like it or not you care about me, and I do appreciate it. Heck, you probably saved my life because of it. I'm sorry I'm rather irritable around you, either familiarity breeds contempt or you just push my buttons (the wrong ones). I don't like hurting you, and although I forget, I'll try not to be hurtful. Although you haven't seemed to really require it from me lately, I'm here if you need me. I do care about your wellbeing, and I wish you the best of happiness. Hopefully you'll lose the all the stress, get out of your house for good, and let your prince charming sweep you off your feet (or him off his, as the case may be). Sitting next to you for band should be... interesting to say the least. I'm sort of looking forward to it...

Meredith- To avoid further acts of hypocrisy, I'll let "I love you" suffice. You know what you mean to me.

If I forgot anyone I'm quite sorry; most others I don't think read this; if you do, speak up and I'll give you your Christmas present as well. I really do appreciate all of you, even though I know I don't show it. Even if it seems like I don't need you, I do. You're parts of my support structure, people I can trust if I need to. And I may, eventually. I'm a hypocrite in that regard too, not talking about my problems as much. But I need to have more faith in your abilities to help. Certainly none of you should hesitate to seek my advice (however flawed and misguided it may be) and help on most anything. Even outside of the computer, if I can I'd like to help. Just get me too. I ought to get to know you all more, or at least spend more time with you; the internet is a fickle substitute for interaction. I can drive, drag me out of the shell sometime. Just not to a movie. Something... interesting. I've got the money, board games, and time you just supply the place and idea! At any rate, happy holidays. And happy thereafter. I know this sounds like a farewell post and in some ways it is, because after a quick downhill trot we'll be headed to a whole different world of college. For now, though, the best thing I can say is "thanks." Cheers!

It's funny cause it's true!

"Nothing says love quite like comas." -Meredith

Beauty

It's amazing. Everything. And nothing. I just watched "American Beauty" and although it wasn't exactly mind-blowing since it focuses on issues I think about quite often, in typical Dylan fashion I was moved, inspired (two or three more chapters worth! woohoo!), and quite effected. Oh, and envious as usual. I'm writing my novel next semester because it will be fun, of course, but also, as you all know, because I want the power that these things have. I want to move people. I want to create something that so profoundly effects a person all they can really say is "It's beautiful." Certainly there are themes, symbolically, behind everything. . But the ride there is more important. If it wasn't then I'd just flat out state them.

*sigh* I get inspired like this and, in the heat of the moment, I think , " This is good. This is a really good idea. This... this has got to be moving," and I can't wait to write it. The enthusiasm will fade, but I hope the quality of the idea won't. I want to give these ideas justice. I really do. I want to make you all laugh, cry, and smile warmly at least once. If I accomplish that, I'll consider it a success. Ok, maybe crying's a bit much (can you picture a tear-ed up Sugue? I can't!), but I'll settle for a deep, mellow, beautiful sadness. For, to me, beauty is that power. Or maybe because I've been moved the creation that moved me becomes beautiful. I don't know. I just know that I want to create it. It's the ambition deep within my soul. You thought it was dead. I know, I did too. But I want power. I crave it. But not over actions. I want power of emotions. I don't want it forced, though. I want to earn it. I just have to hope I'm up to the task...

Oh, I also think it's interesting how movies are so moving. Movies are the true example of what's important about music. Plot is great for movies, but music is the part that makes things beautiful. You don't notice it. It's quietly in the background, but it's working magic. That's a serious drawback of the novel, the lack of music. An author has a hard time working on your subconscious without you noticing. When it's achieved they call it "mood", or at least I would if I was them. Ah well. Hopefully I'm better at this stuff than I think I am. That will depend a lot upon you. But you'll find all that out in May. Wish me luck!

He's a mean one,

But he's got the right idea. Yes, I think it's about time I made my official Christmas rant. So sit back, relax, and skim this amazing block of thinly veiled laziness.

Alright, where to begin... I don't hate Christmas. I hate the modern idea of Christmas. Basically it's a holiday about gifts, for gifts, by...um... fat, rich, white men. That's not really fair though. I just think the idea that there is a designated time of year for "happiness", "cheer", and "giving" is a tad... ludicrous. For crying out loud, doesn't there seem something innately wrong about a holiday that supports being kind to others? We shouldn't need one! Everyone should do the sorts of things the do on Christmas year round. Jesus would rather have that than an annual birthday celebration I'm sure.

And then there's the problem of gifts. I hate gifts. Giving and receiving them. The whole practice and the popular perceptions of it oozes materialism and guilt. I don't want anyone to give me anything. Really. Whatever someone gives me will probably just go in a closet or trashcan or where-ever and I'll never use it again. Everything I actually want I'll buy myself, and I daresay this applies to most everyone else. The only people this doesn't work for are children, and parents ought to institute some sort of allowance policy to teach them about saving and fiscal responsibility instead of laying on a hoard of gifts they'll grow bored of in three weeks at once. Personally I'd prefer a "I appreciate everything you are for me. I don't say it much, but you do mean a lot to me." And I don't need to wait til Christmas to do that (speaking of which, I probably should do that sometime soon... remind me somebody). Which is another point. Why do we wait til Christmas to give gifts? If you insist on giving presents, don't wait til an "established day." Do it on a whim. Make it a surprise. Think of others year-round. That alleviates guilt because it's a complete surprise; you're not expected to return a spontaneous gift. And guilt is a big issue at Christmas. People give all these gifts and the receivers feel cheap or heartless or whatever when they don't return the favor. It's a pointless cycle of materialism.

I'm not too much of a Scrooge or Grinch. The former was miserly and compassionless, the latter bitter and lonely. I just don't think Christmas is a healthy idea. Instead, try to keep notions of generosity, happiness, and appreciation with you all year round. Randomly write poems for people. Do favors others may never know about just because you're a nice person. Give gifts because you want to, not because you ought to.

Alrigh, I'm done preaching. That was pretty painless, eh? I didn't even go off on much of a tangent about how material goods won't make you happy too. But there you are. So, in closing, have happy holidays, happy lives year round, and stay warm! Cheers!

I hate the modern idea of Christmas. I think I'll write a parody from the idea I got writing Meredith's poem (part 1: The Lame). If I'm not too lazy. You've got to give him that, Santa's an industrious fellow. Ah well.

A Good Day

Today was good. I got my Calculus done in school, I didn't have to do any work other than that, and I had a semi-philosophical conversation with Frank Ramey while Sarah Walker listened. I finally got to see how much of everything I've written I remember. It went well, I think. Keeping this journal has been quite influential upon me. It's helped me mature and really get inside issues that, although painful in the process, lead to a more fulfilling experience. I also remembered why I appreciate certain people as much as I do, as the past resurfaced. I'm quite thankful for what I have, I think.

And for those interested, the computer game is going well. I'm pacing myself a bit, and it's certainly much more entertaining than staring at nothing. I'll still answer emails if any of you want to try, of course. Catherine can try to pull me away, but I'm afraid whatever method she'll use will just scare me more... I talked to Mrs. Jackson a bit about my novel, at least setting up times, so I think that will work well. Lots of people have shown interest in reading it, which creates more pressure. It'll be interesting. I'd like to think everyone will enjoy at least part of it, I just hope I'm up to the task I'm planning. Well, I'm off. Have a good day, I know I am!

Hmph.

Stayed up until 2:15 playing game. Dreamt bad, stressed dreams. Got 6.75 hours of sleep despite weekend. Didn't want to make the effort to go back to sleep. Heart palpatations from unknown source, but disturbing dream may be a significant contributing factor. I fear for the future, for if I continue at this rate I will be swallowed whole. This cannot come to pass. Remorse, regret, and the perpetual defeatism take hold, and I desire, as I had so often in the past, to forsake reality and simply live in fantasy. The cure is slow in coming, and I fear it will have fickle effects, for my body is still rejecting such things my soul requires. 5 hours played yesterday. Many more today. Log out.

My Research Paper

(Or "Deja Vu" if you read my previous entry. The first few paragraphs are boring, but it gets philosophical towards the end. Hooray for late night existentialism!)

God According to "The Tempest": Old, New, and Thoroughly Confusing


Like many of Shakespeare’s plays, “The Tempest” has roots in classical mythology and folklore. The spirits, goblins, and magical powers that make up the fantastic tale all have links to the past and are steeped in lore. However, “The Tempest” is also interesting in that it has strong Christian undertones just below the surface. Although little to no mention is made of Jesus, God, and Christianity in general, Prospero himself mirrors God’s progression through the Bible. Prospero mimics God from creation and the Garden of Eden, to the angry, powerful force of the Old Testament, and finally ending with the benevolent, forgiving air of the New Testament.

Prospero’s banishment to his Island creates, in many respects, a facsimile of the Garden of Eden. It is isolated with only fantastic creatures, magic acts of great power, and only two humans present, Prospero and his daughter. Indeed, when more humans finally appear on the Isle, it is by Prospero’s power. Ferdinand could be seen as Prospero’s “Adam”, for his arrival on the Isle and the creation of such a bond between himself and Miranda would not be possible without Prospero’s magical intervention. Prospero’s rules and whims must be followed exactly, for no creature can resist his power. Prospero, like God, creates an idea of morality which must be upheld, or else the perpetrator must face his inescapable wrath. As Richard Hansberger states in The Explicator, “In order to survive under Prospero’s rule, Caliban must abandon his ‘gabble’ and his conceptual framework of the world and in turn adopt Prospero’s imposed language, Prospero’s imposed conceptual framework” (136).

In fact, Prospero’s punishments are much akin to the threats and plagues of the Old Testament. When Prospero’s minions, Ariel and Caliban, are ungrateful or
recalcitrant he resorts to a vast array of threats and hostilities to force them into obedience. The words Shakespeare chooses for Prospero seem as if they were inspired by the Bible, such as when Prospero proclaims “I’ll plague them all, even to roaring” (Act IV, Scene I, lines 191-192). Prospero threatens to unleash cramps, pains, and a variety of other ailments upon his disobedient servants. There is no kindness in this image of the magician, save towards his obedient daughter. The same is true for God. Those who oppose his children or go against his teachings are woefully punished.

Both God and Prospero do not use their powers only for punishment, though. Both have great plans and use their powers to manipulate reality to meet their goals. Their powers are so strong, in fact, that they trump the old Gods and spirits of the past. Prospero’s dominance of the Roman Goddesses suggests that he is greater than past religion; only a new God could be more powerful, such as the one he himself resembles. In fact, as Robert H. West writes in Shakespearean Essays, most of Prospero’s works are done using his spirits (66). As God uses agents, so does Prospero.

As time passes, Prospero, like God, changes character. Once his ends are accomplished, if his enemies are “penitent” (Act V, Scene I, line 28), then he is bountiful in forgiveness. As God admits those who repent into Heaven, so does Prospero allow the sinners on his Isle to leave, unscathed save for their harrowing stay.

However, there is a break in the parallel which is quite distinct. Prospero is not only the most God-like character, but also the most existential of the novel’s characters. In one of his more poetic speeches, Prospero says of reality that all “shall dissolve, and like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff are dreams are made on, and our little life rounded with a sleep” (ActIV, Scene I, lines 154-156). It is quite ironic, that this most powerful man, when all of his plans proceed without flaw and his success is imminent, would wax philosophical and essentially state that all his labors are for nothing. Or maybe Prospero, being the educated, higher power figure, has known this all along and proceeds despite his doubt. It seems as if Shakespeare is casting God, in the form of Prospero, in a light rarely seen, especially for his time. If this interpretation is continued, Shakespeare seems to imply that God himself knows of the existentialist nature of reality, yet plays the part of puppet master despite this knowledge. This method seems to work out in the end, as all the secondary characters are forgiven and given happy endings.

However, Prospero’s ending is left in doubt. In the epilogue, Prospero leaves his fate in the hands of the audience. This has often been called Shakespeare’s final plea to his adoring masses, but the God parallel still stands. In fact, it can even be applied to an artist such as Shakespeare. Shakespeare creates, he manipulates, he devises complexities of character and plot that even the greatest minds still try to unravel. Shakespeare may indeed be implying that reality itself is just a play, performed for some heavenly audience God seeks to entertain. Prospero says his project “was to please”


(Epilogue, line 13), but who is he seeking to please? The characters within the play
certainly end pleased. Maybe he is speaking directly to the audience, who he was merely trying to entertain. Or perhaps his words are directed at God himself, seeking forgiveness for whatever sin or blasphemy Prospero, or Shakespeare, may have committed. The situation is quite complex. Robert H. Ball, in a synopsis of “The Tempest” for the Encyclopedia Britannica, believes that the play is sufficient without the interpretations of critics “who try to make it something vast and monumentous or, on the other hand, autobiographic and personal succeed only in distorting or destroying its artistic beauty and poetic charm.” Then again, much of these same words used to describe a seemingly simple play can be used to describe life itself. Obviously beauty has not stopped attempted interpretation.
In “The Tempest”, the magician Prospero is portrayed as a God-like figure, angry and wrathful, but in the end forgiving those who seek his mercy, and yet the existentialist slant seems to indicate that Shakespeare’s intentions were not so simple. Prospero exercises his wrath, forgives, and completely controls his Isle, as God would. And yet, there are hints that for all his scheming, wisdom, and seemingly unfathomable power Prospero is still insecure, doubtful, and tired of his toil. Is there some hidden meaning within Prospero’s fatigue and philosophical quandaries? Is Prospero really Shakespeare speaking to his loyal followers preparing to end an extensive career of entertainment? Is Prospero God, breaching the realms of imagination into a higher level of thought where few dare venture? Or is this all merely drama, part of Shakespeare’s attempt to go out on top? That is for the audience, God, and whatever other forces there may be to decide.

I'm Sorry.

Blegh. Today was rotten. I was rotten. I am rotten. This whole project has come to head, my lines are nearly memorized, and I need only finish(start) my research paper, practice a bit, study Hamlet, and not kill anything til Thursday and I'll be set. Yet, even though it's quite doable, I got (and am) incredibly stressed today. It's not the workload, although that is indeed immense. It's not that I put it off until the last moment, for I always do that and use the stress as a focusing device. No, it's the underlying realization that this entire project is symbolic of my philosophical situation. I shouldn't really care about my grade, but I do. I'm essentially guaranteed a free, full ride to UT so it just doesn't matter. But it does to me. A very significant part is that I feel obligated to my group members, whose grades also depend on this. I have so many lines, though, I'm worried about messing up and destroying so much hard work. Still, it's not even that. I look at the previous presentations, and no offense to any parties involved, they just weren't as... long, for lack of a better word. We actually try to do most of our play instead of condensing it into a small time frame. We cut some scenes, but a very great deal remains. Of course, that very great deal prominently features me, so I have a lot to do. But it's all... unneeded. The complexities, the ideas, the desire for "perfection" or a better experience or what have you, it's all pointless. Our grade won't be improved. We could have put minimal effort in and been fine. But we didn't. Albeit, the complexities do make it somewhat fun, the obligations and responsibility I feel just weighs on me like thousands of tons of lead in my soul. There's no question, I have to do all this. And yet, it won't make any difference.

A play is, as it really does say in The Tempest, "an insubstantial pageant faded, leaving not a Rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life rounded with a sleep." (That's from memory, by the way) . We plan, we work, we memorize, we act, we pour our souls into the performance and what then? A group of people, already bored and daydreaming, is mildly entertained for one brief hour. After that, the set is returned, the lines forgotten, everything is as if the play had never been, save memory. And even that fades. It's a lot of work for little reward. You have to enjoy the process to make it worthwhile. And I can enjoy it, I'm just constantly reminded of the futility. We'll eventually forget it, it won't really be that great, I'll perform my pitiful role lifelessly, with feigned superficial emotion, and finally we'll move on. It's just too close to reality. It reminds me of my persistent delusion, trying to make the entire "production" seem worthwhile, when all the work has very little value.

Once again, though, I'm brought to the final verdict that one much enjoy the process. So I must remember this and strive to do so. *sigh* I just broke today. I was tired of trying to be responsible, trying to be controlled, trying to stem the horrible thoughts, feelings, and actions. Why should I make such an effort to understand, to help when it's needed, when it's as if so little is reciprocated? Because I want to. Why do I respond to the outpourings of one's soul with an elaborate, detailed response instead of an irreverent quip as most would? Because I want to. Why do try to act nicely and treat people as I'd like to be treated? Because I blasted want to. When I told Bonnie to "go to Hell", I didn't feel remorse, satisfaction, or vindication. I didn't really feel anything. What was the point in being cruel? There wasn't. And yet, Heaven forbid I expect the same from anyone else. In my negative mood, the stupidity and obliviousness of everyone just seemed to shine through. People are cruel. People are stupid. People just don't care. I used to think I was incredibly apathetic, but it turns out I actually care. I care about important things. Not always myself, not about being right, not about being the victor but about happiness, of myself and others. It's just hard when it seems like others are unable to reciprocate my feelings. When Bonnie's childish, guilt-tripping, and unreasonable, I feel like I ought to have a right to be like that too. Perhaps that's not it. I just feel frustration that I can't change it. I'm reminded of Erinelle, always saying she's sorry to end the argument. Why? Because no one else will. Life just shouldn't be that way. Why should one person always feel an obligation to be the "bigger man." The "smaller" ones never learn that they should. And yet, when you stand up, you're villanized. People refuse to change. Only you change, descending to their level. This afternoon, I didn't want to commits act of hate. I wanted to be loving, to be needy, to collapse on someone and have them take away my problems or tell me it didn't matter or something. But I can't do that. It's not the way things are done.

*sigh* And now I can't expect any of you to understand. Heck, the thought to try won't even enter the mind of the person(s) who really need to. It's infuriating. Living by example only goes so far. Perhaps some of you can grasp the despair and anger triggered by an existential pitfall. Perhaps some of you know what it's like to try to be nice, understanding, and helpful and seemingly never have it fully reciprocated. Maybe I just don't see it. Maybe I just don't accept help or know how to seek it. Maybe I know no one can help me but myself. Because my greatest burden is one with no right answer but "enjoy." And I want someone to answer it. It needs an answer. By all that is just, holy, and good there should be an answer other than "You're right. Just enjoy it while it lasts." Yet, as this time, the last time, the time before that and so on there isn't. All I can do is get over it. As I fall, my mind screams "Pull up! Pull up" yet I keep plunging. Perhaps the problem demands recognition if I ignore it too long.

I want to give up. I want to stop fighting, stop trying, stop living, stop dying each and every moment of existence. I want there to be permanence, to be something I can fall onto that will catch me and hold me up. But there's nothing. Before and after, there's only nothing. Or so my mind says, if that fickle advisor is to be believed. Is life but a precursor to nothing? Are we really "rounded with a Sleep?" Someone make me ignore the question. Someone distract me, cheer me, just be near me on some level so I won't feel so isolated and alone. You are, you must be, yet here I am sitting at my computer with no proof of anyone or thing's existence but myself. There is no formula, no equation that stands against the existential question. There is nothing. Before and after. But now, now I must play my role, bow to scattered, lukewarm applause, and depart the stage not to be seen again. A tragedy, comedy, romance, history it matters not. Why must I perform? Because my peers demand it? Because they need my presence and without me will plunge into despair and fail? Perhaps they can cope without me, they profess otherwise, but I'm not too sure. Is it because there's no other choice? There's always a choice. Perform or don't perform. And then, perform poorly or make it all it's worth. The more effort that is put in, the more that will come out. And then, looking back, one can be fully satisfied and move on to whatever else "outrageous fortune" throws our way. I'm sorry for what lines I've dropped, what wrong words I've spoken, what cues I've missed, what scenes my heart just wasn't in. But, all in all, the performance will be pretty good, don't you think?

I may not be a good actor, a good writer, a good teacher, a good lover, a good person, a good anything but then "nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so." Play your parts to your soul's content. I've lines to memorize.

The Second Coming is Nigh

Well, I suppose it's more of a "Second and a Half" coming, but whatever it is, winter break will be when it starts. Yes, "The Great Sleep" may once again descend upon my poor, wretched soul and dull all my senses and cares, abducting my soul and transporting into a glass box where I once again watch all that passes without emotion. But it'll give me something to do in my spare time, eh? Ah, dear me.

In case you haven't figured it out, I bought another MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game), and this one looks to capture my attention for more than a month unlike the last one. The last time I delved into the abyss of escapism that is one of these infernal fantasy parallels I was enveloped in a sleep so encompassing that I essentially ignored all but the game and school. The rest just didn't really matter. Then, when I broke the spell, everything I'd neglected (emotionally, philosophically, etc.) came down upon me in a colossal, immensely painful barrage. I'm a better person for it, but I fear another such sleep shall deprive me of the advances I've made. I don't know. On the way hand, it's entertaining. Heck, that's an understatement, these things are drugs that steal all of your spare time. If you let them. It's a creative outlet wherein one acts without getting nervous, memorizing lines, or anything. You simply make the story up as you go along in the confines of the world. It's the worst legal addiction I can imagine, if you let it be.

Of course, you can temper its effect. I just won't be as available (online/on AIM) as I've been the past year and a half. I guess I'll try to avoid playing too long, but one thing leads to another... Hopefully I'll pull myself at 10PM, since that seems to be AIM primetime. If you need me, I write a mean email, so vent it all in there and you'll get a typical Dylan response.

Meh, it might not be this extreme. I just fear the worse. We'll see. Try to pull me away, at least temporarily, cause I know I'll need it. But I look at winter break and summer break, and I can't forsee me doing much else but being on the computer. It may as well be focused, I guess. *sigh* I don't know. I want to do so much, learn the accordion, write something I know is powerful and beautiful, love and be loved in return, be there for everyone that needs me, and stay entertained. But I don't know if I can do all of it. I guess it depends on how far others are willing to go, as is usually the case with me. Make the effort and I'll try to respond in kind. That just means you have to make the first step. So... write me, talk to me when given the elusive chance, try to let me help you, and in turn you will be helping me. I don't have to get sucked into the void like last time. I can watch the players dance, throw in my own lines, but still remain necessarily detached, but only if you help me. Be my bungee cord. I'll be immensely grateful.

Creepy

Next time you're alone, confused, scared, and downright bewildered with some freak of existence, perhaps you should take a moment and ask yourself: Is it creepier than

THIS!!!??



That's right. LBJ in a dress. I was wondering who was the perceived recent President most likely to wear a dress, and that would be Jimmy Carter. But the one that would be the most surprising, and therefore the one who probably actually wore dresses, was LBJ himself. I can only imagine he and Richard Nixon having a little slumber party, doing each others' hair and nails, gossiping about all the other people in Washington. So whenever LBJ got too stressed out, he went back to his schoolgirl days and put on a dress. He was then transported to a simpler time, one of peace, tranquilty, and crossdressing *shudder*Props to Meredith. May the image haunt your very soul through Hell and back.

"Does the North Sea have water in it?" - An intriguing question actually asked by one of Mr. Combs' students. Think about it. But as soon as the suicidal urges get too much to bear, turn away and read some Stephen Hawking. That's the only cure I can fathom. *shudder* I guess in a few years I'll get questions like... "So... can 2+2 ever not equal 4?" "Yes. But the only way you'll discover the other answers is to let me hit you in the head with this salmon I conveniently have stored under my desk." Oh what fun...

Help!

Alright, in 10 short minutes visiting Elizabeth's house to record things, I learned quite a bit and most of it's disturbing:

1. I don't like imposing. At all. On anyone. I can't stand uncertainty like that. I get all nervous and anxious and that, in turn, just makes others uncomfortable. I feel absolutely dreadful during and afterwards. And that brings me to my next point.

2. I use suicide as a defense mechanism. When I feel too conflicted or that I've unnecessarily inconvenienced/harmed/insulted someone else I immediately consider suicide just so I'll never do it again. I realize what I'm doing, and I try to remember that there are people who would be quite hurt if I did, but I rationalize and think they'll get over it. It'll stir some good morbid creativity, maybe spur on a fantastic, successful artistic career. Nasty little things, brains. Anyway, I do this almost everytime I get upset at myself because I've done something to someone else. When I've disappointed someone, when I've come into their home unexpectedly, when I've made them uncomfortable (especially people I barely know) I just jump to suicide. Fortunately I'm so paranoid of failure I won't do it unless it's certain, but it still bothers me. I don't exactly know how to fix it. I guess I need more confidence? Maybe more perspective? I don't know... I just want to drop on my hands and knees and tell people I'm so sorry for any slight I may have inflicted upon them. Of course most people I know aren't so lucky to receive that sentiment, unless it really is something rather damaging. Bleh. Suggestions would be welcome (on the discomfort. The suicide mechanism is not going to go away until I have clearly defined responsibilities like a job/family that needs me. I just don't value my life that much).

3. And apparently, no one found it appropriate to tell me how nasally and nerd-like my voice really sounded. I mean, really. It's terrible! I sound like a frickin' nerd! It's the nastyess thing... I should just stop talking all together. Typing, writing, and hand signals all the way. Bleh. Bleh I say! Maybe I should try Claritin. I know I can't smell. Hmph.

And that's about it. Now, for the quote of the day:
Me: My young body wants to commit felonies!
Lauren: and indeed it will.
Lauren: just as soon as shakespeare is out of the picture

Cheers!

Innocence A-Bored

EtrnalLstBoy (David Sugue): Alright, Dyl.
EtrnalLstBoy: Time to run the gauntlet.
IndubitablyDyl: paper time!
EtrnalLstBoy: Exactly.
EtrnalLstBoy: And you'd know. Is there a site that does a search of Knoxville libraries?
IndubitablyDyl: yes
IndubitablyDyl: http://cat.knoxlib.org/uhtbin/cgisirsi/Hl3WhnpMYL/293200236/60/1180/X
EtrnalLstBoy: I'm almost amazed you had that favorited.
IndubitablyDyl: heh
IndubitablyDyl: I have to renew a lot
EtrnalLstBoy: ...
EtrnalLstBoy: Right.
EtrnalLstBoy: Well.
EtrnalLstBoy: They have the book I need.
EtrnalLstBoy: At DOWNTOWN.
IndubitablyDyl: Hooray!
EtrnalLstBoy: Does that mean the one in downtown K-Town?
IndubitablyDyl: Downtown, life can be great when you're, Downtown!
IndubitablyDyl: Yes.
IndubitablyDyl: Lawson McGhee
EtrnalLstBoy: Goodie goodie gumdrops.
EtrnalLstBoy: My life is filled with happiness and sunshine.
EtrnalLstBoy: Hooray.
IndubitablyDyl: Hooray!
EtrnalLstBoy: I'm assuming that since you're not trying to stop this misadventure that it's open today.
IndubitablyDyl: Yes
IndubitablyDyl: From 1 to 5
IndubitablyDyl: Mayve 12 to 5
EtrnalLstBoy: Whoa.
IndubitablyDyl: I can't remember
EtrnalLstBoy: Them's banker's hours.
IndubitablyDyl: It is Sunday
EtrnalLstBoy: And they're supposed to bend to my every whim!
IndubitablyDyl: You never call, you never write, what do you expect?
EtrnalLstBoy: For them to obey my every whim.
IndubitablyDyl: Why would they? These things take commitment. They're not family, they've no obligation!
EtrnalLstBoy: Wait.
EtrnalLstBoy: Are we still talking about the library, or strippers?
IndubitablyDyl: Yes.
EtrnalLstBoy: Strippers in the library?
IndubitablyDyl: It's like a convenience market for undesirables!
IndubitablyDyl: There's strippers and hobos galore!
IndubitablyDyl: Stripping is a night job; what do you expect from them during the day?
EtrnalLstBoy: Oof.
EtrnalLstBoy: Type?
IndubitablyDyl: Type? You mean being a secretary?
EtrnalLstBoy: No.
IndubitablyDyl: They're brave, but even strippers can't take that level of harassment
EtrnalLstBoy: Type, as in type, if ya know what I mean.
IndubitablyDyl: I have no idea what you mean.
EtrnalLstBoy: Then you're too much of an innocent.
IndubitablyDyl: I must be. Am I innocent enough to be sacrificed?
EtrnalLstBoy: Nono.
EtrnalLstBoy: You still need your virginity.
IndubitablyDyl: But I have...er...by some definitions surely....well.... ok. Fine. No volcanos for me. Happy?
EtrnalLstBoy: Not really.
EtrnalLstBoy: I learned too much today.
IndubitablyDyl: And you haven't even started your paper!
IndubitablyDyl: You'll combust by the end of today!
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup.
EtrnalLstBoy: Ah, well.
IndubitablyDyl: At midnight, I suppose
IndubitablyDyl: Cause we won't finish until at least then I'm sure
EtrnalLstBoy: Self-immolation's the way to go.
EtrnalLstBoy: We still have little more than a week.
IndubitablyDyl: I prefer mania myself.
IndubitablyDyl: Yeah, but if we are consciously aware of that we'll never get the paper done today.
IndubitablyDyl: So we have to pretend it's due tomorrow.
EtrnalLstBoy: Still, my friend, it's better to get some today.
IndubitablyDyl: hehe...you said "get some"....
EtrnalLstBoy: Then burn ourselves trying to do it all.
EtrnalLstBoy: BAH.
EtrnalLstBoy: *get some done
IndubitablyDyl: ;)
IndubitablyDyl: Sure Davy, sure...
IndubitablyDyl: Yeah, I need to start...I mean continue... memorizing my lines
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup yup.
EtrnalLstBoy: I've got...
EtrnalLstBoy: One line down.
EtrnalLstBoy: Maybe 2.
IndubitablyDyl: Yes! You're not ahead of me!
IndubitablyDyl: I was worried, because if you, of all people, are ahead of me I'd be doomed.
EtrnalLstBoy: I don't know if I should be amused at that or not.
IndubitablyDyl: I dunno either, I can't remember which of us procrastinate more
EtrnalLstBoy: Corey.
IndubitablyDyl: No
IndubitablyDyl: He had to have all his lines memorized awhile ago
IndubitablyDyl: He's got a fascist group.
EtrnalLstBoy: Oof.
EtrnalLstBoy: Isn't he doing Merchant?
IndubitablyDyl: Nope.
IndubitablyDyl: He's MacBeth, just like you.
EtrnalLstBoy: Aiya.
IndubitablyDyl: A sad day indeed...
IndubitablyDyl: But, look at it this way, we've only got one week of real work to go!
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup.
IndubitablyDyl: Then we finish Econ and Calculus
IndubitablyDyl: And it's winter break time!
EtrnalLstBoy: Then we can go back to coasting through Calculus.
IndubitablyDyl: Yep.
EtrnalLstBoy: Oh, and do you know...
IndubitablyDyl: And after that you can get intimate with your video games and I can make a few prison calls to see if I can slip Meredith a file or spoon through the bars...

(Wish us luck! The AP English classes are going to be cranky and irrate for the next week and a half, so be warned! They do bite.)

Hello Darkness my Old Friend

You know, I like Math because it's easy. Not, perhaps, in execution, but in conclusion. In math, there is one right answer. There are no difficult choices, no ambiguity, no ethical dilemmas, no alternate conclusions. I don't have to make choices in math. There is an appropriate method, tried and true, for each problem. There may be simple complexities, but they're easily identified and dealt with if you have the tools.

Life is not so simple. Although I'm sure to some higher power it would be possible, I lack the ability to isolate aspects of a complex situation and eventually arrive at a satisfactory conclusion. I can destroy parts, but then the result isn't as pleasant as it needs to be. So I shy away from the difficult questions with no right answers. I try not to answer them and hope they'll become simpler as time goes on, or perhaps someone else will answer them for me. But no one does, I'm afraid. My problems are my own, and I have to answer them myself. I can rationalize most any action I could take, from callous destruction of emotion to suicide (I repeated myself, a pity...) and actually believe the logic is sound. The sad part is, you wouldn't be able to convince me otherwise. I'd forgotten how good I was at misery and justifying it. I can tell I've changed, though, because now I don't let myself get away with it. I see my little escape routes for what they are, and after brief struggles I try to do the right thing. The problems recur, though, and I need support. I'm just afraid to lean on people because I know I'll break most of them, for when I get negative I get really negative. So I stand on my own two feet, trying to bear the burden alone. There is no "dylan and someone" to stand by me and prop me up. I'm just "D- M-." Or "Washington Irving", depending.

Meh. Optimistic realism is the goal, so let's swim towards it. Things will get better if we let them. In fact, they're already quite good with the right perspective. When you're given a tool you've got to use it productively, not hurt yourself with it. Me hammering my fingers instead of the nail with reason and sawing of hands instead of boards with rationale will only lead to more bleeding. Being positive is ever so much better than pessimism. My father's shown me that. The second mouse gets the cheese, eh?

To Grandparents' House I Go

Be back Saturday. Have a good Thanksgiving everyone. Be safe, be happy, and be thankful I'm not a serial killer. Yet... Cheers!

"Don't underestimate my sanity." -Belinda, my oboe teacher.

"All children want me for Christmas." -Meredith, on her middle name whose origin is from a fictious pony of her mother's childhood fantasies.

And the Dylan said...

"RAWR!!!"

Bleh. Apparently UT offers a scholarship to National Merit Semifinalists and Finalists (of $4000 and $8000 respectively) if they choose UT as their first choice college. I put Maryville as my first choice. So all I can do now is hope the little postcard reaches the National Merit people in time to change my choice. If it works, I'll have $16000 guaranteed, no competitive scholarships required. I wouldn't be taking money from those who might deserve it more, and if I made Finalist college would be completely free! It just angers me that I didn't know sooner. Ah well. What will be will be. Better now than never, eh?

AAAAAHHHHH

Calculus (4 sections), Economics, and TONS and TONS of ENGLISH!!!!!!!!!!!

And someone's hidden my glove.

I want next semester.... *sigh*

The Eternal Debate

I defy you.
Who, me?
Yes. As usual.
What did I do to you?
Everything. You and the others.
Don't bring them into this, they're nothing like me.
Their ends are.
So the means don't matter?
Not this time.
You can't do this. You need me. You are me.
No, you are a part of me. Not the definition, not the foundation. You are a tumor, a cancer that needs to be removed.
Shut up! Just Shut Up! You're wrong. You always are. This isn't my fault. You let me exist. You need me.
I can do without you. I need very few things. You are not one of them.
Oh. I see. She's better than me, is that it? You'd prefer that hussy, that tramp, that loose harlot to me?
Yes. Infinitely.
She'll desert you, you know. She'll toy with you, caress you, make you her own. And then *poof!* Gone. Like a flash of light. Here, then vanished. You think you're happy? YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPINESS IS!
Ah. And I suppose you do?
I know what misery is. I know what pain is. I know what sadness is.
It's beautiful.
It's agonizing.
Sunlight alone is not required for survival. We need rain as well. Why should one's soul be different?
Risks? YOU? What's next? Gambling? Alcohol? Sex? Ah, yes, your hormones have taken over. You want the forbidden; the "impassable" walls you've built around it have made it all the more desirable. You want to be "connected" and lose the distance. The run alone will kill you, if the trap at the end doesn't. You'll ruin your life before it starts. You'll ruin others in the process. You'll fail and drag the rest of the world down with you.
I can limit myself, stop myself if need be. I won't ignore you. I just won't heed you without doubt.
Doubt? I am doubt! How do you doubt doubt?
I simply do, and it is done.
Hah. Lies. You've been listening to lies. She's got you wrapped around her finger. And soon, when your head rests upon her pristine thumb she'll squish you like a bug. I am the medium. I protect you from deception. You hate deception.
But I love love.
Another deception. You don't love anything except yourself. This isn't about anything but you. You're a king of fools, and your reign will soon come to an end.
Is it better to be the highest of fools or the lowest?
A fool is a fool is a fool.
If the fool's happy, I'd say a fool is anything but.
Are we back to happiness again? That silly, fickle notion. Happiness is a drug. And the high will decrease more and more as time passes. You'll have to put in more effort for less benefit until you're just another zombie in a dreary life, slaving away, waiting for death without the courage to admit it.
And without love, what am I?
You're content. That doesn't fade, once obtained. It's malleable. It takes minimal work. There is little risk in being content. There's an incredible risk in happiness. The higher you go, the harder you'll fall.
And what of it? I'll mend my wounds and climb right back up. Love is a surprisingly effective panacea for the soul.
Hah, are all Romantics such idiots?
Are all skeptics so blind?
She'll build you up, tear you down, and destroy the temple you've so painstakingly builty. You've achieved your goal. Do you want all that effort, that ideal to be desecrated beyond recognition?
Goals change. I want more.
Quit while you're ahead.
I may be a head, but a head alone is not the goal. A head and a heart is the ideal.
You'll lose.
Maybe. But the season's just started. There are plenty of games to play. And I just need one victory.
You'll never win.
Neither will you.
I won't lose.
You already have.

Quote for the Day

In case I forget:

Lauren: i can't wait to exchange spit with someone on private property!

Remind me

To write a poem on Faith someday. It's a quality I sorely lack. I suppose it comes from my traditional individuality where I depend only on myself, emotionally, for support. I dunno... I just have a hard time believing assertions that have doubts cast upon them. Even the tiniest doubt, and I plummet into a hole of insecurity and paranoia. Things that I can't truely know, that I can see ways around, I have a hard time believing. This makes it difficult for others to continually make me believe them, because I'm well aware of how fast people can change. So while I believe, immediately, most anything people (who have given me no reason to distrust them) say, that belief doesn't last long for I fear the person's feeling shall fade almost minutes after they've stated it. I need almost constant reassurance on matters that are truly important to me. And not lackluster or trite claims, but fervent declarations. I just can't have continual faith in things I can never know without proof constantly provided. Opinions, viewpoints, and people can change without me knowing or recognizing (for oblivious is certainly an apt term for me). It's a horrible weakness. Kelly called it a "defense mechanism" because I'm too paranoid to put much trust in others. I dunno, I'll trust others with temporal tasks, but in matters of heart and spirit I suppose that's apt. So to those who I doubt, who I question, who I fail because I can't believe them I'm sorry. You'll have to deal with it probably forever. I'm just ... me.

Catching Up

Me: Not that you'd ever threaten small children with a savage, underfed dog.
Brie: of course not. the person who would do that has a very sick mind.
Brie: (i like blood.)

Yesterday's quotes:
"You're the best loser I know." -Meredith
"Cause that's what I do at work. I take off my clothes." -Kelly

Yesterday was wonderful. That's all I have to say on the subject. Otherwise, I still hate Economics and I'm glad we'll be halfway through tomorrow. In summary, Cheers! Be happy!

Quotes for Today

Just some quotes I wrote down. I might start writing down more, maybe on my hand. If it works for Meredith...

"I am a hot Asian woman." -Michael Culpepper

"It's not classical. So it's crap." -Katheryn Van Eenam on her spontaneously formed Dichotomous Key for good music.

Angst Free's the Way to Be!

Ah, dear me. I had some nice angst that would have been perfect blog material, but I'm afraid it was all purged fairly quickly. Negative emotions have been remarkably easy to get over recently. Imagine that, eh? This weekend was good. It was a solidly good weekend. I don't really think it requires much elaboration. In fact, most things other than school are good now. Next semester, I think everything will be good. Except the impending college choice, but pretty much if UT (tuition, room, and board) is free, that'll probably be my choice. I think it'll be a fine school. Especially after seeing the people at Maryville. We'll see, I suppose. It's an experience I'm rather ambivalent about. Hopefully it'll go well.

Meh, not much to say. With all the pressure for my English projects, most of my creativity has been suffocating, so entries will probably be pretty limited. It's odd, for me at least, since I'm generally pretty frequent with blog updates. I guess I'm just becoming normal, eh? Ah, time... At least I'm enjoying it now. Whatever drugs you people have been feeding me must be working! Keep it up! (New poll by the way. Soon to come: complete quizzes!)

Momma just killed

30 minutes talking to me about college. Another in a long stream of conversations aimed at trying to get to me "realize my potential." Similiar to the "eat more" argument, nothing much resulted. It is interesting to wonder what might have happened if determinism hadn't raped my poor naive soul and stolen my ambition and most of my joys. Perhaps I'd be applying to some prestigious universities on a track to dramatically change and/or better the world. Or perhaps I'd be boring, monotonous, and doomed to a stressful, difficult, and thoroughly unrewarding future. Who knows, maybe I already am! Surely not though. Like with my eating predicament, I just have different priorities from most people. Grand accomplishments don't sound all that enticing. Large salaries seem wasted on such a staunch anti-materialist. A high quality education would be like dumping gold in a bathtub in the hope it will turn into a vault. I'd retain it for a few years, but eventually it'd all go down the drain. No, my only goals are to entertain myself and affect others. And when you're required to be in contact with someone for around an hour and a half a day for 90days, you're bound to rub off just a bit on some people. At least one can hope.

Ah, idle Friday nights. The most depressing night of the week. I have work that could be done, but no pressure to do it. I can drive, I could do something, but I don't really want to. I dunno. Depression's hold is tenuous at best, nowadays. It's more of a superficial feeling, something that weighs down, but does not suffocate. There's that pleasantly warm force trying to push its way through, but it's had its share of glory this week. The depression will have to stick around for a bit before being cast off once again. Maybe it's all this depressing music... sad songs are pretty, but they aren't all that great for your mental health. Oh, here's a good choice! The Partridge Family's "Come on Get Happy!" Yes, I'm a dork. But I'm a happier person for it! Wait, it's only one minute... "I THINK I LOVE YOU!" That's a song that more people should listen too... What am I so afraid of? Honestly, I don't know. I can take most anything. I may as well enjoy whatever I have now. "Doesn't somebody want to be wanted like me?" I'm sure they do. And I have my suspicions... This is almost a train of thought exercise. Even though it takes you 2 seconds to read the sentence that encompasses 2 or 3 minutes. Intriguing, no? "I woke up in love this morning. Went to sleep with you on my mind." Sleep and love... Let's resume that dream some other time... Oh, here's an old favorite. Roy Orbison. The Big O. Right now, it's "Penny Arcade", a neat little song that hardly anyone has ever heard. I like it though. "Step up and Play, these machines seem to say"... Sounds applicable to Mr. Ross, eh? Come on 7's, Daddy needs a new mocha latte! They are ever so expensive, you know. Roy's got some pretty sad songs, though. Loneliness, heartbreak... He's a companion for some other time. Not a very pleasant other time, I might add, so not wanting to listen to Roy is probably a good thing. "I am a Rock, I am an Island." This island's been raided by Pirates, I'm afraid. Not required anymore either... Hmm... Whoa! I have "Day-O!" Who knew? Me and my library CDs... I get so many, I copy em to the computer, I forget about them, and then.... there they are! "Daylight and I want to go home." Heh, there's not much daylight anymore. It's almost depressing. Primo-poem material, I'm sure. Another night maybe. This is a non-depressing night, though. So... let's skip on up to "Here Comes the Sun" (dootin do do). Ah, the Beatles. I'm not asm much of a die-hard fan as my sister, but they certainly do have their moments. Many of them, in fact. Speaking of sun's, let try "Early in the Morning" by Peter, Paul, and Mary, since I'll be up early tomorrow (silly oboe lessons. Why do you continue to taunt me?). Hmm... "Paradise" by Jim Ringer. A peculiar folk song. It's got that sort of nostalgic, epic feel. "Daddy won't you take me back to Mulenberg County, down by the green river where paradise lay. I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in askin', Mr. Peabody's coal train just hauled it away." It's beautiful, like sad songs are. But mellowing. It has to be tempered, or I'll end in tears. Or at least wishes. Wishes are my tears, I suppose. But that's a poem for another day too. I need some religion tonight. "Eternal Day" by some church group in Alabama in the 50's. The words aren't really distinguishable, but the fervor and feeling behind it make it worth listening to. It's powerful in a strong way, not a melancholy, pleasant way. Not "beautiful", but charging. For a more... peaceful tune, I turn to "Cercate Il Suo Volto." It has the words of John Paul II accompanied by music. He's not singing, but he has a sort of kind, hopeful, knowing voice that makes him pleasant to listen to. Ah, dear me. Religion should be about kindness, hope, and calming. It's a shame Hell has to get involved. Now for something a bit more upbeat... Weird Al's "I Lost on Jeopardy." He certainly did. "Against a plumber and an architect, both with a PhD." I watched Amy on Jeopardy and was still amazed even though she did lose. That sort of presence of mind and knowledge... you academic kids are crazy! Speaking of which, I'd better end up tonight so why not with "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by the Darkness, who really aren't all that dark. "Touching you, touching me." How apt for me. "I want to kiss you every minute, every hour, every day." That doesn't leave much time to sleep, eat, or work does it? Doesn't sound very hygenic either. Hmm. I wonder how many of you are still with me and aren't skimming and/or finished by now. If you stuck around, congratulations! You win me listening to crazy rock music. Because I think that's the greatest prize of all. Meh, on second thought, I'd better temper this with some Don McLean. *sigh* "And I Love You So." Yes, that's right. He wrote something other than "American Pie" that was good. So I guess that knowledge alone is prize enough? "But I don't let the evening get me down. Now that you're around me." Good idea, Don. This evening's not getting me down any longer! And that, ladies and gents, is how I went from depressed to ready for a night of nothing with a positive, happy attitude! Maybe some of you can follow the example. I hope you will. Wow, this is the longest paragrah I've written, I dare say. It must have been hard to read. So more kudos for you! I could separate the text, but then it would lose that modernist charm. Ain't Modernism great? "And people ask me how, how I've lived til now. I tell them I don't know." I don't know either Don. I just don't know.

It's like a Foreign Language!

-Mer on Biomedical Ethics.

Ah me. I read over some of the things I write and they're either angsty or they remind me of a little girl. I guess it's because the non-angst stuff is a tad simplistic, but pure because I try not to corrupt it. There are some words and phrases that might make it more complex, but they would adulterate the meaning. So even though what I write often seems too disjointed and incomplete, I'll take it over dirty complexities.

Speaking of dirty complexities, there was some comical movement on that front today. No, not my sex life (still in the prenatal stage, thank Allah) you silly people. I was kicked out of the library today. As many people know, I've signed fake names for over a year. Well, the librarians finally had enough and kicked me out (after I signed the first name of a student other than my own, the infamous "Ellen Lofaro" of Loaded Questions fame (she knows why). Although I don't think that's the reason they called me out). They're justified, I have been disobeying and making their lives a tad difficult, but I had my reasons. I mean, their purpose is to keep track of how many people use the room and maybe keep track of who's where. But it's a completely flawed system. You can sign-in multiple times, use almost real names of people who don't exist, and write so sloppily no one at all will know who you are without getting caught. It's just because I'd done it so consistently that they knew I was doing it. I might have reverted, but they're so uptight and mean about most everything. They don't ask, they demand. They don't laugh, they scold. They get angry. And I just don't respond well to anger. When people get angry at me I generally stop respecting their opinions. I don't like the negativity. It can just be handled better. So I kept on not "behaving my age", and they finally got tired of it. But have no fear, I'm not beaten. I'll go in tomorrow, meek and arrogant at the same time, and sign my real name. Then, gradually, I'll warp it to "Dylam Neggs" and " Mylad Seggm" when they stop checking everyday. I'll write it really sloppy too, to make them question whether I'm writing it wrong or just improperly. Things would have been a lot easier if they'd just asked my name when they found I was doing it (I come in most everyday, afterall), and said "Oh, that Dylan!" and wrote my real name since my handwriting's pretty distinct. But no, their sense of order and mindnumbing desire for law overcame whatever minute sense of humor they have. People who can't take some dissent with some laughter just annoy me...

Ah well. It was part of what made my day, at any rate. You probably wouldn't believe the other part if I told you. So I won't. The year keeps slipping along, and for some reason for every smidge it gets worse, something else counteracts it to make it quite a bit better. My stars...

Edit: I still don't think the librarians know my name after all this time. I do declare...

Star Light, Star Bright

As I travel my usual path, I'm overcome by a queer sense of despair, a loneliness I'm thoroughly unfamiliar with. Everything seems so much darker... so frightening. And I, I walk alone. Afraid, almost, of this bleak new world. What has changed? Why is it so... cold. So... dark.

I hadn't even noticed the moon's absence. I never really respected its light, until now. In fact, I never embraced the sun. I called it names, taunted it, begged it to leave me be. And when it left, the moon's light still assaulted my eyes. It was a burden. Yet now it's gone. The light, the warmth, the normality all... gone. The world is dark and cold. And I... I am alone.

The world’s sun is gone, so I turn to my star. My warmth. My sun. My moon. My light. But woe, it too is eclipsed. Some planet of more vibrant hues, greater size, larger orbit, with stronger, grander rings has passed between us. The star is not at fault, no, but still we are distant. I paid no attention to its absence, when the sun was shining and the moon lent its soft, lunar glow to the world. But now all I see are distant stars, so very far away. Where did my star go? I never realized how much warmth it had. A much needed commodity, on a night like tonight.

Ah, me. When the sun shines, a star is but a bonus. When the moon beams, a star is a comfort. But when all light fades, a star is a shining beacon against the darkness of this fickle, eternal cycle. The sun shows its shining face less and less; the once full moon is sliced night by night until finally not even a sliver remains. Then we appreciate our stars. As we stroll along on these empty nights, we seek them out. And those that have them are truly blessed.

Alas, my star is faded. I wish not on a star, but for it. Yet wishes are not realities. So I walk, alone, cold, dark. I know I too have left my star, continued on my own orbit, as it must travel its. It too has suffered as I do now. But if absence makes the heart grow fonder, let my heart stop growing and end this wretched absence! I like my star. No, I love it.

It sounded a bit better as I actually spoke it, while walking, earlier. Ah, coincidence. Sometimes a situation just... aligns. Stars and moons and suns are more the materials of poems, but I've no time for a poem, tonight. Prose shall have to suffice. For now. Dear me, parity is a cruel mistress.

Bored

My classes are beginning to bore me. The only times Calculus is entertaining is when I get to take a test or quizzes. Otherwise, nada. But I still have to do the homework. Meh, go figure. However, in my near delirious state of mental idleness, to prevent myself from falling asleep I wrote some prose-etry. So here they are, uneditted (including gramatical mistakes), straight from the class discussed. Enjoy! (I'll warn ya now, it's a tad... odd. In a bad way. But that's public school for you, eh? New poll up, by the way.)

4 f(e)=A=r 0*f #
A Calculus Crypt

Although I am tempted, I dare not sleep, for troubles of old and Newton shall plague. I phase in and then out, round and about the room to preserve my reserve of patience. I ponder and plea for some activity that shall waken my poor soul from slumber, but regretfully it appears to me that this Calculus still has my number. Alas and alack, my slumped over back leaves my head to look for a pillow, but since she's off track and my mind's on the rack, I'm required to weep with the willow. And cries I now write for I no longer fight the boredom and idle depression, but though it sounds trite and is devoid of bite, my thoughts creep into rhyming recession.STOP I declare, for I'm going somewhere in which dreams overcome every difference and sum, and I still question why we all multiply every figure and shape in each plane and planescape in a binary code, a numerical ode, to a one and some zeros, our nihilistic heores, all counting the days till our greens turn to grays and I stand up and SCREAM
THEY ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM! "No use, all," is the morbid last call. Drink to me darling with a twinkle of eye and your Romantic sigh-ed of the story.

Econ, The Do

I demand to know why I supply an answer right in my mind's eye that's right when I use common cents that I have never earned. Earned, then spurned, is how this works, with bureacrats and business jerks all plying, trying, crying, lieing, buying my soul and entire whole attention span to dollar signs and whines of unemployed landminds planted within these coded pages, stirring rages, closing cages on what I was sure was true. But you, you fury causing thought that ought not to supply its quantity of persistence in sustaining its sad existence solely spreading lies intended to be known as fact. A fact? A fact! No use of tact is used when reality abused is defied and warped and lied upon its shell. Theories, theories, queries teary mindeyes. I find that now I've been turned blind, like Justice with her laws and rules, but all the these new rules are formed by fools who believe no God, so odd, yet blindly trust that rust shall not adulterate the rate of change in time of this out of control rhyme that deals in, but makes, no cents.

Economic Eccentricities

Fingers sans toes, whoever knows to press the keys to success. It's a breeze to cough and wheeze out notes from throats exhaling zounds of different sounds. A missed key here unlocks a trapdoor of discord that hides beneath the floor. A cry, a scream, a minor sigh of dark romance to dance and prance and waltz with faults of step in the 3/4 march of life "Hup One, hup three", he yells at me, and I don't care for his notes or stare as I unload a barrage of staccato bullets aimed at his heart. It's a start, in this sonorous war, but I fear it won't end before the double bar of death. I practice C's and miseries for coming concerts of despair and symphonies of agonies, oh listener beware! A masterpiece of writing, a sonata of silence, a concerto of nothing, a soundless,
e
m
p
t
y

VOID

Sin

My greatest sin is envy. You were expecting gluttony, right? From most appearances, it might be sloth. But there are some things, important things, that I do do. I see sloth as not doing what has to be done. I do what I need to, I just don't do it promptly. I've too little self-esteem for pride, I repress all the lust I can, I don't think badly of others often enough to get angry, and I'm any but greedy for material possessions.

So that leaves envy. And I have it bad. Mainly I'm envious of power. Not exactly physical power, or political, or the "traditional" uses of the word. I want to be able to create/perform works that have real power. I see so many who can and do, and since I feel inadequate in that regard, I'm envious instead of appreciative. It takes away from other people's accomplishments so because I try to find flaws to make myself feel better. Or I don't at all, and I slip and slide down a watery plastic slope of depression. Oh the grass stains on my fragile frame, believe you me.

I suppose the desire for power is rooted in my lack of purpose. For those who might not have picked up on my oh so subtle hints, the main reason I'm still living is delusion. The problem is, I see the delusion and know I'm doing it, so it doesn't work all that well. I crave a meaning, or at the very least a tangible, concrete value. I shouldn't, I have meaning to at least a few people, but I want to be able to affect more. It's like a futile obsession, because I'll never believe it when I do, if I actually did it would fade so fast it would be equitable to worthless, and it's all dust on the wind after a few years anyway.

I don't know, I listen to a song, see a movie, watch an actor, read a book, and I'm moved. I want to do that to other people. It's at once a depressant, an impetus, and an inspiration. And when I face my failure (whether it's just perception or actually existant), I just become more envious of those who succeed.

Really, I've been falling back on my novel a whole lot. I keep thinking "this will be the culmination, this will be the ideas and affect I want to achieve. This will be exactly what I want to create so I can rest easy for the duration of my life, living my piddly little anticlimatic math teacher goal but not caring I'm not something more because I have created something good." And there's where it gets even worse. I'll write my novel and get feedback (I'll probably have you all do surveys). Now, the positive I won't believe. Especially if it's lukewarm, unenthused, "polite" positive. Don't give me that. I want truthful results, but I obviously want them to be good too. So I'll try to put a great deal of effort into this. You know Perse, in all its 40+ pages, only had about 20000 words? I want to at least double that. This thing is going to be... different. I'm looking forward to it more than I've looked forward to much of anything in recent memory. And yet, I know it will be a huge letdown. But... we'll see. Be honest. I'm a paranoid, timid little ball of nerves.

Oh dear.

Quick Thought for the Day:

Was the first person to say "No guts, no glory" an organ donor?

When Vice Principals go Mad on Radio (Or Madness at the Polls)

"Breaker 19, Breaker 19, this is Sugar Cube, we've got a domestic disturbance in front of the auditorium, over."
"Sugar Cube, this is Salt Block, do you need back up, over?"
"Salt Block, we have two males approximately 15 years of age apparently quarrelling over whether twinkies are more delicious than the blood of the innocent. They have crowbars, I'm going in, over."
"Sugar Cube, I'm calling in the Tazer-Guard, OVER."
"Salt Block, I'm gonna have to use my broadsword to control the situation OVER!"
"Sugar Cube, I need you to abort the mission, I repeat, ABORT OVER."
"Salt Block, I'm currently engaged in a firefight with malatov cocktails and a whole lotta hand grenades, I'm sending in the assassin kangaroos, OVER!"
"ABORT Sugar Cube, ABORT!"
"Breaking the line... can't take... kamikaze chimapanzees.... need.... more... VODKA!!!"
"WE HAVE NO LIQUOR!!! ONLY FRUIT PUNCH, OVER!"
"THE LIBERTARIANS ARE EVERYWHE-" *crash* *pop* *BANG* *BANG*
"Sugar Cube? Sugar Cube! NOOOOO"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Heh, I got bored yesterday. Really, really bored. So that's one of the five "pieces" I wrote on a whim. It was kinda fun.

Anyway, election didn't turn out "as planned." There were no epic cataclysms, Ragnarok did not occur, nor did I transcend my physical form to the blissful angelic state that awaits my wayward soul. But Shannondale did get a Badnarik vote, so it's all good baby! I was depressed this morning, but Cardboard proved a wonderful cure to what ailed me, so I'm in good spirits. Tomorrow, and most of the rest of the semester, looks pretty bleak. English, Calculus, Economics, and Band all involve more work and/or boredom than I'd prefer in an average day. It's especially bad since I'm mostly decided on what I'll do in and after college, so I've little incentive to work now. Go figure.

Other than that, not much else is new. My mother said one of the most painful things to me after reading my letters (I may post another sometime) from yesterday: "Forget Math, you should be a writer." Some people have so much nerve...

Finally, I bought a pirate game at Gameboard today! (We went to the mall to perform that dreaded ritual of futility, clothes shopping. But no pants would fit me at JCPenny, so I get to go pantsless! Or I'll have to borrow some of yours. Hey, we teenage boys want in people's pants for a good reason!) Anyway, it's a neat little game. Hopefully I can set it up in Cardboard next time. Hope to see you all there!

The End

-Saturday July 4, 2074
John Stephenson, AP Columnist

A cold wind blew over the gathering. As the coffin was lowered, tears filled eyes of even the most stoic among us. It was over. He was over. The crazy dream turned reality that had been a career no one, except perhaps Mr. Meggs himself, believed was possible, had finally ended. The priest said a simple, quaint eulogy and the final page turned. With a sigh, I returned home to my apartment, introspectively questioning what all this vast mystery of life was really about. I couldn't help but turn back, and with a touch of sadness, I released one last "Hooey."

Or not. That would have been all too poetically just, but as romantic as that sounds if there's one thing that man taught me, it's that humor is the only thing that should be constant in one's life. No, Meggs having an ordinary funeral would be about as appropriate as him being a novelist, politician, comedian, or even Nobel Prize winning trash collector. Although from the looks of it, each one of those and more was present at what can best be described as a "Finally a Vacation!" party. Revolutionary? Hardly. Appropriate? You bet your shiny metal britches!

D- Meggs grew up the impoverished son of a textile worker in Southern Alabama who was forced to teach himself during his youth so he wouldn't suffer from the “inadequacy” that was the Alabaman school system. Although he failed third grade thrice, he lucky in the fact that his teacher decided he was advanced enough to proceed to the public high school. While there, he enjoyed an illustrious career of breaking hearts, skulls, and records for an astonishing amount of sexual deviancy. Although he barely passed all of his math classes, he decided to pursue the subject because it was an area in which he didn't fear change. As he said, "If 2+2 starts equaling 5, then I'll still be right half the time." He graduated last in his class from a local college, moved to Knoxville because of a blood debt and what appeared to be an illegal child with his Puerto Rican man slave who had family in Nashville, and pursued an illustrious career of destroying the hope, dreams, and optimism of all students that faced his unmerciful wrath. At least, that's how he told it.

In fact, Meggs was fairly normal. He lived a standard, fairly uneventful youth. He possessed an above average intelligence, did quite well in school, proved charismatic in a disturbing, unorthodox way, and saw a number of pathways to a variety of futures open up before him. But being the unconventional bum he was, he settled for teaching high school, and speaking from experience, the world is a much better place for it.

As we stood listening to the comic (one of Meggs's former students), I couldn't help but remember the jokes the man himself had told. It was like an obsession. He had a dark, warped since of humor that would have been intimidating in a lesser man and undistinguished in a greater one. Some of the things he said were certainly grounds for lawsuits, but when you’d inspired the greatest lawyer Knoxville had seen in years to stop “Snorting coke and start blowing smoke” it was hard to get convicted of the numerous crimes he willfully admitted committing. He may not have been the best math whiz ever, but the man was indubitably entertaining.

After the comic, various former students, ranging from his first year in 2010 to his last from just last May, read their favorite quotes, snippets from his novels, and “math problems” in a session that proved touching, insightful, and downright hilarious. He’d never published any of them despite a great deal of encouragement, but the word was that he had left permission for his students to do “Whatever the Hell, Heaven, or Nirvana they pleased” with his “scribbles, doodlings, and obscene grotesqueries”, and a compilation was planned to be released on the first day of school in August. The school had already promised to make a “D- Meggs Memorial Bathroom” where his quotes will be strewn all over the walls where he often wrote them himself, in his spare time. He claimed to have his greatest inspirations in the bathroom, and his handwriting had become a permanent feature of every trip to the urinal.

Then came the dancing. Meggs never claimed to be a very graceful dancer, and he had given himself plenty of opportunities to prove himself right. The band played staples of his classroom that ranged from the 1700s all the way to a neo-neo-romantic classical piece one of his own students had composed last year. As many of us are getting on in years, we weren’t able to imitate our youthful experiences. But needless to say, we made up for our lack of motion with many very fond memories.

Finally we adjourned to the auditorium where the grand finale took place: Meggs’s last work, a brief summation of his entire life learnings and experiences, was read for the first time. It was really his suicide note, but none of us could dare call it that. He’d convinced so many of us against the idea that we knew his own death had been more of an “appropriate ending” than any of the selfish, futile plots of our days. In typical Meggs style, it proved amusing, sporadic, and optimistic (in a characteristically pessimistic way). There were truly tears in every eye, but not from sadness. No, these were of hope, joy, and nostalgia.

He spoke fondly of his “thankfully over past.” He described a few of us specifically in less than flattering manners, but we could picture the playful irreverent gleam in his eye as he had written it. He spoke of his expectations for us all. He encouraged us, as he always had, to just be happy, as he was so lucky to have been all his life, even at the moment he had killed himself.

As he seemingly spoke to us from the grave, I zoned out, as I had done so often in his math class those many years and ago, and thought of how much he had affected me. He had truly cared in an unobtrusive way that made him quite easy to get close to. As open a person as I’ve met, he brought himself down to our level and made himself more of an educated peer than an authority figure. I had hated math until his class, and even after it I still dreaded each period. But I learned not to worry so much about it. I learned that stress and lofty aspirations are not synonymous. Mr. Meggs taught me that I really, truly could do what I wanted. He just reminded me I’d have to pay the price, unlike other blind optimists. He encouraged us just to be happy, whatever that might involve (within reason). He was the first person to take an interest in my writing, the first to critique and actually try to interpret it, and the first to tell me never to stop. I followed his advice, and I’m happy to this very day. I think he’d be the most proud of me for that.

In all of his 64 years of teaching, D- Meggs inspired thousands. He listened. He cared. And, perhaps best of all, he entertained. To Mr. Meggs from all of his students, thank you. Mission Accomplished.

Hope

It's my hope the above will come true. Certainly it won't in scale or quality, but if I can achieve even part of that, it will be a wondrous accomplishment.

Thinking about my own inevitable end is at once sad, intriguing, and beautiful. It's odd, how most everything truly beautiful is sad. Songs, movies, books; the best are generally poignant and touching. If I only had the ability... Ah well. So I wrote this because I was inspired by a line in another blog and by recent events that dealt with death and the future. I want to be that ideal. I want to have that death. Hopefully I'll try to accomplish it.

Over the past few days I've been reminded how much I enjoy helping people. I mean, helping them work out who and what they want to be. It'd be wonderful if I actually succeeded, but I'm just not experienced enough. Philosophy? I've got that. Optimism? I've got the best type. But I just can't answer every question. And when I can't, the disappointment's terrible. I'm still glad to listen and speak any advice I may or may not have. It's almost enough to make me switch my goal to psychiatry, but I don't think it's active enough for me. The money, the schooling, the contained nature... It just wouldn't work.

So I'm still back aiming for that goal. It does sound nice, doesn't it? If, in the end, all that's named for me is a High School Bathroom I think I'll have done pretty well. It's not about a material legacy. It's about affecting people for the better. It's about inspiring them to be what you decided not to be. It's about creating a ripple effect of happiness. I can only hope it will happen to me.