Well, I figured I'd write since I don't want to start my homework, but I've nothing else to do and unfortunately, just within the last 40minutes, my great ship of "Obstinance" to The Sadist in the Sky seems to have crashed ashore. Hopefully I can get her back into the water to continue traversing the sea, but it's not easy. To extend this metaphor, I've got an ocean to sail, a long, torrentuous, mind-numbing ocean ahead before I reach the Promised Land. I'm tired of sailing on an ocean. I know my destination, I know what awaits me and it is relatively good. But I just want to skip the sailing and get to the far horizon. Chemistry and Spanish, for instance. They're driving me crazy! So much to know, so much to keep in mind. I can't logic my way out like in Math or make things up like English. There's just so much with note ven the deceny of a chronological system like History. Just a jumble. And not a fun "dorfidenb" one either. It would be so nice just to skip college and get on with the final 50 or so years of my life.
But as time travel is not available, my only recourse is righteous indignation. Things aren't perfect and it's not my fault. It's "The Creator's." It is the fault of that warped, sadistic individual who came up with this twisted little reality of ours. Albeit, there are some good things in it, but it could have been perfect! And it's not. Thus, I have to battle reality and despair and right now, the "weapon of choice" in this duel of will is anger. It's not right, it's not fair, and I won't stand for it. So I won't comply with its demands. There is no room for negotiation.
On a ...different... note, last night/this morning alternated between pure terror, hope, fun, frustration, and mainly exhaustion. I stayed up until 2AM working on my History work. And then, what do I get from it? My teacher doesn't even take up a lick of it! We run out of time and everything! After all that work. It's just not right! I'll do it eventually, sure, but it just won't be the same... Ah well.
Time. It's a peculiar thing. But that will have to wait until next time...
Thursday, April 29
Tuesday, April 27
Dyl 1, God 0
And counting! Yes, after last weekend which is arguably one of the craziest I've underwent, I must have purged some sort of demon or possibly a very irate woodchuck from my oh so tormented pysche. Whatever the result, writing one of those nonsense poems actually aided me somehow and I managed to make a breakthrough I had made before, but not really focused on. Yes, I've decided the "Powers that Am" are just plain sadistic. That's the long and short of the matter. I'm going to call it "God" for simplicity's sake, but it could be a variety of uncomprehendable super-entities.
Anywho, my new goal is to stop letting life get to me. The stress, all forms, has just been pulling me down, pushing me back into a well of despair I frankly find a tad too cramped and just a bit too musty for my exquisite tastes. Therefore I've launched an "Anti-Depression" campaign where I treat everyday like a battle with God throwing me disappointment-filled dodgeballs while I attempt to deftly dodge the dangerous Dyl-desolating destroyers. Yesterday, overall, proved to be a relative success, thus the above score. Today, while it has had its' share of pitfalls, has likewise turned up relatively sunny. And by sunny, I mean nice, pleasant, warm sunny not scalding, scorching "DEAR FAKE LORD MY UNDERPANTS ARE ON FIRE AND I'M NOT EVEN WEARING ANY" sunny. So let's hope that this, unlike my myriad of other plans, does not fail. The true score is probably more like God 316137211, Love 11111211, Dyl -15. But I can start a new slate anytime I want because it's my crazy game and I make the gosh-dern rules!
On another, not so positive note, I've yet to begin studying for my AP tests. Although I could, hypothetically, make 5's on all if I wanted to work for them, I'm fairly certain 3's and 4's will suffice at any college I go to (meaning not crem de la crem or however you dirty frenchies spout it). Thus, I'm not really stressing out over them. Que sera, sera. I have three complications, one of which will be gone in a matter of months, one which will be taken care of in a matter of slightly more months, and the third which I won't need to deal with for at least 6 or 7 years. Even then, the last is the least of my worries. So, with three main obstacles and all essentially matters of time and me making one or two choices, I'm about set. Everything in between, while requiring work, shouldn't be too difficult. If I let my standards drop. And if I have my way, drop they shall!
So that's about all. A cheery update, compared to the normal chain of patheticness, and hopefully one of many. Quite possibly I'll fall down and God will start racking up points sometime very soon, but I can hope, right? I can't? hmmm... Well, I will anyway! Until next time and way after that.
Anywho, my new goal is to stop letting life get to me. The stress, all forms, has just been pulling me down, pushing me back into a well of despair I frankly find a tad too cramped and just a bit too musty for my exquisite tastes. Therefore I've launched an "Anti-Depression" campaign where I treat everyday like a battle with God throwing me disappointment-filled dodgeballs while I attempt to deftly dodge the dangerous Dyl-desolating destroyers. Yesterday, overall, proved to be a relative success, thus the above score. Today, while it has had its' share of pitfalls, has likewise turned up relatively sunny. And by sunny, I mean nice, pleasant, warm sunny not scalding, scorching "DEAR FAKE LORD MY UNDERPANTS ARE ON FIRE AND I'M NOT EVEN WEARING ANY" sunny. So let's hope that this, unlike my myriad of other plans, does not fail. The true score is probably more like God 316137211, Love 11111211, Dyl -15. But I can start a new slate anytime I want because it's my crazy game and I make the gosh-dern rules!
On another, not so positive note, I've yet to begin studying for my AP tests. Although I could, hypothetically, make 5's on all if I wanted to work for them, I'm fairly certain 3's and 4's will suffice at any college I go to (meaning not crem de la crem or however you dirty frenchies spout it). Thus, I'm not really stressing out over them. Que sera, sera. I have three complications, one of which will be gone in a matter of months, one which will be taken care of in a matter of slightly more months, and the third which I won't need to deal with for at least 6 or 7 years. Even then, the last is the least of my worries. So, with three main obstacles and all essentially matters of time and me making one or two choices, I'm about set. Everything in between, while requiring work, shouldn't be too difficult. If I let my standards drop. And if I have my way, drop they shall!
So that's about all. A cheery update, compared to the normal chain of patheticness, and hopefully one of many. Quite possibly I'll fall down and God will start racking up points sometime very soon, but I can hope, right? I can't? hmmm... Well, I will anyway! Until next time and way after that.
Sunday, April 25
Love
I love her and she loves me, entwined for all eternity.
Oh joy of joys! Oh bliss of bliss! How I embrace her every kiss!
Never alone, never in pain; this happiness I can’t contain!
Her voice, her eyes, her shining face all put each Angel to disgrace!
How could I live before she came? How could I think without her name?
All else is her, she’s all I see; I’ll always love her and she will me.
And then, I wake.
A dream. A dream. Always a dream!
Everything you see or seem!
No, a dream’s too nice a word.
It implies joy, oh how absurd!
Nightmare! Now that fits the bill!
It’s apt for sure, it’s just Fate’s will.
I did not choose to dream that lie!
Why won’t it leave, why won’t it die?
It haunts me, every night and day;
A disgusting monster I cannot slay.
I cry and scream; I fight and moan,
I grovel to its’ corpse-built throne.
I beg, I plea, “Just go away!
I’ll watch next time my idle play!
Please, please, please just let me be!
I just want peace, I just want free…”
Not a word is said or done,
The fight is lost, I turn and run.
I know not where I run, but do.
I must escape, escape from you.
And yet I tire, for I am man…
I am alone.
The gray is also here.
It left once, to go get milk.
I think I told it to go.
But it came back.
Swirling voids my playmates.
We waltz to a band, serenading others that do not matter.
They do not care.
Neither do we.
For we are alone.
I wake…
Love! Oh blessed love return!
Reject me not, my heart doth yearn!
How could I say you were untrue?
How could I say I hated you?
Lies! All lies! I love you so!
Return to me! Please do not go!
Just please leave me not alone
to dance with death in monotone!
I desire joy, not emptiness!
Please, dear love, retrieve my bliss…
I try, but I’ve run out…
She does not care.
She never will.
She pays no mind.
She did, until
Time passed on,
Off it did go!
Oh blessed time,
You go so slow.
Then she stopped.
An ambush kill.
She loves not me.
I love her still.
I wake…
Dear God, what have I done!
I give my life, I run and run!
Where is my answer? No, I repeal.
Where is my love? My love that's real!
I’ll not play your petty game.
I shall not dance, I am not tame.
You did this to me! I know twas you!
Do not deny! You know it’s true!
So finish the deed! End it at last!
I’ll search no more! I quit…this…cast.
Now. Then. Forever. I sleep.
Oh joy of joys! Oh bliss of bliss! How I embrace her every kiss!
Never alone, never in pain; this happiness I can’t contain!
Her voice, her eyes, her shining face all put each Angel to disgrace!
How could I live before she came? How could I think without her name?
All else is her, she’s all I see; I’ll always love her and she will me.
And then, I wake.
A dream. A dream. Always a dream!
Everything you see or seem!
No, a dream’s too nice a word.
It implies joy, oh how absurd!
Nightmare! Now that fits the bill!
It’s apt for sure, it’s just Fate’s will.
I did not choose to dream that lie!
Why won’t it leave, why won’t it die?
It haunts me, every night and day;
A disgusting monster I cannot slay.
I cry and scream; I fight and moan,
I grovel to its’ corpse-built throne.
I beg, I plea, “Just go away!
I’ll watch next time my idle play!
Please, please, please just let me be!
I just want peace, I just want free…”
Not a word is said or done,
The fight is lost, I turn and run.
I know not where I run, but do.
I must escape, escape from you.
And yet I tire, for I am man…
I am alone.
The gray is also here.
It left once, to go get milk.
I think I told it to go.
But it came back.
Swirling voids my playmates.
We waltz to a band, serenading others that do not matter.
They do not care.
Neither do we.
For we are alone.
I wake…
Love! Oh blessed love return!
Reject me not, my heart doth yearn!
How could I say you were untrue?
How could I say I hated you?
Lies! All lies! I love you so!
Return to me! Please do not go!
Just please leave me not alone
to dance with death in monotone!
I desire joy, not emptiness!
Please, dear love, retrieve my bliss…
I try, but I’ve run out…
She does not care.
She never will.
She pays no mind.
She did, until
Time passed on,
Off it did go!
Oh blessed time,
You go so slow.
Then she stopped.
An ambush kill.
She loves not me.
I love her still.
I wake…
Dear God, what have I done!
I give my life, I run and run!
Where is my answer? No, I repeal.
Where is my love? My love that's real!
I’ll not play your petty game.
I shall not dance, I am not tame.
You did this to me! I know twas you!
Do not deny! You know it’s true!
So finish the deed! End it at last!
I’ll search no more! I quit…this…cast.
Now. Then. Forever. I sleep.
For the Love of Love.
Love. It's a topic I only vaguely allude to here. Basically because it's probably one of the most personal subjects there is. But tonight (it's still night for me), spurred by a friend's "issues", as we'll put them, I've decided to breach the sacred bastion and step onto these hollowed grounds. Love is probably the best and worst thing there is. When it's shared, it's probably the highest level of emotion and happiness a human can achieve. Nothing else should matter. Nothing else really can. All your troubles seem smaller, all your pains less hurtful, all your moments alone not so lonely. There's only that one person who truly loves you and makes your entire existence euphoria. At least, that's what I, as a self-repressing romantic, interpret it as.
However, I've yet to experience the above. And, in ugly, disgusting reality, I don't know how true the above ideal is. I could hope that I'll achieve it. But I'm a realist, if not a pessimist. I think reality will get in the way. Tearing, gnawing, thrashing into my blessed illusion, leaving a mutated dwarf of that relic Nirvana. I fell in love. With a girl. And I despise it. I try fighting it, constantly seeking remedies for my madness, my inherent human gift and curse. And I fail. But this is far from over. I'll not be celestial entertainment. No, all I must do is remain aware. On guard. Tis a duel with Fate. And I duel with drumsticks. Drumsticks of a different drummer.
(SEE! SEE what you people get when I stay up late, have too much stress, homework, and too little time? I do stupid things like this! THIS!!! No, I'm not crazy. I'm completely in control. I'd just like you to remember the speaker in a poem is not the author. And although it sure seems like it often is, don't make that oh so fatal mistake. I'm done, I've got to sleep. But by golly, I had better win this thing. And I intend to. Until I go down the hill. But that's a future poem, and future story for next time...)
However, I've yet to experience the above. And, in ugly, disgusting reality, I don't know how true the above ideal is. I could hope that I'll achieve it. But I'm a realist, if not a pessimist. I think reality will get in the way. Tearing, gnawing, thrashing into my blessed illusion, leaving a mutated dwarf of that relic Nirvana. I fell in love. With a girl. And I despise it. I try fighting it, constantly seeking remedies for my madness, my inherent human gift and curse. And I fail. But this is far from over. I'll not be celestial entertainment. No, all I must do is remain aware. On guard. Tis a duel with Fate. And I duel with drumsticks. Drumsticks of a different drummer.
(SEE! SEE what you people get when I stay up late, have too much stress, homework, and too little time? I do stupid things like this! THIS!!! No, I'm not crazy. I'm completely in control. I'd just like you to remember the speaker in a poem is not the author. And although it sure seems like it often is, don't make that oh so fatal mistake. I'm done, I've got to sleep. But by golly, I had better win this thing. And I intend to. Until I go down the hill. But that's a future poem, and future story for next time...)
Saturday, April 24
A Night in 4 Acts.
Yesterday was probably the "craziest" I've ever gone. So many variables, so many switches of mood, all leading into an absolutely rotten mindset. I'd say one of the biggest contributors was the changing situation and variables. It's amazing how actually doing something different for different amounts of time can completely change your mood, your feelings, and your sense of time perception. Sitting at the computer for ten hours straight, and believe me I've gone longer, is quite a different experience from going from location to location, different group of people to different group of people, different subjects and different activities. It's almost common sense, but for some reason my experiences in such a setting last night seemed to make 6 hours seem so incredibly long, the beginning seemed so distant it was hard to remember. I suppose it's not really 4 acts per se, just my changing mental state, because otherwise I would make this nice and humorous. At least crazy. But what I felt in the last waning hours of last night is completely devoid of humor or any remants of joy.
I won't go into details because they're not all that interesting (Details of the exact circumstances; the warping and twisting will be covered a bit). But by the end it really reminded me of Catch-22. Not in a bizarre, off-beat manner like the first part, but as the book goes on and characters start dieing, it goes from irreverent to increasingly grim and depressing. It all culminates in "The Eternal City", which I still think is the best capture of despair, hopelessness, and futility in a harsh, cold world that I've read. Anyway, that's what last night was rather like. It started out fun and irreverent, me with slight blood loss and increasing delirium from a combination of mental and emotional stress, lack of sleep, lack of food, and just plain not caring about trying to be reserved (believe it or not, I am occasionally). I even made a double entendre, which I normally don't do and probably wouldn't do if I wasn't slowly descending into mania.
The next act was a tad more stressful. Two lines of thought going along and intertwining, one fun and positive, the other depressing and tormenting. My delirium increased and where I previously was slightly contained, I began to go all out. I have fits of "violence" to get rid of it all so I don't do things like, oh, I dunno, tear people who insist on touching me in HALF, but more on that later. Anyway, these violent fits are a tad excessive, but I don't really care. There are times to be restrained and times to not, and I wasn't really hurting anyone, so what the heck?
The next act I calmed down a bit. But the fun, entertaining side somewhat dwindled, the tormenting stream kept flowing, and now a third line of thought enters of repulsion and disgust. That's me being touched again. Nothing wrong with that and minor to anyone else, but when certain person does it especially for slightly extended periods of time, it begins to sap whatever reserves I have. Most of you just don't understand my mentality in terms of physical contact, and I can understand. But it's when you persist that I get angry. Whether or not it's harmful or you understand it, that doesn't mean you have the right to decide what's good for me or not. You go to Prom and I tell you what I think of it. But I don't try to stop you and persist in downing it. I try to let you know how it can be detrimental, but ultimately if it makes you happy, I let it be. However, you don't understand how contact infuriates me. It's like you're invading my personal space and involving me in something I don't want to be involved in. And I can do nothing to stop it. I don't like physical contact because it involves me in things I don't want to be involved in. I can remain distant emotionally and literally which is how I'd like it to be. It's easier. But when you make that direct contact it's like a connection I don't want or need. Too many more variables are added in to an already confusing and painful mess. I don't want any more of either. It drains me. I can tolerate accidents and brief contact. For instance, Lee occasionally hugs me but lets go very soon so it's just amusing to her. But extended contact just makes me wither.
Anyway, so this happens and I'm drained. And then the final act, the tragedy. I watched the movie "Four Rooms" which was a terrible movie. Not necessarily in terms of cinematic merit, but from what it portrayed and the message it sent. If you haven't seen it, it basically consists of the story of a bellhop on New Years who goes into four different rooms and has all sorts of demented adventures. The format was a nice idea, each room had a different writer and director, and it was meant to be a comedy, but instead it was just terrible. It brought on that feeling from "The Eternal City" of immense spiritual, moral, and ethical depravity. No character in the entire thing was likeable. It was just sin, squalor, and corruption throughout. I suppose that was the point, but by the time Quentin Tarantino came on and just started a long line of F-bombs, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the K-town hood were all pretty much destroyed. The display of just plain corruption really had an effect on my mental state. It left me angry and disgusted. This, combined with all the other variables previously mentioned, sapped practically every last remnant of compassion and love from me and left me a bitter, cold, agitated, irate shell.
Perhaps I could have gotten myself out of it, the emotion that is, but I wanted to learn more. It was almost nice and beautiful in a raw, corrupted way just because it was so powerful. Like sadness is so incredibly painful but beautiful in a way depression isn't, this corruption, this incredible sense of despisement, loss, and spiritual, moral, and emotional rot was so strong and raw it couldn't help but be somewhat magnificient. It was terrible, no doubt, but it was...something. To be so devoid of care and love, just hate and anger. My heart was not broken, it was incinerated, disentegrated, and just plain disappeared. Sort of like when I decide I want nothing to do with love because it's too painful, something has to replace it and there Hate is like a sly, devilish imp ready to make the switch without consciously alerting me. You want something so bad, it happens, but to an extent that is simply abysmal.
So I finally came home in that mood and would have written then, but my sister was using the computer. And she was listening to Disney music. Very loudly. So when she came to latch onto me in that quasi-loving but really sadistic way of hers, I just hurled her away. I'm not usually that violent, but the anger I had gave me a surprising strength so I could just fling her away. I did apologize, even though I'm sure she didn't deserve it, and I managed to contain my anger to the point so I wouldn't stab her in bed or break the dog's neck. Mind you, the two thoughts occurred to me in the sort of way it would occur to a madman who really could not care about the repurcussions, so crazed was I. If I had weaker morals, I would have. I might have dropped the f-bomb myself last night, I'd heard it so much from Tarantino. It's a terrible word, after so many times, but when used with the right emotion (the actual connotations of the word completely disregarded) it really captures depravity and anger like no other word can. But my morals, those blessed bastions of confused Puritanism, stood in the way. I always knew they were good for something...
So I just thought I should tell you what raw emotions can do, although I'd say you probably already know. It wasn't really that dramatic, but it was just different. Such is Modern Art I suppose. It's terrible. But soon, oh so sweetly soon, this sort of thing will fade into distant memory and never plague me again. I'll be that much closer to peace. All things in moderation.
To think, I achieved all this doing hardly anything at all. I'm like my own microcosm! I don't need drugs or alcohol to go crazy, just lack of sleep, lack of food, and modern art. Wrastlin's tonight, who knows what wonders that will bring out. But you won't know until next time...
I won't go into details because they're not all that interesting (Details of the exact circumstances; the warping and twisting will be covered a bit). But by the end it really reminded me of Catch-22. Not in a bizarre, off-beat manner like the first part, but as the book goes on and characters start dieing, it goes from irreverent to increasingly grim and depressing. It all culminates in "The Eternal City", which I still think is the best capture of despair, hopelessness, and futility in a harsh, cold world that I've read. Anyway, that's what last night was rather like. It started out fun and irreverent, me with slight blood loss and increasing delirium from a combination of mental and emotional stress, lack of sleep, lack of food, and just plain not caring about trying to be reserved (believe it or not, I am occasionally). I even made a double entendre, which I normally don't do and probably wouldn't do if I wasn't slowly descending into mania.
The next act was a tad more stressful. Two lines of thought going along and intertwining, one fun and positive, the other depressing and tormenting. My delirium increased and where I previously was slightly contained, I began to go all out. I have fits of "violence" to get rid of it all so I don't do things like, oh, I dunno, tear people who insist on touching me in HALF, but more on that later. Anyway, these violent fits are a tad excessive, but I don't really care. There are times to be restrained and times to not, and I wasn't really hurting anyone, so what the heck?
The next act I calmed down a bit. But the fun, entertaining side somewhat dwindled, the tormenting stream kept flowing, and now a third line of thought enters of repulsion and disgust. That's me being touched again. Nothing wrong with that and minor to anyone else, but when certain person does it especially for slightly extended periods of time, it begins to sap whatever reserves I have. Most of you just don't understand my mentality in terms of physical contact, and I can understand. But it's when you persist that I get angry. Whether or not it's harmful or you understand it, that doesn't mean you have the right to decide what's good for me or not. You go to Prom and I tell you what I think of it. But I don't try to stop you and persist in downing it. I try to let you know how it can be detrimental, but ultimately if it makes you happy, I let it be. However, you don't understand how contact infuriates me. It's like you're invading my personal space and involving me in something I don't want to be involved in. And I can do nothing to stop it. I don't like physical contact because it involves me in things I don't want to be involved in. I can remain distant emotionally and literally which is how I'd like it to be. It's easier. But when you make that direct contact it's like a connection I don't want or need. Too many more variables are added in to an already confusing and painful mess. I don't want any more of either. It drains me. I can tolerate accidents and brief contact. For instance, Lee occasionally hugs me but lets go very soon so it's just amusing to her. But extended contact just makes me wither.
Anyway, so this happens and I'm drained. And then the final act, the tragedy. I watched the movie "Four Rooms" which was a terrible movie. Not necessarily in terms of cinematic merit, but from what it portrayed and the message it sent. If you haven't seen it, it basically consists of the story of a bellhop on New Years who goes into four different rooms and has all sorts of demented adventures. The format was a nice idea, each room had a different writer and director, and it was meant to be a comedy, but instead it was just terrible. It brought on that feeling from "The Eternal City" of immense spiritual, moral, and ethical depravity. No character in the entire thing was likeable. It was just sin, squalor, and corruption throughout. I suppose that was the point, but by the time Quentin Tarantino came on and just started a long line of F-bombs, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the K-town hood were all pretty much destroyed. The display of just plain corruption really had an effect on my mental state. It left me angry and disgusted. This, combined with all the other variables previously mentioned, sapped practically every last remnant of compassion and love from me and left me a bitter, cold, agitated, irate shell.
Perhaps I could have gotten myself out of it, the emotion that is, but I wanted to learn more. It was almost nice and beautiful in a raw, corrupted way just because it was so powerful. Like sadness is so incredibly painful but beautiful in a way depression isn't, this corruption, this incredible sense of despisement, loss, and spiritual, moral, and emotional rot was so strong and raw it couldn't help but be somewhat magnificient. It was terrible, no doubt, but it was...something. To be so devoid of care and love, just hate and anger. My heart was not broken, it was incinerated, disentegrated, and just plain disappeared. Sort of like when I decide I want nothing to do with love because it's too painful, something has to replace it and there Hate is like a sly, devilish imp ready to make the switch without consciously alerting me. You want something so bad, it happens, but to an extent that is simply abysmal.
So I finally came home in that mood and would have written then, but my sister was using the computer. And she was listening to Disney music. Very loudly. So when she came to latch onto me in that quasi-loving but really sadistic way of hers, I just hurled her away. I'm not usually that violent, but the anger I had gave me a surprising strength so I could just fling her away. I did apologize, even though I'm sure she didn't deserve it, and I managed to contain my anger to the point so I wouldn't stab her in bed or break the dog's neck. Mind you, the two thoughts occurred to me in the sort of way it would occur to a madman who really could not care about the repurcussions, so crazed was I. If I had weaker morals, I would have. I might have dropped the f-bomb myself last night, I'd heard it so much from Tarantino. It's a terrible word, after so many times, but when used with the right emotion (the actual connotations of the word completely disregarded) it really captures depravity and anger like no other word can. But my morals, those blessed bastions of confused Puritanism, stood in the way. I always knew they were good for something...
So I just thought I should tell you what raw emotions can do, although I'd say you probably already know. It wasn't really that dramatic, but it was just different. Such is Modern Art I suppose. It's terrible. But soon, oh so sweetly soon, this sort of thing will fade into distant memory and never plague me again. I'll be that much closer to peace. All things in moderation.
To think, I achieved all this doing hardly anything at all. I'm like my own microcosm! I don't need drugs or alcohol to go crazy, just lack of sleep, lack of food, and modern art. Wrastlin's tonight, who knows what wonders that will bring out. But you won't know until next time...
Friday, April 23
Blame it on the Butterfly.
Well, a bit of an explanation of the poem (In other words, SPOILERS STOP READING!!!). It alludes to what's known as "Chaos Theory" which a theory that states if a butterfly flaps it's wings in Japan, two weeks later there will be a hurricane in Argentina, or something to that effect. Thus, the effects of a butterfly can, theoretically, drastically alter all our lives. In one sense I believe in it, according to the effects of a changed variable. But being a determinist, the butterfly has about as much choice as anyone else.
I don't really mind. David brought up an interesting point though. I almost wrote it as a quasi-satire, and it is depending on what mood I'm in. I mean, you're blaming your problems on a tiny little bug. It's a bug! It has no control over things, only you do! On the other hand, it has all the control in the world. Just a tiny switch in a variable and all of a sudden, everything's different. It's absolutely mindboggling to consider the sheer number of infinite possibilities. So many worse, so many better. If only...
I sometimes picture these different realities, as I'm sure you do. If I was smarter, faster, better, more talented. Loved. Loving. You know the drill. The funny thing is, though, that David's partially right. If you want something enough, act on it. But my sedentariness is for a reason. If I really wanted something, I'd go after it. But I don't because I've decided it's not worth the risk. All of this is about analyzing risk and reward. But it's the sort of thing you can't treat with logic and I do. So I have to accept the unfortunate side of the whole debacle. But it's better than some alternatives.
The best way I've heard of relationships is from Woody Allen in some movie. He told this "joke" about a guy who goes to a psychiatrist. And the guy says "I'm not really that crazy, but my brother is. He thinks he's a chicken." The psychiatrist says, "Well why don't you bring your brother in?" And the guy says, "Because we need the eggs." Woody goes on to say how that's how relationships are. Irrational, completely nonsensical. But we need the eggs. Well, I'm trying to do without any fictional eggs. My soul has to starve and salivate a little, but I don't have to deal with as much nonsense. It's counterintuitive in an entirely intuitive way. Fun stuff.
So I've got a nice future planned. It seems peaceful enough. Not exactly entertaining and lovely, but peaceful and enough to make me content. But I think about what would have happened if that butterfly had flapped once more. So many things could be different. I could be happy. Or I could be sad. I'm neither. Go figure.
By the way, "Blame it on the Butterfly" would be an awesome T-shirt. It's catchy, has a great message, and everything. Somebody get on to producing that. I'll go think of more until next time...
I don't really mind. David brought up an interesting point though. I almost wrote it as a quasi-satire, and it is depending on what mood I'm in. I mean, you're blaming your problems on a tiny little bug. It's a bug! It has no control over things, only you do! On the other hand, it has all the control in the world. Just a tiny switch in a variable and all of a sudden, everything's different. It's absolutely mindboggling to consider the sheer number of infinite possibilities. So many worse, so many better. If only...
I sometimes picture these different realities, as I'm sure you do. If I was smarter, faster, better, more talented. Loved. Loving. You know the drill. The funny thing is, though, that David's partially right. If you want something enough, act on it. But my sedentariness is for a reason. If I really wanted something, I'd go after it. But I don't because I've decided it's not worth the risk. All of this is about analyzing risk and reward. But it's the sort of thing you can't treat with logic and I do. So I have to accept the unfortunate side of the whole debacle. But it's better than some alternatives.
The best way I've heard of relationships is from Woody Allen in some movie. He told this "joke" about a guy who goes to a psychiatrist. And the guy says "I'm not really that crazy, but my brother is. He thinks he's a chicken." The psychiatrist says, "Well why don't you bring your brother in?" And the guy says, "Because we need the eggs." Woody goes on to say how that's how relationships are. Irrational, completely nonsensical. But we need the eggs. Well, I'm trying to do without any fictional eggs. My soul has to starve and salivate a little, but I don't have to deal with as much nonsense. It's counterintuitive in an entirely intuitive way. Fun stuff.
So I've got a nice future planned. It seems peaceful enough. Not exactly entertaining and lovely, but peaceful and enough to make me content. But I think about what would have happened if that butterfly had flapped once more. So many things could be different. I could be happy. Or I could be sad. I'm neither. Go figure.
By the way, "Blame it on the Butterfly" would be an awesome T-shirt. It's catchy, has a great message, and everything. Somebody get on to producing that. I'll go think of more until next time...
Thursday, April 22
The Butterfly
If he had flapped but just once more
How would that have changed the lore?
Would I be yours or you be mine?
Would you have at last seen the sign?
Why did he not, why choose so wrong?
Why make me mourn for oh so long?
Perfection rests upon that wing;
Just a flap could change the thing.
But his wing he did not flap
Thus tis I who take the rap.
His choice I now do so deplore;
If only he had flapped once more…
How would that have changed the lore?
Would I be yours or you be mine?
Would you have at last seen the sign?
Why did he not, why choose so wrong?
Why make me mourn for oh so long?
Perfection rests upon that wing;
Just a flap could change the thing.
But his wing he did not flap
Thus tis I who take the rap.
His choice I now do so deplore;
If only he had flapped once more…
Sunday, April 18
Wrastlin for the Unwrastled
To anyone who doesn't know (and I can't imagine who you are) wrastlin's this Saturday at 8PM at the armory. Not the Amory, the armory. It's like an Amory except it doesn't have as much meth. Some, sure, but not enough. Anywho, that's about it for this lil note. I'm becoming cranky and sleep deprived, so until Saturday don't feel too bad if I get ornery and start player-hatin'. Unless you're Easterly. Then it's reciprocity.
The Eternal Gauntlet
Of course, once again another Sunday rolls around. Each weekend I seem to waste so much time and then I finally start getting to work on my homework. It seems I only focus under stress, and there's certainly a lot of that. But this method doesn't leave me any time to study for 4ap tests. I haven't reviewed for a single one! Whatever shall I do... I know, waste time and cram, cram, cram the night before! It's possible...right?
Well, that's enough procrastinating. Time to get to work! Until next time...
Well, that's enough procrastinating. Time to get to work! Until next time...
Saturday, April 17
And then I says to the Kaiser, I says...
"YOU THINK YOU'RE THE MAN?! YOU ARE A WORM! A PIECE OF LINT! A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT FLEA COMPARED TO ME!!!" shouted a rather irate 1-eyed Edward. He held Kaiser Bubba in a triple-loop one handed belly hold that looked about as painful as stuffing your hand in a colony of drunken WASPs and asking if Jesus was black and gay. The Kaiser had had the gall to challenge ole 1-eye to a championship match of epic proportions, meaning that the pyrite-plated belt was up for grabs, along with the tacos and the spare change held by the promoter. And boy was it on!
The Kaiser started out with a punch right to 1-eyed's substantial gut. However, he got stuck. So 1-eyed Edward let out a belch so foul, I thought I had found a dead skunk and stuck it up my nose. The Kaiser reeled straight out of the ring and onto a table. Well, once the Furniture started to be broken, it really started to be broken. The Kaiser grabbed a nearby sofa and hurled it 1-eyed, who barely dodged. Edward retaliated with a barrage of fold up chairs, one of which grazed the Kaiser's cheek. Then the name calling started with the audience. Cries like you wouldn't believe! As children read this, I won't repeat the obscenities mentioned, but they made even the wrestlers blush. Needless to say, the FCC rushed in and violently censored the offenders.
The wrastlers charged each other once they regained their composures in the ring. Their tightly glad spandex a tad too revealing, Kaiser pinned 1-eyed Edward to the floor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4... Oh! He tapped out! Now 1-eyed Edward has the upper hand. Back and forth, back and forth the two obese giants flailed. And then, God came down from the Heavens on high and proclaimed that all present had witnessed the Second Coming and were now admitted to an eternity of happiness, peace, and joy.
At least, that's what I assume it would have been like had it actually happened in the first place. In reality, I had started in high hopes. I was going to wrastlin' instead of Prom. The parity was brilliant. I popped some Willie Nelson in my cd-player and sped to the armory. But, what's this? A man, handing out papers! The parking lot's closed... And then, all my dreams come crashing down. I flag down Cory and we relate the bad news. No wrastlin' tonight. It'll only make it that much sweeter next week! (Which we're certainly going to try to go to.) Cory, of course, had no other ideas and headed home. I got enough courage up to go see what the problem was. I was handed a paper that said "CANCELLED DUE TO FAMILY ILLNESS." At this time, Morgan pulled up and found out the glum news too. We were quite distraught. But Morgan and I wanted to at least do something to spite all the Prom goers. So the next idea that came to mind was a German movie that might be showing at Downton West. Why not? A German film is still quite a different experience for me. So I switched the Willie Nelson with some Mendleson and headed down there. But at 8:15, all the movies had just started 20minutes ago and wouldn't be ready for another round for at least an hour or two. (Meanwhile, some kid I recognize vaguely from school (Joey, I think) asked us to make a wish on his stuffed, talking animal. I wished to be struck down, right then and there, by lightning. Didn't happen). So we were at impasse. Our efforts fruitless, we parted ways, our once well planned night and efforts all in vain.
Thus, the following poem on disappointment. I'm used to it by now, after it's slowly worn away my self-esteem and confidence to a canyon of immense proportions. But when it brings other hopeful people down with it, me feeling responsible since it was my idea, that's when it gets me even lower. If I had done something else, gone some where, seen some thing, done some stuff it might not have been so bad. But the chain of disappointment continues. I'm not one for conversation or sociality. I can't think of any thing to do or place to go. Other than home. I'd even invite other people here. But for what? It's a small, cramped, filthly place. I don't mind it all that much, but I'd hate to subject others to it. And even then, there's nothing to do.
So I write. And chat to Sara, who is also alone tonight. The first an escape and method of venting, the latter one more place to lament the need for escaping and yet another place to vent. The world is not a bad place. There's so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people to do them with. When others make mistakes, I'm generally quite forgiving. Yet I'm devoid of ideas. A blank. A failure. Joy of joys. Ironically, Prom would have made all this worse. It's a place with people and things to do. And yet, it answers nothing. All that's left is a constant yearning for something not known and not attainable. Only angst.
Hopefully you all had a good time at Prom. I may disagree with it, but obviously my alternatives aren't obtaining the desired end product, happiness. If you can eek some joy and fulfillment from it, who am I to judge? I suppose I'll go and escape into sleep now. Until next time...
The Kaiser started out with a punch right to 1-eyed's substantial gut. However, he got stuck. So 1-eyed Edward let out a belch so foul, I thought I had found a dead skunk and stuck it up my nose. The Kaiser reeled straight out of the ring and onto a table. Well, once the Furniture started to be broken, it really started to be broken. The Kaiser grabbed a nearby sofa and hurled it 1-eyed, who barely dodged. Edward retaliated with a barrage of fold up chairs, one of which grazed the Kaiser's cheek. Then the name calling started with the audience. Cries like you wouldn't believe! As children read this, I won't repeat the obscenities mentioned, but they made even the wrestlers blush. Needless to say, the FCC rushed in and violently censored the offenders.
The wrastlers charged each other once they regained their composures in the ring. Their tightly glad spandex a tad too revealing, Kaiser pinned 1-eyed Edward to the floor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4... Oh! He tapped out! Now 1-eyed Edward has the upper hand. Back and forth, back and forth the two obese giants flailed. And then, God came down from the Heavens on high and proclaimed that all present had witnessed the Second Coming and were now admitted to an eternity of happiness, peace, and joy.
At least, that's what I assume it would have been like had it actually happened in the first place. In reality, I had started in high hopes. I was going to wrastlin' instead of Prom. The parity was brilliant. I popped some Willie Nelson in my cd-player and sped to the armory. But, what's this? A man, handing out papers! The parking lot's closed... And then, all my dreams come crashing down. I flag down Cory and we relate the bad news. No wrastlin' tonight. It'll only make it that much sweeter next week! (Which we're certainly going to try to go to.) Cory, of course, had no other ideas and headed home. I got enough courage up to go see what the problem was. I was handed a paper that said "CANCELLED DUE TO FAMILY ILLNESS." At this time, Morgan pulled up and found out the glum news too. We were quite distraught. But Morgan and I wanted to at least do something to spite all the Prom goers. So the next idea that came to mind was a German movie that might be showing at Downton West. Why not? A German film is still quite a different experience for me. So I switched the Willie Nelson with some Mendleson and headed down there. But at 8:15, all the movies had just started 20minutes ago and wouldn't be ready for another round for at least an hour or two. (Meanwhile, some kid I recognize vaguely from school (Joey, I think) asked us to make a wish on his stuffed, talking animal. I wished to be struck down, right then and there, by lightning. Didn't happen). So we were at impasse. Our efforts fruitless, we parted ways, our once well planned night and efforts all in vain.
Thus, the following poem on disappointment. I'm used to it by now, after it's slowly worn away my self-esteem and confidence to a canyon of immense proportions. But when it brings other hopeful people down with it, me feeling responsible since it was my idea, that's when it gets me even lower. If I had done something else, gone some where, seen some thing, done some stuff it might not have been so bad. But the chain of disappointment continues. I'm not one for conversation or sociality. I can't think of any thing to do or place to go. Other than home. I'd even invite other people here. But for what? It's a small, cramped, filthly place. I don't mind it all that much, but I'd hate to subject others to it. And even then, there's nothing to do.
So I write. And chat to Sara, who is also alone tonight. The first an escape and method of venting, the latter one more place to lament the need for escaping and yet another place to vent. The world is not a bad place. There's so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people to do them with. When others make mistakes, I'm generally quite forgiving. Yet I'm devoid of ideas. A blank. A failure. Joy of joys. Ironically, Prom would have made all this worse. It's a place with people and things to do. And yet, it answers nothing. All that's left is a constant yearning for something not known and not attainable. Only angst.
Hopefully you all had a good time at Prom. I may disagree with it, but obviously my alternatives aren't obtaining the desired end product, happiness. If you can eek some joy and fulfillment from it, who am I to judge? I suppose I'll go and escape into sleep now. Until next time...
Disappointments
A castle sat upon a hill, a fortress once great and strong.
It ruled over a mighty kingdom that once had known no wrong.
But time passed by and with each sigh another stone was dust.
Nothing could save what Despair did crave as true love turned into lust.
With each new defeat, they would repeat that “next time” they would win;
But after each failed try, they could only cry and fail to win again.
The deluge of tears over the years had worn the great walls down.
And from each drip spirits did dip and slowly all did drown.
Not one great blow from some mighty foe had brought down the castle grand;
Just hit by hit and bit by bit marched the armies made of sand.
The King had tried while his nation died to solve its’ atrophic descent,
But with each new plan he grew more wan; came no answers Heaven sent.
He could only mourn what the Gods did scorn and slowly lose grasp on Hope,
For his kingdom was done, despair had won, no more could the King cope.
“My people dear, I sadly fear our kingdom is no more.
Lament its’ end, every good friend, our defeat I do deplore.
But I am old, my future cold, so tis not for me I weep.
It is for you, you wretched few, for the promises I could not keep.
It is not right to have to fight each day of misery.
There should be joy for each girl and boy, but despair is all I see.
I have failed you again, my enduring sin, more times than I can count.
And now all that remains are sorrows and pains that I no more can mount.”
And with this last cry the King did die and his people let out a wail.
At least he had led, this King now dead, though he could only fail.
“What could have been done,” wondered each one, “to have changed our fate?
Some mistake made, prayers not prayed, a solution not too late?”
But each person knew, and now did rue, that Hope was the one to blame.
They’d believed every lie and could now only sigh at how they’d lost this game.
Each bet they’d cast had been too fast, but they could not stop to change.
And now the goal that the Truth stole was far beyond their range.
The sun rose again in this glum land and the people hoped once more,
But they could not see it for the bomb that grated their very core.
It ruled over a mighty kingdom that once had known no wrong.
But time passed by and with each sigh another stone was dust.
Nothing could save what Despair did crave as true love turned into lust.
With each new defeat, they would repeat that “next time” they would win;
But after each failed try, they could only cry and fail to win again.
The deluge of tears over the years had worn the great walls down.
And from each drip spirits did dip and slowly all did drown.
Not one great blow from some mighty foe had brought down the castle grand;
Just hit by hit and bit by bit marched the armies made of sand.
The King had tried while his nation died to solve its’ atrophic descent,
But with each new plan he grew more wan; came no answers Heaven sent.
He could only mourn what the Gods did scorn and slowly lose grasp on Hope,
For his kingdom was done, despair had won, no more could the King cope.
“My people dear, I sadly fear our kingdom is no more.
Lament its’ end, every good friend, our defeat I do deplore.
But I am old, my future cold, so tis not for me I weep.
It is for you, you wretched few, for the promises I could not keep.
It is not right to have to fight each day of misery.
There should be joy for each girl and boy, but despair is all I see.
I have failed you again, my enduring sin, more times than I can count.
And now all that remains are sorrows and pains that I no more can mount.”
And with this last cry the King did die and his people let out a wail.
At least he had led, this King now dead, though he could only fail.
“What could have been done,” wondered each one, “to have changed our fate?
Some mistake made, prayers not prayed, a solution not too late?”
But each person knew, and now did rue, that Hope was the one to blame.
They’d believed every lie and could now only sigh at how they’d lost this game.
Each bet they’d cast had been too fast, but they could not stop to change.
And now the goal that the Truth stole was far beyond their range.
The sun rose again in this glum land and the people hoped once more,
But they could not see it for the bomb that grated their very core.
Monday, April 12
To Lab or Not to Lab...
Once again I'm confronted with a momental decision. Dare I start my homework early and finish it ahead of schedule? Dare I study for my massive AP tests that loom behind the not-so-distant horizon, just waiting to drown me in self-hate and despair? Dare I disturb the universe? Well, knowing 1/3 isn't bad... I know! I'll write another silly poem instead! I can stop anytime I want to! Really, I can! I..uh..will...um... stop when I'm 18. Really! I mean it!
The Race
I jog upon the tracks so long, watching the runners speed.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
Sunday, April 11
It.
I. Discovery
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
Saturday, April 10
Public Library #1
So today I got the bright idea that I needed to head to the main, downtown public library. Various reasons were factors in this decision. One, the library will be closed tomorrow as it is Easter. Two, I finished off my father's stack of CDs (most of which were entirely too funkadelic, boring, or downright icky to tolerate; though I found Roy, so it worked out) and also my Ralph Vaughn Williams/other classical music from my last trip and needed to replenish my supply. Thus I saddled up my Golden Chariot (who still needs a good, permanent name by the way) and rushed Downtown.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.
Friday, April 9
To Forget One's...uhhh...Elf?
Yesterday. Yesterday was quite an unpleasant day. One of the most unpleasant days I've had in some time. Most of it stems from lack of sleep (I stayed up til 1, woke up around 6:30 or so), and since I don't eat, that's not much energy to work off of. That, plus the deficiency throughout the week, leads to a cranky, jerk-ish Dylan. Now, I know, I'm ornery most of the time. But when I just lay on verbal abuse, even when it's mostly feigned, it makes me severely chastise myself in retrospect. Ah well.
But lack of sleep wasn't the only problem. You see, I got so tired or depressed or apathetic or something that I developed a case of "selective acknowledgement." I would only acknowledge certain aspects of reality. So, when I went to take my Spanish quiz, I conveniently ignored the advice to remember certain tidbits of knowledge vital to my success. But my Spanish grade won't suffer over one subpar quiz. What will suffer is my abysmal performance yesterday in Chemistry. On the optomistic side, my grade in the class will drop from a 96 to a 92. It was very bad. I actually put "magic" for one of my answers, in frustration. The worst part was that it could have been somewhat averted. I just simply subconsciously ignored Mrs. Sayers saying we only had 25 or so minutes to do the test. So I started and thought "This isn't too bad." Then she said "5 minutes left" and I had finished 6. That bad. I also chose to ignore the advice of what to study for our equilibrium quiz and jumped right in. And by in, I mean down down down.
If I applied this affliction to other areas of my life, I might decide that fire did not harm me and promptly procede to completely encase myself in fire because it was a tad chilly. Or I would convenietly forget that other cars are made of solids and not gases, promptly plowing into an 18wheeler because I saw a shiny quarter lieing on the side of the interstate. That sort of train wreck. Things like that would not happen in Math. Surely not... Although Statistics has me questioning even that.
But that leads to an important topic, forgetfulness. I consider myself pretty absent minded. The only way I remember things is if they're sources of stress which really doesn't lead to a healthy mental state. But you already knew that. I suppose the topic I'm thinking of is more than forgetfulness, though. It's becoming so involved in something that everything else gets warped out of perspective and loses meaning. For instance, those quizzes and tests. In the long run, they don't matter (that's a dangerous road in and of itself). But at the moment, they took a hold of me and weighed me down. It's the same with all my pyschological buffers. I put them up so I can somehow achieve some super-human command over base emotions like rage and envy, but I gradually forget them and fall victim in the aftermath. Envy, especially, has been a problem. I try not to compare myself to other people, because school should not be about competition and should only be a personal test with personal goals. And yet, any success of others I merely reflect as a failure of myself. I suppose it's not really envy, just disappointment and further compounding my inferiority complex. I dunno, I confuse myself...
Anyway, back to things that might pertain to you. Seeing as how some people have taken to not shouldering their Anarchy Blog posting responsibilities, I've finally created my free fall blog. I know the reasons some of us have for not postig on Anarchy, and I understand, but when you want to do some creative character writing now, you need to be able to do it! Thus, I introduce to you, www.evilandgood.blogspot.com . It's got a more modern theme, the details of which are in the invite and first entry. I'm not very good at being truely evil and dark(not very good at anything, really, but being evil even less so), but I'll give it a shot. ANYONE interested should IM or email me and I'll invite you, no strings attached. Post once, post a thousand times. Have fun. That's all I ask. So please let me know. That's all, until next time...
But lack of sleep wasn't the only problem. You see, I got so tired or depressed or apathetic or something that I developed a case of "selective acknowledgement." I would only acknowledge certain aspects of reality. So, when I went to take my Spanish quiz, I conveniently ignored the advice to remember certain tidbits of knowledge vital to my success. But my Spanish grade won't suffer over one subpar quiz. What will suffer is my abysmal performance yesterday in Chemistry. On the optomistic side, my grade in the class will drop from a 96 to a 92. It was very bad. I actually put "magic" for one of my answers, in frustration. The worst part was that it could have been somewhat averted. I just simply subconsciously ignored Mrs. Sayers saying we only had 25 or so minutes to do the test. So I started and thought "This isn't too bad." Then she said "5 minutes left" and I had finished 6. That bad. I also chose to ignore the advice of what to study for our equilibrium quiz and jumped right in. And by in, I mean down down down.
If I applied this affliction to other areas of my life, I might decide that fire did not harm me and promptly procede to completely encase myself in fire because it was a tad chilly. Or I would convenietly forget that other cars are made of solids and not gases, promptly plowing into an 18wheeler because I saw a shiny quarter lieing on the side of the interstate. That sort of train wreck. Things like that would not happen in Math. Surely not... Although Statistics has me questioning even that.
But that leads to an important topic, forgetfulness. I consider myself pretty absent minded. The only way I remember things is if they're sources of stress which really doesn't lead to a healthy mental state. But you already knew that. I suppose the topic I'm thinking of is more than forgetfulness, though. It's becoming so involved in something that everything else gets warped out of perspective and loses meaning. For instance, those quizzes and tests. In the long run, they don't matter (that's a dangerous road in and of itself). But at the moment, they took a hold of me and weighed me down. It's the same with all my pyschological buffers. I put them up so I can somehow achieve some super-human command over base emotions like rage and envy, but I gradually forget them and fall victim in the aftermath. Envy, especially, has been a problem. I try not to compare myself to other people, because school should not be about competition and should only be a personal test with personal goals. And yet, any success of others I merely reflect as a failure of myself. I suppose it's not really envy, just disappointment and further compounding my inferiority complex. I dunno, I confuse myself...
Anyway, back to things that might pertain to you. Seeing as how some people have taken to not shouldering their Anarchy Blog posting responsibilities, I've finally created my free fall blog. I know the reasons some of us have for not postig on Anarchy, and I understand, but when you want to do some creative character writing now, you need to be able to do it! Thus, I introduce to you, www.evilandgood.blogspot.com . It's got a more modern theme, the details of which are in the invite and first entry. I'm not very good at being truely evil and dark(not very good at anything, really, but being evil even less so), but I'll give it a shot. ANYONE interested should IM or email me and I'll invite you, no strings attached. Post once, post a thousand times. Have fun. That's all I ask. So please let me know. That's all, until next time...
Monday, April 5
Marching to the Beat of an Off-Time Drummer
That's what all you people will be doing next year when I make the snare! MUWAHAHAHAHA
But seriously, I'm aiming for cymbals. Now, although it is often equated with "lowliest of the percussion," I need only remind you that the triangle is a percussion instrument. And believe you me, if "triangle" was a viable marching percussion instrument I'd sign up faster than you can say "Individual reports seem to indicate that only 3.1151361% of head lice agree with the latest Gallup Poll about whether head lice read the New York Post." Or perhaps faster than you can really think of the deep implications of such a statement. It's hypothetical, back off ya bum!
So I've got two tests and lots of Chemistry due tomorrow. I even need to read a whole history chapter. But do I get to work early and stop wasting time? Is the Pope Catholic? Is Peter Jennings an ex-Canadian? Is there really a point to anything? Well, the first two of the rhetorical questions meant to make an obvious point have pretty obvious answers, I think. Of course the Pope isn't Catholic, he's Presbyterian and Peter Jennings will always be Canadian, who does he think he's fooling? As for the third, that's a topic we could discuss for seconds and that would really cut into my sittin' around time. My oh so precious sittin' around time. How I adore thee, yet you torture me so...
So anywho, my day. I haven't talked, extensively, about my day for quite some time instead getting into whatever those long, stupid tirades about whatever nonsense my mind throws at me to keep down dissent. (On a side note, should your mind ever start to push you around, just smack it upside the...uh...philsophies a few times and tell it to get back in the kitchen and make you some Math or complex physics theories about the origin of the universe, even if it is devised into very hostile camps of poetical allusions). Anyway, suffice it to say I generally decide my days are so unimportant to the point that they're not worth mentioning. However, should this trend of procrastination TO THE EXTREME! continue, I might be forced to, with the expected hyperbole, of course. I mean, really, this thing is hard and icky enough to read anyway! What would you do without the hyperbole...
Probably get a job, you no account bums. But I'm one to talk. Never much for "work." Why else would I be a teacher? (Ok, so teaching counts as "Work", but if you do it right and enjoy it, I think that definition no longer applies). So that's about all I can think to put down, at the moment. Perhaps I'll start reading about the 40's and like it! Or maybe I'll do my Chemistry outline and like it! Or there's even a slight chance I'll study for my History of Statistics test or whatever the Euphrates I have to do tomorrow and like it! Or perhaps I'll just wait until next time...
But seriously, I'm aiming for cymbals. Now, although it is often equated with "lowliest of the percussion," I need only remind you that the triangle is a percussion instrument. And believe you me, if "triangle" was a viable marching percussion instrument I'd sign up faster than you can say "Individual reports seem to indicate that only 3.1151361% of head lice agree with the latest Gallup Poll about whether head lice read the New York Post." Or perhaps faster than you can really think of the deep implications of such a statement. It's hypothetical, back off ya bum!
So I've got two tests and lots of Chemistry due tomorrow. I even need to read a whole history chapter. But do I get to work early and stop wasting time? Is the Pope Catholic? Is Peter Jennings an ex-Canadian? Is there really a point to anything? Well, the first two of the rhetorical questions meant to make an obvious point have pretty obvious answers, I think. Of course the Pope isn't Catholic, he's Presbyterian and Peter Jennings will always be Canadian, who does he think he's fooling? As for the third, that's a topic we could discuss for seconds and that would really cut into my sittin' around time. My oh so precious sittin' around time. How I adore thee, yet you torture me so...
So anywho, my day. I haven't talked, extensively, about my day for quite some time instead getting into whatever those long, stupid tirades about whatever nonsense my mind throws at me to keep down dissent. (On a side note, should your mind ever start to push you around, just smack it upside the...uh...philsophies a few times and tell it to get back in the kitchen and make you some Math or complex physics theories about the origin of the universe, even if it is devised into very hostile camps of poetical allusions). Anyway, suffice it to say I generally decide my days are so unimportant to the point that they're not worth mentioning. However, should this trend of procrastination TO THE EXTREME! continue, I might be forced to, with the expected hyperbole, of course. I mean, really, this thing is hard and icky enough to read anyway! What would you do without the hyperbole...
Probably get a job, you no account bums. But I'm one to talk. Never much for "work." Why else would I be a teacher? (Ok, so teaching counts as "Work", but if you do it right and enjoy it, I think that definition no longer applies). So that's about all I can think to put down, at the moment. Perhaps I'll start reading about the 40's and like it! Or maybe I'll do my Chemistry outline and like it! Or there's even a slight chance I'll study for my History of Statistics test or whatever the Euphrates I have to do tomorrow and like it! Or perhaps I'll just wait until next time...
Sunday, April 4
WARNING: You Will Be Warned!
Eh, I had some free time and inspiration, so I got a little too "verbose" this weekend. Not as a complex pyscho analysis of myself or a breaking down of society as I've done before, but still enough to make all of you go "eeewwww." So suffice it to say that I suggest you go and read the new Perse entry (Yes, he's finally returned!) and go take a nap. Unless you're really bored. And forgiving. Otherwise, you'll just have to wait until next time...
The Sound of Music
The sound of music filled the air at just the hint of sound.
This case of paranoia is how we two are found.
A pinprick is unearthly pain, torrents of tears unfold.
A match is an inferno, and an ice cube’s oh so cold.
We Love, we Hate, we reciprocate all feelings sent our way.
But our effects are ten-fold strong, they can’t be kept at bay.
My Love believes that this is how we always ought to feel;
So I begrudgingly comply to laugh, to cry, to reel.
I have my doubts about this path, it seems a bit too much;
But Heaven’s Envy convinces me with her caressing touch.
She claims it is experience that I must live to claim,
Every moment is divine, and none are quite the same.
The rise and fall’s a constant haul, a climb both up and down,
An awful assault of senses that makes all smiles a frown.
I feel so unclean living so much, but She’s the one it’s for;
Thus I dive into the sea and above the clouds we soar.
She seems to make it all worthwhile, this Love, this Life, this Way;
Yet still the feelings take their toll: the price my soul must pay.
The Dammed break forth and overwhelm my self during the fray;
So in the end I’m forced to either writhe or run away.
Thus we live, we wretched two, grasping every thorn.
I wish for euphoric ecstasy, and in return get only scorn.
This case of paranoia is how we two are found.
A pinprick is unearthly pain, torrents of tears unfold.
A match is an inferno, and an ice cube’s oh so cold.
We Love, we Hate, we reciprocate all feelings sent our way.
But our effects are ten-fold strong, they can’t be kept at bay.
My Love believes that this is how we always ought to feel;
So I begrudgingly comply to laugh, to cry, to reel.
I have my doubts about this path, it seems a bit too much;
But Heaven’s Envy convinces me with her caressing touch.
She claims it is experience that I must live to claim,
Every moment is divine, and none are quite the same.
The rise and fall’s a constant haul, a climb both up and down,
An awful assault of senses that makes all smiles a frown.
I feel so unclean living so much, but She’s the one it’s for;
Thus I dive into the sea and above the clouds we soar.
She seems to make it all worthwhile, this Love, this Life, this Way;
Yet still the feelings take their toll: the price my soul must pay.
The Dammed break forth and overwhelm my self during the fray;
So in the end I’m forced to either writhe or run away.
Thus we live, we wretched two, grasping every thorn.
I wish for euphoric ecstasy, and in return get only scorn.
The Battle Lines are Sketched
My teachers need to give me more homework that's due tomorrow. If I end up with too little that needs to be done immediately, I go off and do stupid things like writing "poetry," as this may loosely be called. Although it was a kind of neat idea. I didn't initially plan on it, but as I was thinking on it, I decided that the two philosophies that seem to give me the most trouble are romanticism and nihilism (not exactly accurate to call it that, but it's the closest thing I can think of). The two forces are often equated by me as heart and mind and seem to be in a constant struggle to conquer my soul. So in anticipation for my possible split personalities I went and named these forces based on poetical allusions as represented in the two poems (the other being "The King and I" found below which you youth legislators will have missed and may want to read first). The heart is Annabel, or "Anna", from Poe's "Annabel Lee", representing feeling, Love, caring, and romanticism. The mind is Ozymandius, or "Ozy", representing apathy, detachment, and pointlessness. The soul is Dyl, representing, uh, puppy kicking.
Really, Anna and Ozy make a sort of "Odd Couple to the Extreme" scenario, which might actually be a pretty interesting sitcom (hehe, maybe an idea for a future entry...). It's rather amusing for me to put it in this light, because you can see a bouncy little girl named Anna running around,getting into trouble, and doing all sorts of stuff and a dark, forboding, apathetic old man Ozzy who yells at all the young whipper-snappers to keep quiet so as to not interrupt his shuffleboard time.
But this comical representation is just a guise for two quite sinister forces. Both do have their benefits, Ozy's being no pain, Anna's being a chance for happiness and joy. But alone, each are inherently flawed and doomed to failure. Ozymandius (or the philosophy he represents) would end in morbid desolation, tired of the endless sea of sand to the point that such purposelessness is unbearable. Or rather, there's no reason to bear it. Similarly, Annabel would want to confess and scream every single emotion and whim that struck or lightly tapped her. This would result in three-fold destruction in that the strain from rejection, sadness, and grief, not to mention the close to bursting power of joy and ecstasy would sink/consume her; she probably couldn't stand the superficiality of anyone or thing and instead of suffering disillusionment that everyone didn't think of life as the highest apex of emotion and experience, she'd have to drown herself; and others couldn't tolerate such an exhibition of emotion and feelings because restraint is a respected quality in our society and people's insecurities and true feelings often make others uneasy about themselves, and the reminder is too painful to bear.
Thus, the two philosophies would each result in destruction. Now I'm more of an "Ozybel" or "Annamandius" with a few other paths floating around in that warped, twisted, foolish mess that is my mind. But when I was examining my future and reality, it did occur to me that when I approached either side of the spectrum, death seemed to be the only answer. Anna needs Ozy's rational judgment and "buffer" effect, so that each slight isn't an assault upon her very essence; too "put things into perspective", so to speak. And Ozy needs Anna to have some reason to go on, for some reason to continue to exist period. Thus, in the middle I can take most anything that comes.
However these two "philosophies" don't want to coexist. They won't take compromise for an answer. So they constantly struggle for superiority. When I lean towards one a bit, I call upon the other to comfort me, which in turn plunges me deeper into their side, which as we know is really depression, and I have to use the other to bail me out and I end up only falling further. It's similiar to a sine graph (That's sine, from precalculus; basically a rollercoaster) with progressively greater altitudes (heights). The only way to survive is to not look to either, but to rest solely upon the equillibrium of the two (meaning where both are treated equally and balance each other out). Essentially force them coexist. And, of course, that results in "varying results."
That's about it. I just find it rather remarkable that either method, fully caring or not caring at all, result in the same logical solution. Two radically differing philosophies with the same effects. There's probably a message somewhere in that. But I got into that mess by thinking, so I'm going to let you figure it out. Maybe I should just do drugs. No one would be able to tell the difference. That is, until next time....
Really, Anna and Ozy make a sort of "Odd Couple to the Extreme" scenario, which might actually be a pretty interesting sitcom (hehe, maybe an idea for a future entry...). It's rather amusing for me to put it in this light, because you can see a bouncy little girl named Anna running around,getting into trouble, and doing all sorts of stuff and a dark, forboding, apathetic old man Ozzy who yells at all the young whipper-snappers to keep quiet so as to not interrupt his shuffleboard time.
But this comical representation is just a guise for two quite sinister forces. Both do have their benefits, Ozy's being no pain, Anna's being a chance for happiness and joy. But alone, each are inherently flawed and doomed to failure. Ozymandius (or the philosophy he represents) would end in morbid desolation, tired of the endless sea of sand to the point that such purposelessness is unbearable. Or rather, there's no reason to bear it. Similarly, Annabel would want to confess and scream every single emotion and whim that struck or lightly tapped her. This would result in three-fold destruction in that the strain from rejection, sadness, and grief, not to mention the close to bursting power of joy and ecstasy would sink/consume her; she probably couldn't stand the superficiality of anyone or thing and instead of suffering disillusionment that everyone didn't think of life as the highest apex of emotion and experience, she'd have to drown herself; and others couldn't tolerate such an exhibition of emotion and feelings because restraint is a respected quality in our society and people's insecurities and true feelings often make others uneasy about themselves, and the reminder is too painful to bear.
Thus, the two philosophies would each result in destruction. Now I'm more of an "Ozybel" or "Annamandius" with a few other paths floating around in that warped, twisted, foolish mess that is my mind. But when I was examining my future and reality, it did occur to me that when I approached either side of the spectrum, death seemed to be the only answer. Anna needs Ozy's rational judgment and "buffer" effect, so that each slight isn't an assault upon her very essence; too "put things into perspective", so to speak. And Ozy needs Anna to have some reason to go on, for some reason to continue to exist period. Thus, in the middle I can take most anything that comes.
However these two "philosophies" don't want to coexist. They won't take compromise for an answer. So they constantly struggle for superiority. When I lean towards one a bit, I call upon the other to comfort me, which in turn plunges me deeper into their side, which as we know is really depression, and I have to use the other to bail me out and I end up only falling further. It's similiar to a sine graph (That's sine, from precalculus; basically a rollercoaster) with progressively greater altitudes (heights). The only way to survive is to not look to either, but to rest solely upon the equillibrium of the two (meaning where both are treated equally and balance each other out). Essentially force them coexist. And, of course, that results in "varying results."
That's about it. I just find it rather remarkable that either method, fully caring or not caring at all, result in the same logical solution. Two radically differing philosophies with the same effects. There's probably a message somewhere in that. But I got into that mess by thinking, so I'm going to let you figure it out. Maybe I should just do drugs. No one would be able to tell the difference. That is, until next time....
Friday, April 2
The King and I
The King and I sit upon our throne, observing each day pass.
We watch the grains of sand whirl by our prison made of glass.
These walls we built that won’t come down are clear, but stand opaque;
For though we see the moments ripe, no actions can we take.
Resigned are we, unto our fate, with Hope a pleasant dream.
Nothing worthy finds the eye, no greatness do we deem.
But the dust accosts my soul and attachments hence are made
Which make the ending all the worse when they must wane and fade.
A trinket here, a diamond there, all worn away by time.
Still we remain here, passively, witnesses to the crime.
I thought, perhaps, I should reach out and save them from their fate,
But my companion convinces me that they won’t satiate.
I miss the sparkle of each stone I’ll never see again.
Though new jewels do pass my way, it isn’t as it’d been.
So I repine for gems long past, while more fly into view;
Before I mourn each fragment gone, the cycle starts anew.
But each new rock is just a curse: a burden, not a gain!
For though I try to reach and grasp, I can’t transcend the pane!
I soon forget each glimmer that once kept me insane,
So now I’m back to apathy, no sunshine for our reign.
Thus we watch, we wretched two, and fades our rejected bliss;
Still we cannot help but wonder what it is we always miss.
We watch the grains of sand whirl by our prison made of glass.
These walls we built that won’t come down are clear, but stand opaque;
For though we see the moments ripe, no actions can we take.
Resigned are we, unto our fate, with Hope a pleasant dream.
Nothing worthy finds the eye, no greatness do we deem.
But the dust accosts my soul and attachments hence are made
Which make the ending all the worse when they must wane and fade.
A trinket here, a diamond there, all worn away by time.
Still we remain here, passively, witnesses to the crime.
I thought, perhaps, I should reach out and save them from their fate,
But my companion convinces me that they won’t satiate.
I miss the sparkle of each stone I’ll never see again.
Though new jewels do pass my way, it isn’t as it’d been.
So I repine for gems long past, while more fly into view;
Before I mourn each fragment gone, the cycle starts anew.
But each new rock is just a curse: a burden, not a gain!
For though I try to reach and grasp, I can’t transcend the pane!
I soon forget each glimmer that once kept me insane,
So now I’m back to apathy, no sunshine for our reign.
Thus we watch, we wretched two, and fades our rejected bliss;
Still we cannot help but wonder what it is we always miss.
Unanimously Elected Royalty
With so many people gone, I thought it'd be an apt time to speak of that very subject. I considered writing a riddle about absence or loss, but I've already done "nothing" so I went with Ozy instead. As you might pick up from the poem, the King of Kings and I have a love/hate relationship that ends with blank stares and quite a few "eh's." I don't really know why I bother writing "poetry" as one could loosely call it, I'm supposed to be a Math man, but I'm still 17 so I can chalk it up to youthful indiscretion and be done with it when I'm adult. Handy little excuse, eh?
Anyway, back to the topic onhand. Loss. Absence. That feeling we often get when we feel so small and purposeless in a cruel, cruel world where if anyone cares, a rarity indeed, it is merely a guise to hurt or manipulate you for their own sadistic desires in order to satisfy their own insecurities. Not a pleasant feeling. I suppose attempting to block oneself off, emotionally at least, from the entirety of conscious beings normally results in a freefall into despair for the support of others who, whether you consciously acknowledge or reciprocate it or not, really do care is now torn out from under you like the main column supporting the architecture of your soul. Thus you think only to return the hate, for that is what raw apathy with no traces of love turns into, to all those who so callously have forsaken you.
Soon you come to realize that it's just been a mistake. Somehow a hole punctured in the fabric of your support network was torn asunder and although you might not notice it at the time, that small pinprick deflated a once large and buoyant balloon. Maybe it wasn't all that big to begin with, but the loss of air, no matter how much you had, is too much to bear.
Now this is almost certainly romantic hyperbole, but I'm an inverted romantic fool, so I've got the liscense and time to exert it! What this is really about is the "paved paradise" mentality. "You don't know what you've got til it's gone." I think I must be a victim of this unfortunate little syndrome, but in a delayed sort of way. I can take death and change fine. When people leave, I attribute to the process of time, inevitable, nothing more. But subconsciously that balloon begins to deflate and when I try to fall back on something, there's not as much there to cushion my fall. The loss just leaves you empty. For all a person's faults, for the few times you rarely see them, for all the annoying qualities they have, once they've gone your life seems a bit emptier. The death, the departure themselves don't mean much initially. But in time their true effects are revealed.
For me, the most recent "paradises to have been paved" are people like Elizabeth Gilliam, Austin Bowling, and my Beretta. In the case of the Beretta, I didn't realize how much it meant to me. It's dylapidated(Yes that's mispelled on purpose ;) ) condition, it's annoying stick shift, it's redneckish exterior all had a sort of rustic charm that is now gone forever. It had an aura, a being that even if it was in some ways pathetic or repugnant, it had a sort of personality whose absence was felt as much as the absence of any person.
I view myself as a sort of stoic fatalist, taking what comes and going along with the current, so I didn't think change would effect me. Indeed, one of my first thoughts upon limping out of the broken wreckage was "Confound it, I didn't die!" not "Oh my poor, wonderful car!" Similarly when Austin left for North Carolina. I took it as it came, not thinking much of it. It simply occurred, I soon forgot about it. But when he was no longer there to greet me everyday in Chemistry, no longer there to rabidly support his beloved Steelers, no longer in the band room after school for Cory and I to mingle with and discuss the "News of the Day", my life really did get emptier. Similiarly with Elizabeth G. I just took her prescense for granted, but I can no longer be a "minion." The band room is certainly emptier each afternoon, filled with strange freshmen and others, most of which I've never met or have either drifted from. The avenues of support fall one by one, each just a drop in the bucket. It's not initially clear clear their effect, but the combination adds up.
Certainly, I've compensated and expanded. I've gotten to know Cory and David better (I think, they don't speak loud enough so I may be mis-translating Silentese). I make new outlets to new people, and certainly I'm weathering this new emotional storm rather well (at the moment), with the sun soon to fill my horizon. But the loss is still felt, and so poignantly sometimes that I do indeed feel bitter and hateful towards all of the world.
And it gets worse. In a matter of monthes, the Senior class will be gone. Of course, I don't know many of them and of the few that I know, I know even fewer well, but the loss will still be felt. It's simply a fact of life. New bonds will be made just to be smashed to pieces a few moments later. Certainly if I made the effort I could retain some semblance of a "relationship" of some sort with these people, but I don't even do that now. I'm more of a "take what comes to me and let the past be what it is" kind of person. But I have to suffer the consequences that it entails too. And like most "consequences", they simply aren't pleasant.
Thus I sandsurf my way through life, letting things I should grasp hold of slip through my fingers. I can stoically accept the loneliness and regret that comes with it, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Such is the eternal circle. But that's another discussion...
On a final note, another "loss" is that of my calculator watch. Late the week before spring break, my poor, faithful little watch's battery died. Since December of 2000 or 2001, it has provided me with the time, math, and nerdiness I eeded. I would hardly ever "wear" it, even before the strap broke, preferring to sling it around on pencils or wrap it around itself. When the strap finally did break, I discovered the much preferrable method of keeping the wristwatch in my pocket and this method has served me well since. I don't believe It's not likely to be revived. It will be sorely missed.
And now, your much desired moment of silence. That is, until next time...
Anyway, back to the topic onhand. Loss. Absence. That feeling we often get when we feel so small and purposeless in a cruel, cruel world where if anyone cares, a rarity indeed, it is merely a guise to hurt or manipulate you for their own sadistic desires in order to satisfy their own insecurities. Not a pleasant feeling. I suppose attempting to block oneself off, emotionally at least, from the entirety of conscious beings normally results in a freefall into despair for the support of others who, whether you consciously acknowledge or reciprocate it or not, really do care is now torn out from under you like the main column supporting the architecture of your soul. Thus you think only to return the hate, for that is what raw apathy with no traces of love turns into, to all those who so callously have forsaken you.
Soon you come to realize that it's just been a mistake. Somehow a hole punctured in the fabric of your support network was torn asunder and although you might not notice it at the time, that small pinprick deflated a once large and buoyant balloon. Maybe it wasn't all that big to begin with, but the loss of air, no matter how much you had, is too much to bear.
Now this is almost certainly romantic hyperbole, but I'm an inverted romantic fool, so I've got the liscense and time to exert it! What this is really about is the "paved paradise" mentality. "You don't know what you've got til it's gone." I think I must be a victim of this unfortunate little syndrome, but in a delayed sort of way. I can take death and change fine. When people leave, I attribute to the process of time, inevitable, nothing more. But subconsciously that balloon begins to deflate and when I try to fall back on something, there's not as much there to cushion my fall. The loss just leaves you empty. For all a person's faults, for the few times you rarely see them, for all the annoying qualities they have, once they've gone your life seems a bit emptier. The death, the departure themselves don't mean much initially. But in time their true effects are revealed.
For me, the most recent "paradises to have been paved" are people like Elizabeth Gilliam, Austin Bowling, and my Beretta. In the case of the Beretta, I didn't realize how much it meant to me. It's dylapidated(Yes that's mispelled on purpose ;) ) condition, it's annoying stick shift, it's redneckish exterior all had a sort of rustic charm that is now gone forever. It had an aura, a being that even if it was in some ways pathetic or repugnant, it had a sort of personality whose absence was felt as much as the absence of any person.
I view myself as a sort of stoic fatalist, taking what comes and going along with the current, so I didn't think change would effect me. Indeed, one of my first thoughts upon limping out of the broken wreckage was "Confound it, I didn't die!" not "Oh my poor, wonderful car!" Similarly when Austin left for North Carolina. I took it as it came, not thinking much of it. It simply occurred, I soon forgot about it. But when he was no longer there to greet me everyday in Chemistry, no longer there to rabidly support his beloved Steelers, no longer in the band room after school for Cory and I to mingle with and discuss the "News of the Day", my life really did get emptier. Similiarly with Elizabeth G. I just took her prescense for granted, but I can no longer be a "minion." The band room is certainly emptier each afternoon, filled with strange freshmen and others, most of which I've never met or have either drifted from. The avenues of support fall one by one, each just a drop in the bucket. It's not initially clear clear their effect, but the combination adds up.
Certainly, I've compensated and expanded. I've gotten to know Cory and David better (I think, they don't speak loud enough so I may be mis-translating Silentese). I make new outlets to new people, and certainly I'm weathering this new emotional storm rather well (at the moment), with the sun soon to fill my horizon. But the loss is still felt, and so poignantly sometimes that I do indeed feel bitter and hateful towards all of the world.
And it gets worse. In a matter of monthes, the Senior class will be gone. Of course, I don't know many of them and of the few that I know, I know even fewer well, but the loss will still be felt. It's simply a fact of life. New bonds will be made just to be smashed to pieces a few moments later. Certainly if I made the effort I could retain some semblance of a "relationship" of some sort with these people, but I don't even do that now. I'm more of a "take what comes to me and let the past be what it is" kind of person. But I have to suffer the consequences that it entails too. And like most "consequences", they simply aren't pleasant.
Thus I sandsurf my way through life, letting things I should grasp hold of slip through my fingers. I can stoically accept the loneliness and regret that comes with it, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Such is the eternal circle. But that's another discussion...
On a final note, another "loss" is that of my calculator watch. Late the week before spring break, my poor, faithful little watch's battery died. Since December of 2000 or 2001, it has provided me with the time, math, and nerdiness I eeded. I would hardly ever "wear" it, even before the strap broke, preferring to sling it around on pencils or wrap it around itself. When the strap finally did break, I discovered the much preferrable method of keeping the wristwatch in my pocket and this method has served me well since. I don't believe It's not likely to be revived. It will be sorely missed.
And now, your much desired moment of silence. That is, until next time...