Forget titles.

I guess I'll cut to the chase, bcause this may very well be the last time that our creative writing class is together. Just think, after you read this, there's no more obligation! You don't need to read this bullshit for school any more! Rejoice!

So, retreat was an eye-opener. For the last six years or so, I've wanted to be respected by my fellow students and, for the most part, I was. However, being the idiot that I am, I was otherwise unable to see it. And it's too late that I realize that admiration and respect aren't mutually inclusive. And there we go again, with the big words and the important sounding phrases. For now, I'll just kill that vocabulary and stick to the basic two-thousand word vocabulary that we all have; connection with my peers is more important than getting praise for clever word choice in this piece. The details of this picture don't matter, it's the message. Forget tone, diction, connotation and all that crap and just read on.

So there was this activity that we had, where we broke off into groups and wrote about what our group members would be doing in ten years. I don't think I need to explain it much more, as most of you went through the activity.

That was a touching activity, to be honest. I don't know if people were being polite or what went on, but it was a good insight into what other people think of me. And no matter how much I pretend to be above that kind of stuff, or how much confidence I pretend to have, there's nothing there. If my peers hate me, then I hate me: it's as simple as that. And until a little while ago, I really thought a good number of people at Prout didn't like me for one reason or another, I don't know why. Maybe it was because people didn't really reach out to me or something, but I didn't feel like I felt in.

I know what you're thinking, or what I would think if I looked at this. It's pathetic, it's angsty, it dates me as somewhere under sixteen, probably around twelve or thirteen, but it's the truth.

But to hear what successes people expected of me, or what they thought I would be ten years from now proved me wrong. And I'm kind of pissed at myself for shutting so many people out for no reason at all, but at the same time I'm in awe of what people thought. For four years I tried to get respect when it was staring me in the damn face. I lost touch with people for the stupidest reasons, and I tried too hard with people, and I don't know if this experience was for good or bad. On one hand, things always look better when you look back at them, and I can say that some parts of high school definately sucked worse than anything that's happened to me, but I can't help but think that a lot of that was just pity and drama that I threw on myself.

So I had a point, but it got lost there somewhere. What I want to say is that a lot of people are expecting a lot of good things from me, and that means more than they know.

"True" Reflection.

Now that I look back on it, high school wasn't such a waste. I must have "learned" fifty thousand meaningless facts for a specific date, or "mastered" complex formulas for a brief period in time, but none of that matters. The truth is that in high school I have ascended to a higher existance.

If you take it as such, then I am a blasphemer. Regardless of semantics, the basic fact is that I have grown, and that you have grown as well. Like it or not, we're interconnected. Every meaningless conversation or opinion that you hear has a shape on who you are as a person, no matter how small or large their impact, you change them.

Thus, Sasha's idea that none of us can be a Washington or a Lincoln, that none of us will grow up to have the impact of Whitney or Ford, that idea is obsolete. Especially with the level of communication that we have today, nobody dies in vain. Even the child who dies at birth is a lesson, every miscarriage affects the world in one way, shape or form.

That being said, you can't afford to back down and slip into a meaningless existance. So many people waste all that they have, myself included. That's really depressing, to see so much lost for one reason or another, to see a mind wasted because it's too preoccupied with other goals.

But at the same time, there's happiness to consider. And that throws everything out of balance. Because some of the most successful people in life don't want any of it, and some people who live with nothing are happier than those with something.

That's really frustrating, you know? There's really no scale to measure ones success upon, but we all bitch and complain that someone has it better than us. Because someone always does have it better than us, and there are always people who have it worse than us. However, our losses are more pronounced than our wins, and what we do not have is always more influencial than what we do have and the grass is always greener on the other side.

That's because we kill the grass. Although there is only one person that I know that could kill grass simply by existing, so that's a metaphor.

So we kill the grass, we spill herbicide all over our lawns and then complain that it's ruined and seek something out. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, it's already programmed into us. You can't change who you were or what you've done, that's a fact of life, and it's no use betraying yourself because others tell you to.

So I walk on, as far forward as I can, taking whatever punishment may meet me along the way, because it's all that I can do. It's sort of funny, in a way, that Dr. Hillman taught us the most powerful article in the English language and most of us can't seem to touch upon it. Wait, let me rephrase that.

You can't seem to touch upon it.

I suppose we're all too scared, aren't we? "You" is such a confrontational word, and it leaves you open to so much criticism that you surely don't want to deal with. If you use the word "you", all of a sudden you're a bad guy. Well, that's all a matter of perspective really.

You'll never be a "bad guy" if you know the right people. If you connect with the right people on some superficial level, then you'll always be a good guy, no matter what your actions may say. Of course, there are exceptions, but for the most part if you act like a sheep, then you're a good guy.

But if you try to act on your own and you become independent, and God forbid you like it, then you are a villain. All of a sudden you're Machiavelli, you're Dracula, you're Stalin, you're Hitler, you're Lucifer and you're Satan.

It's like with a witch trial or getting out on parole, nobody wants to help you. They've all got an opinion of you, and each and every one of them wants something along the same lines.

Then again, assumption is the fruit of ignorance. That's not an idiom, it's a play off of a classic phrase, but it's still my idea.

Failure.

I've been sitting here and typing and deleting, when I finally got around to thinking: have I deleted more words than I've published?

I think that's a scary thought.

Trajectories.

I think the thing that separates this class from others is the "Creative" writing. In all of our other classes, we are given guidelines and told to meet a certain page minimum or to present a certain number of ideas within a given time frame, but this class does none of that.

Weeding out the writers from the non-writers is relatively easy. That isn't to say that the writers are necessarily skilled, nor that the non-writers are incapable of weaving words and creating something that is truly beautiful, only that a certain percentage of my peers fulfill the "creative" requirement.

It takes a great deal of creativity to spark thought, and to sustain that thought throughout a number of posts in any way, shape or form. However, quantity and quality aren't related in that sense.

That's all I really wanted to say.

An entertaining read.

So I read a very satirical and humorous piece called "The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord". I thought it was really funny, and for that reason I share it with you.

Today was a sad day, because my favorite manager quit her job. Of course, I still have books of hers and I have her contact information, but things at work just won't be the same. But it's a change, and it's a chance to grow, and it is therefore valuable.

lol I'm inconspicuous

.uoy kcuF

Look in the mirror.

Anomonopia.

We're all just kids.

We fight over stupid things, we never share, and none of us are really responsible yet.

And before anyone plays the "Projection" card, let me deilver a hearty "Fuck you". Chuck Palahniuk wrote that it isn't until we have lost everything that we are free to do whatever we want. In a similar fashion, it is not until you can admit that you are wrong, or at least entertain the possibility of such an idea, that you can learn what is right and what is wrong. But I'm no psychology major, and neither are you. The only person that should be reading this that has achieved that level of thought has a PhD, and I find names to be redundant at this point.

We're all short-sighted, we all assume too much, and we all have our faults. If we were thrown into society tomorrow with all of the responsibilities of an adult, we would most certainly crack under the pressure. We should be carefree, but we're not. If there's a lack of drama, we create it. If there's any room to complain, we use it. The grass is always greener on the other side, and even though we know this, we can't help but look.

Pope John Paul II wrote that a man who is truly happy with what he has would be just as happy were it all whisked away.

Failure is more pronounced than success, and it's a struggle to keep on top. Because when we all die, and that day is sooner than we'd like to think about, there won't be a scale to measure all the crap that we've accumulated, nor will there be some sort of prize for helping more old ladies cross the street than the next guy in line.

I have no faith, it's not a choice, it's a reaction. I've seen too many failures to believe in myself and I've seen too much to trust my fellow man. In this world you've got yourself, and there's nobody else who wants exactly what you do, if you ever find out what that is. I shouldn't say that there's nobody, because that's a definite, and only a fool speaks in definites.

And for the record, this is all opinion. All 63 posts to date are my opinions and should not be taken as fact without substancial thought and insight. Anyone who adheres to my exact thought complex is simply fooling themselves; I learned that from Maddox.

But you might find someone that shares those interests with you, someone who wants to experience life with you, and when you do you need to seize the moment, because second chances are seldom given. In fact, who needs a second chance? Who governs your chances and what constitutes a loss?

And you can't gain chances back either, just another way that losses and failures are more powerful than accomplishments and successes, oh the things we take for granted.

Take it outside.

We have but mild differences,
And thus, we ride to war,
For perfect ideologies
Are meant to be no more.
We've just lost touch,
There's too much to apologize,
Simply put, it's modern way,
We can no longer compromise.

Am I a lunatic?
Your Pandora?
I say it's better to die in stride,
Charging at impossible odds,
'Tis better to rule in Hell
Than to serve in Heaven.
The moral man who serves no master,
Or the criminal who lives with faith,
Which do you prefer?

Apparently I've made choices,
Presumably I am no longer of use,
Allegedly I am evil incarnate,
Profess my sin to me.
I dare you.

Vendettas be damned,
The last card is drawn,
Odds show an even match,
Fate shows something more tragic.
Gentlemen, reveal your hands.

Where to go?

Time to make some progress.

That, however, does not mean putting one's actions into perspective and going back to the way things are with a lesson learned.

Progression and retrogression are polar opposites, as is told in their prefixes. So how can someone grow if all they do is undo all the stupid choices that they've made? Would any of us really experience anything? I'd rather fail fifty times then succeed once because of the experience involved.

So we deal with it and move on and make some more mistakes, which in turn leads to more mistakes, until eventually we get something right. And hopefully that something just happens to be very important, or else life pretty much shafts you.

As for the next choice, well... just stay tuned to find out.

Montressor.

And there they stood, one a serpent and the other a foot. Like Thor and the Midgardsormr, simultaneously ending each other for all eternity, they stood at knivespoint. Neither giving an inch of ground, they battled relentlessly throughout the ages. One, a human hurricane, the other a manlike meteor, they were equal and opposite.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Sword or shield, which prevails? Shoot the most powerful cannon into the side of a star, which wins?

I think that the unstoppable force simply blows through the immovable object. After all, it isn't moving if a hole gets blasted in the side of it.

What about you?

I've got security/The password and the key

The scariest thing about apathy is when it manifests itself into death.

Imagine trying to intimidate someone who could care less. Imagine holding a gun to someone's head and having them stare back blankly or enticingly, how unsettling is that? It takes a madman to look death in the face, and a strong man to deliver it. Someone making empty threats can do nothing against this foe, it is calling the ultimate bluff.

How do you control someone with no regard for their own life?

I guess that's what sucks about parenting an adolescent sometimes. Or dealing with degenerates all day, like those who owe gambling debts.

After a certain point, there is nothing that can harm them, and you lose. And we all hate losing, don't we?

Except him, of course, he could care less. And then you hate the situation because you're being serious and he seems like he isn't.

Pseudo-Finale.

I had forgotten the exhilaration of the stage, and my heart was beating at something like eighty beats per minute up there. It felt good, it really did, and I'd like to think that I did the piece justice.

And I got my hair cut, and I hate it. Give it another 10 hours and I genuinely won't care, but I'll still snap at anyone who mentions it in passing, because they're tools and jackasses anyways. I don't know why I'm so angry today, or the last few days, but it's part of who I am.

I picked up smoking as a recreation a little while ago, as long as we're getting out in the open. I haven't smoked too many, I think I'm on my tenth in a week as of this line in the post, so I'm not guilty of overindulgence or anything.

And I'm under 18, so it's illegal and is inherently evil. It is your duty to purify me and wipe me off the face of this planet. Do your duty to God and country and destroy me, crucify my on a righteous and legal cross, with fines like nails in my hands and punishments the boards that kill me.

But still, this feels great. I don't give a shit about anything as long as I've got this aflame. I can only hope that some of you will try this once you are able, as bad as that sounds. And those of you who refuse to try something because it's supposedly hazardous to your health, those straight-edged attention whores, those fearful little lemmings, they are the true imbeciles of society. Denying yourself an experience and therefore, wisdom, is aboutas stupid a thing as you can accomplish.

As for imbecile, I don't mean that as an insult; I'm referring to it's long dead meaning. I mean that they have the mental capacity of a seven year old or younger, although they have been on this earth for far longer than seven years.

I don't have a care in the world right now. That isn't to say that I'm passive or anything, and I'm not above fighting at the moment, but all that stress is gone. Poof. I couldn't care less, this is amazing.

I'm mellowed out now, and I'm more than certain that it's somehow connected to this stick of tobacco in my mouth. Contrast that with the anger that I felt earlier today during the performace; some freshman were chuckling and talking during Micah's piece. I'm looking forward very much to handing out my very own brand of justice to them, and I'm sure that will feel great, in that sick, twisted, sadistic sort of way.

See? There's that aggression. But it's controlled, I'm not as impulsive and I can definately envision myself writing like this.

Peace.

It wouldn't be right...

I'm sad to see this class go. I can honestly say that this has been the most insightful and probably the most valuable class that I have taken in all of my schooling. Not meaning to demean this class or anything, but I think that's because this class is actually worth a damn.

Seriously, English 11 was the biggest waste of my time, as was Oceanography or Chemistry, but here we get thinking done.

That being said, I'll make some final statements here so that I'm not pressured to get them out later.

I want to succeed in life, more than not failing, as I pointed out previously. The current me, the Dylan of Spring 2006, wants to go to the University of Rhode Island for a year or two and then transfer into Fordham University on Rose Hill. After graduating with an MBA in Business, I want to live a very outgoing life, one where all my neighbors will know my name and I can be an active member of the community.

I want to get married, put simply. There needs to be physical attraction, because I believe in lust at first sight, but eventually I might become capable of love, as the Q1 2006 Dylan is otherwise incapable of it. I want to have two daughters, at least. I don't want to have to deal with having a son, but I won't disown him if he pops out, nor will I treat him any less than any of my children.

That's it. That's my plan. It probably won't go through, because life is convenient like that, but let's see.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is regression.

This is the first joker, the 53rd post made in this blog.

I don't intend to stop after this class is over, this is a really good way to stay in practice as far as writing goes. It's also a nice vent, a creative outlet; I can imagine myself enjoying a nice cigarette while I relax and make a post in a few months, so if you're ever in the neighborhood, drop in.

It sucks to be forgotten, doesn't it?

--

She never said anything to me for years, not a word.
She sat next to me in class one day. She needed notes, apparently, so I let her borrow them and smiled.
The next time I saw her, she acknowledged my existance in the halls. It wasn't much, a simple smile and a quick gesture, but it was something.
After a while we would start to strike up conversation. Apparently she thought that I was funny, and it wasn't too long before we could have a nice conversation.
Then we graduated, and I didn't see her for years. It's a damn shame too, because we really had something going.

That's what I regret in high school. All the small talk started three years too late. I didn't have any real priorities until now, and when I extrapolate the effect of that into the future, it looks grim.

At the risk of sounding incredibly childish and self-conscious, I'll admit that I am incredibly socially awkward. Today at the National Honor Society ceremony, I left shortly afterwards because there was simply nobody there to talk with. It's over, there's no more small talk, no more introductions. That's sad, it really is. I hope that awkwardness goes away with time and when the reunions come around that we can be reacquainted as total strangers. Until then, I'll entertain the notion of making new friends.

---

In closing, I wasted my time in high school. I never went to a party, I never had a girlfriend or did so much as go on a real date, I never had sex or anything remotely close to it, I didn't try new things; I shut a lot of people out and put up a little bubble, and that sucks.

And if I don't do anything in college then I'll probably just blow my brains out. Seriously, what good is a degree or a high IQ or a wealth of knowledge if you go home to an empty house to an address book with five numbers in it? At that point you're a naive, pathetic shell or husk of a human being and death is a grace.

There's the gap, and you can't make it.

Sasha and I could trade mental blows and discuss meaningless, circumnavigational, self-contraditory and, on the grandiose scale, internally conflicted philosophy for days and pages. However, for the sake of brevity and the purpose that such bluntness brings, I shall stop here, and answer the question, offering none of my own.

What are we here for? Why do we exist?

What's it matter? The fact is, we exist, and there's very little that we can do to change that. Granted, we can all go drink the green Kool Aid or take a dosage of hot lead, but what's the purpose in that?

So, I guess the remaining part of the question is "why are we alive" in the sense of "why don't we all kill ourselves".

I'm alive for nights like these. Zipping home on a fog-flooded road, unable to see five feet in front of my hood, and still speeding like my life depends on it. My feet anxiously wait on the brake, as if hoping for some unknown obstacle to leap into my path. Isn't that funny, how we try to put ourselves in danger that much, that we all have these self-destrutive tendencies. Whether it's simply driving too fast or drinking and driving or smoking or putting ourselves in any otherwise unsafe situation, we pine for death like our lives depend on it.

And yet, once we hit that threshold, only the truly insane pass it.

Of course, anyone with an IQ of 180 or higher is, statistically, insane.

So... the intelligent choose to die.

Well, maybe it is the right path.

Maybe...

But I can't die.

I was meant to be born, there is a cosmic reason that I exist.

Why?

Because I was conceived through a condom and a diaphragm.
And I've survived at least five near-death experiences.
And I'm here now.
And I can't just stop here.

Because I exist to prove a point. Not to succeed, not to find happiness or love, but to prove that statistics are moot. If I am to die tomorrow, then so be it. My death will most likely be due in full to my loud mouth or destructive decisions, so I really can't blame anyone or lie to myself and try to pretend that I care for my life to such a degree.

Somewhere, society went horribly, horribly wrong.

It's on the menu...

I like speaking with older people. Spare me the boring drama of my peers today, their small talk of who happens to be in the sheets with whom, their foolish overanalysis of two words spoken to them by a cohort; if I want to deal with stupid drama then I'll just look at myself. I also despise mundane observations and overdue revelations, much like the twenty-three year old who says "those were the days" and tries to convince me otherwise when I am fully aware of the fact.

But hey, I guess retards need attention, after all... they're not going to impress. The truly strong must face adversity, or those who face adversity become strong; the ancient chicken/egg complex.

What I'm dreading about college is the retrorevelations. That is, to say, that I'll be surrounded by a batch of bandwagon atheists who realize the work of Friedrich Nietzshe and draw attention to themselves, as if expecting a reward for doing so. Much like a child or an animal, they'll look up to authority for recognition. I can't take attention whores of that nature, and these super-attention whores are going to be a pain in the ass.

But finding someone six or seven years my senior to speak with on an equal level, to trade mental blows with, that's something that I pursue. To test the boundary between experience and prodigiousness, to acquire knowledge that sets me apart from my peers, that's my goal.

In Economics class, Mr. D'Andrea discussed the age-old small talk concerning the lottery and what one would do with their winnings. His thinking on the subject was how unfortunate it was that people could only seem to think of things to buy.

What would you do if you won the lottery? If you all of a sudden had twenty million dollars to spend at your leisure, what would you do with it? Invest it? Buy a nice car? Buy a mansion? Retire? Party all the time? Give it all away?

Me? I'd take whatever I needed to get into college, and I would never leave. The rest of my life, as far as I can measure, would be spent in the classroom, learning languages of far-off lands and all the knowledge that is possessed in those lands. Eventually I suppose that I would get so good at going to school that I might even try to teach it. Whatever money was left over, I would use to purchase whatever I need or want, and the rest would be used as a scholarship fund. It would be simply, really, I would sit down with the young man or woman and talk. You can learn an awful lot about a person if you just shut the hell up and listen, so I'll examine their gestures and extrapolate that into a person. If I like that person, they have a free ride to college, no strings attached.

That isn't to say that I would live a life of subsistence. Overindulgence of luxuries breeds all ills known to man, but simple, comfortable living is much more neutral in alignment on the good ---- evil spectrum. I would buy books to complement an ever-growing library, whatever entertainment utilities and facilities that I should require, and any assets to living that I should otherwise expect and pursue. Living a life of poverty, chastity, and servitude is not what I seek. If we are to die, why should we suffer while we are alive?

My ultimate goal in life is to avoid any and all retrogression, to reject the objects of long past affection and attention and to accept change as a necessary and natural occurence, while still allowing for a sense of permanence and security.

---

For anyone who hasn't read Sasha this weekend, I would suggest doing so now. It's a noteworthy piece. For those of you who have read Sasha, this is a piece-by-piece analysis and breakdown of it.

Sasha, I counter your supposed negativity and socially unfavorable post with answers:

People have been so concerned with discovering the meaning of life, and it still hasn’t been discovered yet. This is not due to its elusiveness as a target. Everyone is simply stumbling around shooting in the dark. We know there’s nothing there, deep down. We know; but it’s simple despair that has led us to disbelieve reality in the desperate need for us to have something to shoot at.

The unconscious mind is dangerous territory. However, I agree with the whole "religion and faith out of desperation" concept, so I'll leave that be.

Enough metaphors? I’ll get to my point. There is no meaning of life. You will have arguments to persuade me from this fact, for fact it is, and so I am here to absorb all those arguments and rip them to shreds. Here goes:

I like to think of myself as a logical guy. My ideas have been formed by reasoning and a little thought. Lets start with the basics: what is your purpose in life? The answer: your job from birth is to die. It doesn’t matter how, and it doesn’t matter when, but it will happen. That’s the obvious truth.

No meaning of life, a purely atheistic point of view. Hell, any organized religion, Satanism included, has a purpose to their existence. So, the fact that you have a purpose to life, be it to die, defies the path that you take for the rest of the piece. The existentialism that you touch on later is contradicted here too.

So, then, what’s the point? You may say this: “My life affects those around me. Even if I accomplish nothing, I will have made my mark on others.” So what? Which others? You mean other people. But, you see, they will die too. Everyone dies. And they’ll be replaced by people who will never have known you and you will be forgotten, and your body will decay and your molecules will be dissolved into something else. Will you matter then?

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, everything shall end.

But Caesar matters, doesn't he? And Washington, Jefferson and Jesus? Jesus? Dickens? DaVinci and Picasso? They all matter, don't they? So not all things are forgotten, especially with the internet. Hell, there are sites that have dead webmasters.

No, your best bet is to become famous enough to be put in a history book, and then hope that the history that you are a part of isn’t changed after a particularly vicious political upheaval. In which case, at best, you’ll be remembered for 2000 years, using current precedents.

Lets continue farther into the future and into the future of the human race. If I were to ask you what you saw in humanities future, what would you say? Before you answer, let me tell you what I would say: “In several billion years, the sun will have expanded to a size large enough to swallow up the earth. Assuming that we have mastered space travel by that time, I’d say the human race would be in no danger for another hundred billion years, at which point, assuming that modern scientists are at all good at their jobs, the universe’s expansion will have reversed itself leading to a titanic crunch of everything, obliterating it all.” I’m no expert, so my numbers may be off. But what does that tell you. It tells me that we have no future.

Oops, spoke too soon, you address history too. Well, using that logic, why are you writing? What's the point of your supposed "education" of us regarding your ideas? None of these ideas matter anyway, right?

There is no future, but that does not mean that all progress is doomed to be erased in the great equalizer, nor that all advancement is for naught.

Eli Whitney made the cotton gin in the late 1700s. That invention can be extrapolated into single-handedly increasing the average lifespan of the population in the Western world by a significant amount. Henry Ford mass-produced automobiles in the 1920s and onward, and revolutionized the automobile industry. Johannes Gutenberg produced the printing press on a large scale, Edison invented loads of items that you use today, and yet, you leave technology alone. Without these contributions, there would be no cars, there would be no electricity, no books, no internet, no language, nothing. We would still be drawing on cave walls and killing each other with sticks.

So the next time you try to act apathetic and reject advancement, you must first realize that you are typing your ideas in words formed thousands of years ago, on plastic that was manufactured by some useless machine, into a useless database filled with more useless information on a grandiose scale.

Lets scroll back to 1991: Cold War ends, Soviet Union Collapses, the world can stop living with the fear that two superpowers will launch a nuclear holocaust upon the world. Still, I can’t help wondering: who would have cared if we had annihilated the planet with ourselves still on it? Would you care? Would I care? I’m pretty sure that I’d be dead, so what’s it to me? If the human race were to become extinct, who would cry? If a tree falls in a forest, and no one hears it, does it make a sound?

In this case, that tree does make a sound. Because as long as there is one being that can perceive death, it exists. A cockroach understands death because it runs from it, and they can survive a nuclear holocaust.

Thus, our deaths are not all meaningless. As we die, there is an instant that we realize what is happening. During that second, our lamentations take hold of us and release.

Now lets get down to the nitty gritty: God cares. God. God cares so much that he made us. God cares so much that he made us above the other animals, he made us smart. Smart enough to build weapons capable of blowing ourselves up. Smart enough to Question the existence of God. Smart enough to make God up. Remember the need to have something to shoot at? Shoot at God. Why not? Its simple really: we’re better than the animals, and God’s better than us. Why? Because I don’t want to die. So God will help me out. God will send me to heaven. Or God will reincarnate me in another life. Or God will give me 72 virgins in the afterlife. Why not? He’s God, I don’t know what he’s doing, so I’ll make it up for him.

Let me tell you something. If God cared for us so much, he’d make it easy for us. We’d life eternally this time around, instead of having to die, sometimes painfully and gruesomely. If God cared so much, he’d make us perfect, and not “test” us by making us live life and suffer on a world that he created. If God cared so much, he’d just separate the bad guys from the good guys right now, because he’s God, and he already knows who they are. If the kind of God you all wish for really existed, we’d know it, and not have to guess.

God doesn't exist. God is a tool for the weak.

If you still think that I think to much, try it yourself sometime. Take a few minutes, and just think: what is my purpose in life? Why do I exist? Why does this planet exist in order for me to live on it? Why does God have to exist? Why? You do that, then you’ll know why I think too much. I want to know why. I want to know that there is a reason, and that there’s more to it than just existing, and then ceasing to exist. Tell me that there is something to shoot at in the dark, prove me wrong. Prove it. Because if there isn’t…

Think about it.

You exist because it's all you know. The reason that you haven't died is because you fear it, more or less. This planet exists because of a freak accident and all of us exist because of a physical anomoly. That is all.

3-pronged rebuttal.

I can't write tonight, and I probably won't be myself in class tomorrow. I'm pretty messed up right now, and I can't convert whatever the hell this is into creative energy. And it's a damn shame, today was such a good topic.

---

EDIT: I found something.

For now we are at rest,
You, my Valkyrie,
Take flight, with plight,
To your untimely return.
For when we rest,
And you take your leave,
I lay here, unbroken.
Into Valhalla shall we ride,
I can bring you there.

Like a Spartan,
Make a stand,
Keep your dagger at side,
Wait.

Ready.

Strike.
Quickly now, to kill a god,
Is no easy task, but to kill
God is simply daunting.

Pass Leviathan, like Cerberus,
Take care, beware of Lucifer,
Primal sin, Primary sin,
It's all the same.
Beelzebub and Satan trade blows,
Mammon and Asmodeus plot,
Last is Belphegor, but he does nothing.
Satan is naught but rebellion,
The only true sin is ignorance,
A small improvement.

Through Purgatory shall you ride,
Fields of the unborn, waiting,
It's disturbing, is it not?
No sin and no good deed can save you now.
Fifty for each mortal sin,
Twenty-five for all lesser,
Out of eternity, then you shall be judged.

Should you return to the source,
You are done with your journey,
And you no longer exist as yourself.
Suffix of 'An',
Redeem me, if you can.

Five pillars stand in a hall,
Five pillars soon shall fall,
This is our modern religion.

I want nothing of it.

Cry me a future,
Where the revelations run amok,
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Lions and tigers come running,
Just to steal your luck.
Out of the farm we'll be
Swimming with the mother duck,
Deep in the mitten where,
Lions and Tigers come running,
Just to steal your luck.

That, on the other hand, is my "religion".

---

It's ironic, once one goes through Hell, he certainly must acknowledge to existance of God, but it's the last thing he wants to do.

And can you blame him?

What is Hell? Fire and Brimstone? Solitude? Torture?

Think what you may, I retain that Hell is a padded room.

Knock the world right off its feet and straight onto its head.

I walk into the room,
He asks my opinion,
We are equal.
Over time his experiences are mine,
In goes a boy, unwise and trivial,
Out walks a man, advanced and sharp.
As we are grown in this garden of fact,
Each area dwindles as we advance,
The perfect have few exceptions,
The inferior are loose in interpretation,
And we are marked down, descending with pride.
I leave the room, and I look back,
Our eyes do not meet,
He is my superior.
And I walk for a while and return in due time,
And nobody is there,
So he strikes up conversation.
Equal once more.

---

It's been roughly 34 hours since I bought Stadium Arcadium, and I don't think I've made a better investment in recent years. If I sound like a broken record, then it's simply because the album is that amazing.

---

Consider this, each and every person that you meet is a living encyclopedia, possessing years of knowledge and experiences that you may never duplicate. Each and every stranger has something that they can contribute to your being, if not only a childlike innocence and a pre-programmed viewpoint. However, each and every person that you come into contact with will change your being to one degree or another. It is also rare to find another who is not trying to change you, for better or for worse.

Who can you trust? Think of how your peers and teachers have changed you over the years, be it as an example or a counter-example. Think of how your friends have adopted things that you like and have molded to fit your perspective.

What's my point? The point is this, if I may be brief (god dammit...): Take full advantage of this and read from others lives as much as you can, but retain some semblance of yourself in the process.

---

My agenda for when I turn 18 is as follows:
- Get inked somewhere, preferably the shoulder/back area, although the thigh is possible.
- Buy a pack of Malboro reds.
- Test the carding system at a Cumberland Farms.
- Go to an 18+ club.
- Get kicked out of an 18+ club for inappropriate conduct.
- Register to vote.
- Get a T-shirt saying "Legal" and wear it in the mall. Proudly.
- Go into an 'Amazing' store and make all the sexual deviants feel dirty and exposed.
- Go to NY and gamble my little heart out.
- Get all of my 18+ paperwork.
- Get a firearms lisence.
- Get a lisence to carry a concealed firearm.
- Get promoted.
- Carry on with life as usual, with a/some tattoo(s), a smoking habit, a gambling debt and a concealed firearm.

Then again, what's the chance of all that clearing?

Despise your demise.

We hate what we do not understand, what a beautiful philosophy.

And I hate my brevity as of late, although I understand it perfectly.

Distinct.

I wish there were lines. Keep in mind that this is "lines" as "boundaries" and not "queues", to clear that up right away. I wish there were terminal points and symptoms that clearly identified each scenario; a lack of gray and an abundance of black and white. I wish there was a test that I could take to determine my fate, and to assign traits to "choice" and "reaction". Lines between the damned ambiguity that surrounds us and enshrouds us in uncertainty, dispel the mists and give me an answer.

Yes / No
0 / 1
Black / White
Coke / Pepsi
Safe / Unsafe
R / NC-17
Heaven / Hell
Here / There

Closure is more important than interest at this point.

In spite of pride.

Here we are,
So one-dimensional
Just a

Blip

On your
R
__a
____ d
______ a
________ r.


For we all come from one place, and to that place we shall return.
Be it Brahman, or dust, or some unknown plane or even nothing at all, we all fall.

She sat there with salmon hair, drenched in beauty, but nobody saw.

He sat there singing the nicest music, but nobody listened.

Ride the river.

Why is it that negative emotions retain themselves longer than positive ones? Is it because we take what we have for granted and focus so much on what we want? I can't seem to get away from those negative emotions, and I don't want to think about the people attached to them at all. In fact, I'd like to see their names on granite impaled in the ground. But at the same time, I remember them, and I've forgotten the name of the man who saved my life when I was eight years old.

That sucks.

---

"You can't seriously be doing this."

"I am."

"You're keeping her from me, you're keeping me from a potential partner because you like her?"

"Is there a better reason?"

"Why don't you put me above yourself?"

"Because you wouldn't return the favor."

"I would."

"But you haven't."

"But I would if you did me this favor."

"I can't be guarenteed an oppurtunity like this again."

"So that's it?"

"Yep."

"Go to hell."

"Trust me, after this it will be a nice vacation."

"Shut up."

"And if I don't?"

"Just shut up!"

"Is there something about my voice that upsets you?"

"I told you to shut up!"

"And I asked you a question, the least you could do is answer it."

---

I wonder if Mother Teresa ever got mad and beat the crap out of someone.

Ah well, she's a woman first and a saint second, so she probably messed up a lot along the way.

In the spirit of longevity.

From what path does experience hail,
When one should succeed once, or fifteen times fail?
For each obstacle or tool on our trip,
Is a fountain of experience that does more than drip.
Twenty-three years of experimentation is at my command,
What works, what doesn't. It's in a book in another form, and
You can never read too fast. Forty-eight years the same,
Taught me above all others, those that have gone and came.
Impressions last as long as their surface, much like success
Comes one funeral at a time, death is progress.
So living forever is naught but a matter,
Of finding a container that takes long to shatter,
What do we fear in death, that others shall forget?
For that reason are we entombed in regret?
Or do we wish to remain for others' sake,
That ideas and wisdom will fade in our wake,
But through impressions, you can rest when you lie,
Life may slip away, but ideas seldom die.

In the spirit of brevity.

In spite of myself and the writing style that academic influence has created, I shall embrace the supposed godsend of brevity and discard my lexicon in favor of a more colloquial manner of writing.

This week kind of sucked. Some people are just so blind to the oblivious truth that they aren't wanted. Is there anything worse than having someone just hover there when you're in a conversation? It's like they just invite themselves in, and that's really rude and awkward. And then when you tell them to leave, they get all pissy. It's not even like you say it in a mean way, you don't command them to go, you simply suggest "Would you mind leaving us be? This is a private conversation." Because every group of friends has that one person in it, and you know them well. Nobody wants them there, but you let them stay in the group because you feel really bad for them or they're somebody else's friend or whatever the scenario may be.

Oh, and if you don't know who that is, then it's you.

The power of words.

I found myself presented with an oppurtunity, a sneak peek at the album that I have waited four years for. Not even a sneak peek, the full Stadium Arcadium through a leak on the internet. Puzzled in regards to the release date of the special edition CD with the DVD and booklet inside, I checked the official RHCP website, only to find this, written by Michael "Flea" Balzary:

Date: Tues, May 2
Subject:
From: "Michael Balzary"
To: members@redhotchilipeppers.com

when i woke up this morning
i was was confronted with the news that our record has been leaked to
the internet
it does not come out til may 9 but now it has leaked
and not that i know alot about this kind of thing
but i guess now it is possible to down load it for free if you want
well
that's not very nice
if you down load it now off one of these file sharing sites
you will be getting a pale imitation of the record
it will be of the poor sound quality of the technique they used to
get it on there
and that will break my heart
it will break john frusciante's heart
it will break anthony kiedis's heart
and it will break the heart of chad smith
yes, we worked for a year and a half to make the epic record of our
lives
and it is sad to me for the business reasons of course
i think we are selling something really cool and we put all we had
into it, 28 songs, 2 hours of the best that we can offer
and i think it is a fair deal for everyone
and for people to just steal a poor sound quality version of it for free
because some asshole stole it and put it on the internet
is sad to me
but, equitable business reasons aside
the thing that really bums me out is
we worked so hard, and so thoughtfully, all of us, for so long
to make this record sound as warm and full from top to bottom
as was possible
we spent day and night for a year making sure every little sound was
just right
that they were all put together in the most beautiful way we could
we did not leave a stone unturned in doing that work
i can not put in words how much this record, stadium arcadium, means
to us
how sacred the sound of it is to us
and how many sleepless nights and hardworking days we all had
thinking about how to make it be the best sounding thing we could
and now, for someone to take it and put it out there with this poor
sound quality
it is a painful pill for us to swallow
let me tell you
this bums all of us out
and i know that, as sensitive as john frusciante is about sound
the idea of anyone getting and hearing this thing that way
will devastate him
for people to not hear the work the way we meant it to be
will really hurt him deep inside
and all of us will hurt

yes, it is stealing from us, and that is lame
everyone has to live with their own conscience on that one
let it be your guide
but to take a version that has been defiled sound wise
a version in which some idiot has taken our year and a half of soul
baring work and pissed all over it
that will break our hearts

sincerely,

flea

These are people's lives, this music has helped me through some of the most difficult twists and scenarios that life has thrown my way, and here I was, defiling it. Flea's description of the amount of work that went into the album really put things into perspective.

I stopped the torrent, deleted the tracker.

One more week won't kill me.

Crossroads.

I am at a crossroads, of sorts. Today's discussion had an underlying tone of duality in it, and it made me think about my audience. Likewise, the criticism that presented itself towards my work (it was all in good intent, no harm done) was like looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

"I" or "you", which to use? Two paths diverged in a wood, one leading to philosophy, the other to meaningless prose. But that brings about a question: who is more important, the writer or the reader?

It looks like this post is taking the first path.

"You", as an assertive word or a passive one, delivers a sense of security or lack thereof to the reader. "You" as an accusation automatically puts the writer in an assertive mode and forces the reader to take a defensive stance. Likewise, using "you" in a passive sense lulls the reader into a sense of security, false or otherwise.

Oh, the intricacies of writing.

But, let's get back on topic.

I have two distinct styles, as any of you can see. The "you" style, in this case, will be the prose or poetry that I have written, that has received some sort of acclaim at some point in time. They are useless creations, three paragraph lamentations lacking any character development or distinct purpose, they are writing for the sake of writing. Often times, they lack any real message, and usually result in death, the ultimate Deus Ex Machina. What better way to close a piece than to leave such a resolution?

The "I" style would be the philisophical pieces that I have begun to compose. A thought can encompass all of a paragraph or an extended compendium or theory and conclusions. Prose, on the other hand, deserves a certain degree of length and care when being created and read. Nobody would read one letter from Bram Stoker's Dracula, because it does not make for an especially interesting short piece. Similarly, reading (or watching) Shakespeare in many fifty-line segments is the bastardization of his works, be your interpretation literary or theatrical.

That being said, I have approximately five minutes of your time to make some sort of impact or to say something that evokes a revelation if I am to succeed as a writer. One man's revelation is another's obvious truth, and I am afraid that I cannot feign realization of that which I have known for years. That would be the greatest sin that I could commit in writing. The only other thing that I could write in the acceptable time frame would be memories, and those are a complex matter. I want to tell about my past about as much as most of you want to read about it. Let's leave it at that.

You've made it this far? That's nice, it's good to see that you are giving this piece the time of day to explore what I have to say. It really means something to me, honestly. You cannot gain any knowledge or wisdom by keeping your mind shut off from the outside world.

There are three kinds of writing that present themselves when dealing with a Creative Writing class. Four, actually, if you count a lack of writing as a type of writing, which it really is. The first of the three, and probably the most unfortunate, is writing for a grade. In this form, writing is trite, meaningless, and is chock full of brown-nosing and molding to fit the requests of a teacher. The second, writing for an audience. Speaking as a critic, Kyle's writing, some assorted class writing and a lot of Sasha's pieces are catered to their respective target audience. This is not a bad thing, per se, merely an observation. The final form of writing is writing to evoke a response. Usually, these pieces keep a reader guessing and are more memorable, if for no other reason than the "challenge" that they present to the reader, if I may be so bold.

Of course, there's more writing than those three categories, but I just wanted to touch on those three. Because I am the writer, and you are the reader, and we must co-exist. I have chosen to write in the third category, if for no other reason than this:

You're reading this now, aren't you?

And you're thinking, aren't you?

Mission accomplished.

---

On Haiku.

I'm posting this here because it will get more notice than a simple comment on Dave's blog.

Dave wrote:
"However, I was thinking about the haiku stuff yesterday. If english haikus can't hope to do the same things that japanese haikus do, then is there a point in writing them? Or are english haikus meaningful as well?

If they are, then what makes a good english haiku?"

If I may digress for just a moment,:Chelsea, darling, you were wrong today. Not a cheap shot at your character or anything like that, but you can't try to argue that Japanese as a language has so few rules, at least not in relation to a haiku. Oddly enough, I will not be in class to defend myself, so I guess I'll need to end whatever debate should arise here, won't I? Simple particles such as "wa", "wo", "ga", "e", and "no" take up one of seventeen precious spots for syllable placement.

The surrealism of a Japanese haiku is an art in and of itself, if not because it deviates from normal speech patterns than because of the way that it avoids certain words. "I" in Japanese is formally said as "Wa-ta-shi" (3 syllables), which is far too long for a haiku. If you look at a well-translated haiku, one that retains the original message of the poem, you will see no "I" and probably no verb. This is because of the way that the Japanese language sets itself up, in part.

In order to mark the subject of a sentence, you need to use a syllable, the same applies to a direct or indirect object, or any type of ownership or connection between two nouns. When you have seventeen syllables to convey a message, you don't try to make it gramatically correct.

Thus, a haiku is separate from any sort of speech pattern. They rarely address the self and are more zen-like than western poetry in that they do not. The haiku is more about the environment, about the moment in time, it is about detachment. However, a haiku written by an American high school student lacks this focus.

And that, my loyal readers, is what makes a haiku. Without that kind of dedication and surrealism, a haiku by an American is just another piece of hay through which you dig to find a needle.

A puppet that pulls its own strings is still a puppet.

There's two kinds of people in this world: those who are worth a damn and those who aren't. It's that simple. There is no grey area, there are no exceptions, there is simply a cutoff. It isn't unheard of to cross this line, but doing so requires effort and a bit of sympathy.

From the moment we met, I've had you classified. Some of you have changed over the years, others are close to the edge on either side, but one cannot deny that you are human.

But what does it mean to be human? Are we bound by some moral obligation to assist our fellow man, to put aside vendetta and agendas in favor of the greater good, or is that just another lubricant applied to society?

A man carrying a large amount of items falls on the street, scattering his goods. This was caused by no malicious act, and the goods are not going to be used for the betterment of society or donated to charity. This is a simple case of a man falling down and dropping what he is carrying. What happens? Do we help him? What if it was a woman, does that change the scenario? What if it was an attractive woman?

Yeah, that changes it.

But the fact remains, there are boxes and receipts sprawled along the pavement. They need to be picked up by someone, but what drives you to pick it up? Is there a drive? You're not going to help them? You monster! They make mistakes like the rest of us! You are so selfish! You might as well be envious, and Envy is a vice.

But wait, look at him. He tried to carry too many things, he was too proud to make two trips. Pride! All of those things were for him? Greed! He does not need them? Gluttony! And why does he look so annoyed that they fell? Anger! He's looking for help, can he not do it himself? Of course he can, but he doesn't want to take the time to do it. Sloth!

Isn't it funny how more Atheists can quote the Bible than so-called religious folk? Critics of the Bible are more well-versed in its contents than those who support it.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Christianity strongly encourages proselytism, but "barbaric" religions like Satanism and Buddhism reject it. Is it right or wrong? But you are a Christian, right? So more than likely, your answer will say that it is right.

Of course, I could just be messing with you and telling you what to think in the hope that you will rebel.

And then there's that thought that I'm mentioning this so you will question my intention.

Whatever, read on once you've made your decision.

Do you believe in free will? Do you believe that an opinion is sacred, and that each individual should do what is best for themselves? Is my choice not as valid as yours? "Am I my brother's keeper?" Are you my arbiter, my judge, my God? BLASPHEMY!

Proselytism is the attempt to convert another in the religious sense, to convince them that a certain theology is worth their while and is inherently the truth, usually in a very intrusive and generally impolite manner.

Free will.

I choose to be "damned" if that's what "blessed" entails.

Do you know what the Soviets did to those who opposed them, who published works supporting capitalism? They threw them in insane asylums.

That's ingenious, is it not? What better way to discredit your enemies than to deem them insane and make the masses believe that?

Like those vile Pagans, and those damned Atheists, and those foolish Agnosts, and those enraged and irrational Muslims, and those crazy Buddhists, and those sinners who do not follow our God, the true God.

The handle for a puppet looks oddly like a cross, does it not?

Don't shoot 'til you can see the whites of their eyes.

I decided to write biblically today. I was angry.

1 I will transform into the blade of justice, and I shall damn the unworthy, casting them into oblivion.
2 And those cast within my shadow shall look upon greatness, and they will do away with their shackles and their faith in favor of a less meaningless existence.
3 But those with great faith shall end themselves, and they will die in vain. But they shall not know this to be true, for ignorance survives even within death.
4 Donning the helmet of war, wielding vengeance as my blade, the enemy of my cause shall fall to righteous anger.
5 Until they beg for death, their demise shall be slow, consumed by hatred and the pains of their final moments.
6 None are safe, none are immune. Death, War, Famine and Pestilence are in the air.

Writing is very therapeutic. I am no longer angry.

But as a side note, that probably seems very sketchy and dangerous, right? Read the Bible some time, really read it. Look at the syntax, word choice, and symbolism. That's some dark material.