I am writing this now instead of actually writing something that I should be writing. My short story for Creative Writing. A task that has tonight (what's left of it), and tomorrow night. But! Tomorrow night I have a test to study for in AP US History, which is comprised of 95 vocabulary terms. Something which I did not look at over the weekend. And probably should have. So here I am, now. Screwed over so much by my own incompetent time management. And after I finish my story, and test I have colleges to apply to, hopefully I'll make it into one of the colleges i apply to, I should have applied two or three months ago, again. My fault. I really want this post to not be about how stupid, awful, boring, lame, angsty I am. Just writing about it will not help. At all.
I just read what I wrote last night for my story and it's pretty crappy. It's really crappy. How could I have let myself write such filth? I will not delete it, for I should edit it tomorrow night or after it's due, before I am required to stow it in my Creative Writing portfolio. That's what's truly important.
20 minutes later- Facebook checked, re-checked, and used. Status of story? Same as it was 20 minutes ago.
And with that...
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Just Wasting Time or Angst am Kopf
So here I be, in Ziggi's, with Carly. A friend brand new. I am trying to work on poetry, my song, and organizing everything in preparation for college, and my creative writing portfolio due at the end of the semester, in about two weeks now. Stressful times, and yet here I am, just "chilling" as it were.
Well that was the night previous, and now it is day. I woke up an hour ago, 12. Noon. On a sunday. I am eating Chinese food. Ha. So healthy. I am also watching Seinfeld. I am wasting so much time, and now I am starting to freak out. I don't know why. Probably because finals are soon, and I have a cornucopia of tests to do, and projects to finish and show to direct. A job at which I am failing most heartily. Great I'm in that sort of mood. GAH ANGST. I need help some days, like we all do. We're all human. Why is being human so awful? Why is being a teenager the worst thing to be when you're a teenager? ANGST.
Whew. I have a lot on the mind today, at least I think I do. I think I'm suppressing feelings, or something along those lines. I don't know. I know what I am talking about. And I guess I don't really care if you do.
This blog is so unfocused, I just keep on going. And there really is no actual thought driving this blog. I wish I could just focus on something today. I know I don't have ADD or ADHD, I just have problems starting work, and finishing work. Maybe I should go for a freezing walk, or do some breathing exercises. I don't know. I just don't know anything today angst. I was angst going to angst study angst history angst vocab, it's a test with 95 angst words, angst that I have to fill angst out.
Oh yeah, my short story. I have to finish that so I have a rough draft. Ha. Tomorrow. I am so screwed. Today I am failure. It's okay, because Sundays are usually my worst days. Always.
Okay, I had better end this angst ridden, stupid rant.
And as always, if you have any questions about anything, I guess I'll try to answer them with the utmost honesty.
Well that was the night previous, and now it is day. I woke up an hour ago, 12. Noon. On a sunday. I am eating Chinese food. Ha. So healthy. I am also watching Seinfeld. I am wasting so much time, and now I am starting to freak out. I don't know why. Probably because finals are soon, and I have a cornucopia of tests to do, and projects to finish and show to direct. A job at which I am failing most heartily. Great I'm in that sort of mood. GAH ANGST. I need help some days, like we all do. We're all human. Why is being human so awful? Why is being a teenager the worst thing to be when you're a teenager? ANGST.
Whew. I have a lot on the mind today, at least I think I do. I think I'm suppressing feelings, or something along those lines. I don't know. I know what I am talking about. And I guess I don't really care if you do.
This blog is so unfocused, I just keep on going. And there really is no actual thought driving this blog. I wish I could just focus on something today. I know I don't have ADD or ADHD, I just have problems starting work, and finishing work. Maybe I should go for a freezing walk, or do some breathing exercises. I don't know. I just don't know anything today angst. I was angst going to angst study angst history angst vocab, it's a test with 95 angst words, angst that I have to fill angst out.
Oh yeah, my short story. I have to finish that so I have a rough draft. Ha. Tomorrow. I am so screwed. Today I am failure. It's okay, because Sundays are usually my worst days. Always.
Okay, I had better end this angst ridden, stupid rant.
And as always, if you have any questions about anything, I guess I'll try to answer them with the utmost honesty.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Short Story Beginning
Working Title
The two walked outside the bustling restaurant:
“Why didn’t you talk?”
“What?”
“You barely said a word in any conversation.”
He paused.
“I didn’t have much to say.”
“You never have much to say!”
“It’s the truth!”
Several people around the couple suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“I would rather sit silently than have people think…”
“That’s your problem!” She pointed at him.
“What?”
“‘What people think,’ you care what they think!”
“How could I not?”
To this, she had no reply.
They were staring into each others eyes with a degree of malice not normally associated with couples. The evening (disastrous) had gone as he had predicted. He loathes her friends, just one point of precarious conflict. Their eyes locked; nostrils flared. Each breath (visible) wafted and combined, bound until dispersion.
He was and still is a writer. She was (to him) and still is (to him) nothing. Of course he is a writer, how ostentatious and over done is that? O reader! I agree, but let my comments not keep you from reading further. But, before this fable can truly begin we should all be “on the same page,” should we not? Their love was fraudulent. Listen:
“I think I love you,” she said.
He shrugged, and automatically said, “I love you too.”
“…Do you mean that?”
“I… yeah, wh-why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh! I just love you so much!” she exclaimed with eyes watering.
Their ages at that time? Twenty years old, o the joys of youth. If this were not jumbled enough, back to the post-dinner “entertainment.”
She paused. And pondered. Steam was billowing from the rooftop; its sultry, shapeless vapor lazed about the iridescent sky. She gazed into the windows, looked at the laughing parties of two, of four and drew a breath:
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“What?” She was vexed.
“’I want that’.”
She frowned.
“Do you really want that?”
He spat.
“Don’t do that,” she glanced about. “We’re not barbarians.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m leaving, and if you’re not going come with me, I think you can stay here with your friends.”
“Don’t you dare leave witho-….”
“Goodnight.”
He walked, with brisk pace, back to his car which was a rather nice looking, luxury sedan.
I formatted it this way on purpose. Tell me what you think, please. But be nice.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Heaven Knows, It's Got to Be This Time
Ahhhh goodreads.com. You were the subject, and heart of my previous post, and as time meandered, slipped slowly off into the nowhere that is the past, you became the heart of this post as well.
Last night I finished Anthem by Ayn Rand. I read in the course of one day, I think everyone should do this.... Because it's 87 pages long. I thought it to be a very powerful, meaningful book about individuality, about the ego, about 'We.' All of that is in typical Rand fashion. But I think it should resonate with audiences. Why would you want to live in a state that doesn't allow individual thought? But in Anthem, it is dramatized, but the point still rings true. Doing what's good for everyone else? Or what's good for you? That sounds egotistical, and selfish, but Rand did kind of invent Objectivism, a philosophy that advocates rational self-interest. You can put yourself in front of others, just not all the time. At least, that's how I understand it.
I look up the reader reviews on Goodreads, and almost all of them are one out of five for Anthem. This outright astounds me. Most of these fellows like agree with each other in saying that Anthem is boring and pretentious, and laughable.
Again, with the ignorance.
Boring? I did not find anything about Anthem boring. It was a compelling read, and was rather hard to put down. Why? Just to see what would happen to our hero, *spoiler* Prometheus. And what kind of punishment he would endure because of the corrupt, and entirely hypocritical Council. (More on that later.) I guess people just don't get it. Or care to try and get it.
To first say that Anthem is pretentious is somewhat absurd. It's not like it's written in a prose only the elites can understand, or people with PhDs in Literature. She doesn't use large, esoteric words. She doesn't do anything that is remotely pretentious. In fact, I am still trying to figure out how Objectivism is pretentious. All it says is that you are you, and you are in charge of you, and no one can take that right away. (It's stated in Anthem.) How is that pretentious? How?! Because it doesn't preach that socialism is the only way? That is just a guess. It just astounds me that they attack that for being pretentious, but not say, The Scarlet Letter. If you've read my previous post, you will understand that I understand The Scarlet Letter, I understand it's themes, I just think it's a terrible book. That is highly pretentious. Everything about it is. At least in modern contexts. Nothing about Anthem can be considered pretentious. Please contact me if you have a reason why it is.
I think this idea comes from how they view the world (well duh). Most of the reviews seem to me to be hipsters. The almighty, all annoying Hipsters. The modern day beatniks. Hipsters are the annoying rich people, who think they know everything about everything, and usually have an iPhone. And use French words in everyday converstaions. Not French based words. Actual French. Quite possibly the most pretentious people on the planet. And they call Anthem pretentious. I see a non sequiter here. Or a lapse of self knowlegde....
Laughable? At points, the prose does seem very dramatic. But, that's the point. Drama. That is Rand. Reading the descriptions of The Fountainhead, and Atlas, Shrugged is dramatic in its self. This point, I might almost agree with.
I think anyone who hates Rand, first of all doesn't understand the power of her words, and are, literally, Socialists. I love capitalism. Who doesn't? It gives you the right to buy what you want, to earn your keep. To be you. And you alone. What the hell is so wrong with that? Some people can't help themselves, which is why I do think Social Welfare is a fantastic idea. But in practice, I think it should be monitored better. But I digress.
Last night I finished Anthem by Ayn Rand. I read in the course of one day, I think everyone should do this.... Because it's 87 pages long. I thought it to be a very powerful, meaningful book about individuality, about the ego, about 'We.' All of that is in typical Rand fashion. But I think it should resonate with audiences. Why would you want to live in a state that doesn't allow individual thought? But in Anthem, it is dramatized, but the point still rings true. Doing what's good for everyone else? Or what's good for you? That sounds egotistical, and selfish, but Rand did kind of invent Objectivism, a philosophy that advocates rational self-interest. You can put yourself in front of others, just not all the time. At least, that's how I understand it.
I look up the reader reviews on Goodreads, and almost all of them are one out of five for Anthem. This outright astounds me. Most of these fellows like agree with each other in saying that Anthem is boring and pretentious, and laughable.
Again, with the ignorance.
Boring? I did not find anything about Anthem boring. It was a compelling read, and was rather hard to put down. Why? Just to see what would happen to our hero, *spoiler* Prometheus. And what kind of punishment he would endure because of the corrupt, and entirely hypocritical Council. (More on that later.) I guess people just don't get it. Or care to try and get it.
To first say that Anthem is pretentious is somewhat absurd. It's not like it's written in a prose only the elites can understand, or people with PhDs in Literature. She doesn't use large, esoteric words. She doesn't do anything that is remotely pretentious. In fact, I am still trying to figure out how Objectivism is pretentious. All it says is that you are you, and you are in charge of you, and no one can take that right away. (It's stated in Anthem.) How is that pretentious? How?! Because it doesn't preach that socialism is the only way? That is just a guess. It just astounds me that they attack that for being pretentious, but not say, The Scarlet Letter. If you've read my previous post, you will understand that I understand The Scarlet Letter, I understand it's themes, I just think it's a terrible book. That is highly pretentious. Everything about it is. At least in modern contexts. Nothing about Anthem can be considered pretentious. Please contact me if you have a reason why it is.
I think this idea comes from how they view the world (well duh). Most of the reviews seem to me to be hipsters. The almighty, all annoying Hipsters. The modern day beatniks. Hipsters are the annoying rich people, who think they know everything about everything, and usually have an iPhone. And use French words in everyday converstaions. Not French based words. Actual French. Quite possibly the most pretentious people on the planet. And they call Anthem pretentious. I see a non sequiter here. Or a lapse of self knowlegde....
Laughable? At points, the prose does seem very dramatic. But, that's the point. Drama. That is Rand. Reading the descriptions of The Fountainhead, and Atlas, Shrugged is dramatic in its self. This point, I might almost agree with.
I think anyone who hates Rand, first of all doesn't understand the power of her words, and are, literally, Socialists. I love capitalism. Who doesn't? It gives you the right to buy what you want, to earn your keep. To be you. And you alone. What the hell is so wrong with that? Some people can't help themselves, which is why I do think Social Welfare is a fantastic idea. But in practice, I think it should be monitored better. But I digress.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
And Through the Hours, There I Stood
It has been quite a while since I have last posted upon mine blogger. Methinks I have had nothing to say for the past month or so. And methinks I am right. To be aboveboard, I don't really have anything to say, but I figured: "What the hell, I'll post some thoughts on blogger."
And here I am.
Ignorance: Why?
I have recently joined goodreads.com, a site for book worms; imagine Facebook, and instead of whiny teenagers, bitching about life (...in all fairness I am guilty of such bitching), it's adults displaying their ignorance towards literature, and how to critique it. I have not tried writing a review on goodreads, for I know not how to. Or I just don't want to try. But some people have the nerve to give a book one star, just because it scared them, or because they didn't get it. For example, a rather "amusing" fellow decided to give "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time" a rating of 1 out of five. I have been told it's quite a good book. So I decided to read his review. First of, his review was actually him bitching about hicks, and stormy weather in the mid west. I wouldn't say this angered me, but more or less, bothered me. And, the only relavence his long winded, bemusing antecdote had was when he read the book. About halfway through he begins to explain why he hated. It bascially boils downt to the fact that: the narrator is autistic, and he didn't understand any of it. And instead of an attempt to understand the book, and take it for what it's worth, he attacks because he doesn't understand it. That and he seems to despise autistic people, and would like to read a story about them when they're drowned in a river. If that doesn't make someone sound egregiously ignorant, plesase find a better example. And apparently there are people who think like him. Which is quite possibly the scariest thing one can imagine. And several comments on his review stated how funny he is. When I found his writing to be long, winded, and rather stupid. He seems to be part of the generation that thinks using "proper english" mixed with "gangsta'" slang makes him funny, and witty. When in actuality it makes him sound rather boorish.
Why am I rambling about ignorance? Well, it's bothered me, ever since I was aware that it exsisted. And, it kind of welled up, and was released, much like a tsunami, a tsunami of pure disdain, and contempt.
It just bothers me when people give up, and label a book dumb only because they don't understand it. I say, you remain neutral about the book until you understand it, then rate it. Or take it for what it is.
I despise the The Scarlet Letter. Why you say? One glaring boterince is how over written it is. But alas! I understand that was because it was the style at the time, which is all too true. Walden anyone? The Communist Manifesto? All written with in the same literary period, and all hold true to the overwritten, and flagrant prose. I take it for what it is: a piece of romantic writing. Do I like it? No. Not even close. But at least I obtained knowledge of it, and then deemed it terrible. If you would like to argue my opinion, go for it. But at least give me credit for the fact that I semi know what I am talking about.
And here I am.
Ignorance: Why?
I have recently joined goodreads.com, a site for book worms; imagine Facebook, and instead of whiny teenagers, bitching about life (...in all fairness I am guilty of such bitching), it's adults displaying their ignorance towards literature, and how to critique it. I have not tried writing a review on goodreads, for I know not how to. Or I just don't want to try. But some people have the nerve to give a book one star, just because it scared them, or because they didn't get it. For example, a rather "amusing" fellow decided to give "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time" a rating of 1 out of five. I have been told it's quite a good book. So I decided to read his review. First of, his review was actually him bitching about hicks, and stormy weather in the mid west. I wouldn't say this angered me, but more or less, bothered me. And, the only relavence his long winded, bemusing antecdote had was when he read the book. About halfway through he begins to explain why he hated. It bascially boils downt to the fact that: the narrator is autistic, and he didn't understand any of it. And instead of an attempt to understand the book, and take it for what it's worth, he attacks because he doesn't understand it. That and he seems to despise autistic people, and would like to read a story about them when they're drowned in a river. If that doesn't make someone sound egregiously ignorant, plesase find a better example. And apparently there are people who think like him. Which is quite possibly the scariest thing one can imagine. And several comments on his review stated how funny he is. When I found his writing to be long, winded, and rather stupid. He seems to be part of the generation that thinks using "proper english" mixed with "gangsta'" slang makes him funny, and witty. When in actuality it makes him sound rather boorish.
Why am I rambling about ignorance? Well, it's bothered me, ever since I was aware that it exsisted. And, it kind of welled up, and was released, much like a tsunami, a tsunami of pure disdain, and contempt.
It just bothers me when people give up, and label a book dumb only because they don't understand it. I say, you remain neutral about the book until you understand it, then rate it. Or take it for what it is.
I despise the The Scarlet Letter. Why you say? One glaring boterince is how over written it is. But alas! I understand that was because it was the style at the time, which is all too true. Walden anyone? The Communist Manifesto? All written with in the same literary period, and all hold true to the overwritten, and flagrant prose. I take it for what it is: a piece of romantic writing. Do I like it? No. Not even close. But at least I obtained knowledge of it, and then deemed it terrible. If you would like to argue my opinion, go for it. But at least give me credit for the fact that I semi know what I am talking about.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Summer Wind Came Blowing in, Across the Sea
Summer has been about for a little over one week, and I have to say it's as good as I thought it would be. It's been a long time since I have felt so relieved and free, I read and write daily, which is something I have been needing to do for quite some time. Problem is, I have yet to finish a book. :| Drat. Oh well, by the end of this summer I should have about eight or nine books "under my belt", so to speak.
I am working on a new story; I, of course, only write at night, very late, and with little cognitive function. So, I have no clue how good this story could be, or is, or isn't. Something I don't really need to think about...
I have no clue what it really is about, it's forming to be a look into a teenager/young adult's mind, and such, the effects of family on a person's mind, the effects of suburbia, the effects of urban living, everything. I don't know, it might be, well it kind of is semi-autobiographical. It's purely fiction, I just write what I know. And writing what I know will involve me writing semi-autobiographically.
Anyways. I have no clue what to talk about, or think about, or do.
I've noticed Mrs. Dalloway is phenomenal, but it is also a fairly hard read. It requires so much thought, and it is very hard to put it down, there are few opportune moments in which one can simply shut the book, and pick up reading in the morrow. There really are no breaks, it just keeps going.
Well, I would say 'I digress,' but there really was nowhere to digress from or towards for that matter...
I am working on a new story; I, of course, only write at night, very late, and with little cognitive function. So, I have no clue how good this story could be, or is, or isn't. Something I don't really need to think about...
I have no clue what it really is about, it's forming to be a look into a teenager/young adult's mind, and such, the effects of family on a person's mind, the effects of suburbia, the effects of urban living, everything. I don't know, it might be, well it kind of is semi-autobiographical. It's purely fiction, I just write what I know. And writing what I know will involve me writing semi-autobiographically.
Anyways. I have no clue what to talk about, or think about, or do.
I've noticed Mrs. Dalloway is phenomenal, but it is also a fairly hard read. It requires so much thought, and it is very hard to put it down, there are few opportune moments in which one can simply shut the book, and pick up reading in the morrow. There really are no breaks, it just keeps going.
Well, I would say 'I digress,' but there really was nowhere to digress from or towards for that matter...
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Hmmm... Eshi Yoshitakarah.
Sweet name, no?
It has been a while my good friend, my chum, my... (insert synonym for friend here). It has been a long, grueling, horrible year, and it's over in two days. I can't believe. And yet, in the same breath, I do. I am going to cling to the idea that summer is better than school, even though that not might be the actual outcome of things. It will be in my head. Hooray for craziness.
This summer is going to bring about much pain, for reasons that I cannot say. Oh well.
Life goes on, until we die. Which reminds me. Every second gone is a second closer to death.
I think I had more to say than just depressing hooplah and cant, but I can't remember it...
Auf weiderschreiben.
It has been a while my good friend, my chum, my... (insert synonym for friend here). It has been a long, grueling, horrible year, and it's over in two days. I can't believe. And yet, in the same breath, I do. I am going to cling to the idea that summer is better than school, even though that not might be the actual outcome of things. It will be in my head. Hooray for craziness.
This summer is going to bring about much pain, for reasons that I cannot say. Oh well.
Life goes on, until we die. Which reminds me. Every second gone is a second closer to death.
I think I had more to say than just depressing hooplah and cant, but I can't remember it...
Auf weiderschreiben.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A Body Meet a Body, A Comin' Through the Rye
Today was a day of hurt ankles, and several come to Jesus-choir talks.
Choir= SCREWED. Today we sounded awful, well we sounded awful on Monday, but that was a different choir... I don't want our last concert to be crap, and yet, I just don't have the focus or energy to do anything about it.
Oh well, guess I can't complain.
This summer is already shaping up to be a rather stressful one, and just when I thought life would get easier, it gets harder. Find a job, do this, do that, etc. I'm already sick of it. Not to mention, it's going to suck driving my car, no A/C, and it will probably be in the sun all day. Fantastic. And, I look forward to a reading club, if we can agree on a reading list. I am going to be a stubborn old man about it. I refuse to let us not read The Crying of Lot 49. So far, it's fantastic. I will however gleefully start reading Mrs. Dalloway. :D
Wow, I'm a freak. What you read does have something to do with you, it portrays an image to others. I just can't place my finger on what it all means.
I read Southern Gothic tales, modernism, and postmodernism, and contemporary. I refuse to read anything romantic, or Lost generationy. With the glaring exception of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I am set in my ways, and I am okay with that. I also enjoy Harry Potter, and anything else that would strike my fancy. I generally stick with literature movements as a base for finding other books I enjoy, or literary themes I should say.
But, as long as the author is not a romantic, I'd be willing to tread new waters.
What do my tastes in literature say about me? Who knows.
Oh crap, I should get to doing something besides blog and tweet. Ugh. I've been reduced to Twitter. I don't really know why I have it... hm. Off to read. Rabbit, Run; or The Crying of Lot 49? Who knows.
That must be my theme of today: who knows.
Choir= SCREWED. Today we sounded awful, well we sounded awful on Monday, but that was a different choir... I don't want our last concert to be crap, and yet, I just don't have the focus or energy to do anything about it.
Oh well, guess I can't complain.
This summer is already shaping up to be a rather stressful one, and just when I thought life would get easier, it gets harder. Find a job, do this, do that, etc. I'm already sick of it. Not to mention, it's going to suck driving my car, no A/C, and it will probably be in the sun all day. Fantastic. And, I look forward to a reading club, if we can agree on a reading list. I am going to be a stubborn old man about it. I refuse to let us not read The Crying of Lot 49. So far, it's fantastic. I will however gleefully start reading Mrs. Dalloway. :D
Wow, I'm a freak. What you read does have something to do with you, it portrays an image to others. I just can't place my finger on what it all means.
I read Southern Gothic tales, modernism, and postmodernism, and contemporary. I refuse to read anything romantic, or Lost generationy. With the glaring exception of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I am set in my ways, and I am okay with that. I also enjoy Harry Potter, and anything else that would strike my fancy. I generally stick with literature movements as a base for finding other books I enjoy, or literary themes I should say.
But, as long as the author is not a romantic, I'd be willing to tread new waters.
What do my tastes in literature say about me? Who knows.
Oh crap, I should get to doing something besides blog and tweet. Ugh. I've been reduced to Twitter. I don't really know why I have it... hm. Off to read. Rabbit, Run; or The Crying of Lot 49? Who knows.
That must be my theme of today: who knows.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Such an Odd World
I haven't posted in a while, it's because I have been so stressed, and busy. This year, as you might have been able to guess, has been probably the worst in recent memory. It even started off poorly. I can refer you to a past post about my awful schedule, and how it's been awful.
The year has come and gone, and I can hopefully scrape a couple of B's and C's, A's if I am lucky. Ugh. I picked the wrong year to slack off in. I blame a lot of people, myself included. I also blame a slew of luck luster teachers; a gaggle of inane, vapid, puppet-like counselors; and several other factors. I just cannot get over how horrid this year has been, and it's been bad all around. No one has had a great year, it seems so dull. So poor. So depressing. And I have several large finals that I should study for, and one I should have avoided. Oh well. FUCK MY LIFE. Until the summer, I will not be happy.
I should have a job, I should be working at LTC, I should have money, I should be applying for colleges, and I should be getting scholarships. All will probably happen. All should go according to plan. I refuse to let this summer suck, like last years. I might also plan on getting a girlfriend, but that is at the bottom of the list.
Relationships in high school are useless anyways.
I digress. This summer will be busy, and fun filled, and money filled. I also plan on keeping up my essay writing skills, and reading skills.
This was pretty useless. I have stuff to read and memorize.
The year has come and gone, and I can hopefully scrape a couple of B's and C's, A's if I am lucky. Ugh. I picked the wrong year to slack off in. I blame a lot of people, myself included. I also blame a slew of luck luster teachers; a gaggle of inane, vapid, puppet-like counselors; and several other factors. I just cannot get over how horrid this year has been, and it's been bad all around. No one has had a great year, it seems so dull. So poor. So depressing. And I have several large finals that I should study for, and one I should have avoided. Oh well. FUCK MY LIFE. Until the summer, I will not be happy.
I should have a job, I should be working at LTC, I should have money, I should be applying for colleges, and I should be getting scholarships. All will probably happen. All should go according to plan. I refuse to let this summer suck, like last years. I might also plan on getting a girlfriend, but that is at the bottom of the list.
Relationships in high school are useless anyways.
I digress. This summer will be busy, and fun filled, and money filled. I also plan on keeping up my essay writing skills, and reading skills.
This was pretty useless. I have stuff to read and memorize.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Cold Rain, Beating Upon My Back
I am so sick of thinking. I hate it. I also hate living where I do. I love my parents with all my heart, and I know they love me. I am just sure they don't like me.
I don't know, I was an awful child. A terrible brother, and son. They (my parents) can't seem to get over that fact. I guess I am not so bad now. Most people say how I'm a good person, or at least a person that has his head on straight.
And yet, somehow I always feel like shit. I always feel so bad, for not doing much. At risk of sounding depressed, and fishing for a compliment, I always have a heavy heart. And I don't know why. Maybe I refuse to know why, a weird form of self protective ignorance I guess. I don't want to be all whiny and such, it's just plain how I feel. I am rather dramatic, but I pale in comparison to others.
I'm just average. Not much special about me. I can be easily forgotten, maybe I want to be. I don't know. I just hate that when I find something I am okay at, there is someone a trillion times better than I am, and they gloat about it, or just get all the attention for it. I am sick of being, okay, or pretty good at things. I want to be the best dammit. And I never will be.
I can't tell if I am being pessimistic, or just aiming low, and lessening the plunge to the ground of mediocrity.
I sure as hell hope this is not a pity party, I hate those. I just want all of theses things off my chest.
How disgusted I am by my friends. How this year has been the worst yet. How so many people know what a coward I am. How I feel like the worst person to ever be. That is so dramatic. I hate it. I despise it. Why can't I be normal? Dammit, that too is dramatic. No matter what I do, something I say winds up being dramatic.
Fuck it. Fuck life. I want to start new. Get away, and never look back. Well, there are several glaring exceptions to this overly dramatic rule. But that is for a different post.
I don't know, I was an awful child. A terrible brother, and son. They (my parents) can't seem to get over that fact. I guess I am not so bad now. Most people say how I'm a good person, or at least a person that has his head on straight.
And yet, somehow I always feel like shit. I always feel so bad, for not doing much. At risk of sounding depressed, and fishing for a compliment, I always have a heavy heart. And I don't know why. Maybe I refuse to know why, a weird form of self protective ignorance I guess. I don't want to be all whiny and such, it's just plain how I feel. I am rather dramatic, but I pale in comparison to others.
I'm just average. Not much special about me. I can be easily forgotten, maybe I want to be. I don't know. I just hate that when I find something I am okay at, there is someone a trillion times better than I am, and they gloat about it, or just get all the attention for it. I am sick of being, okay, or pretty good at things. I want to be the best dammit. And I never will be.
I can't tell if I am being pessimistic, or just aiming low, and lessening the plunge to the ground of mediocrity.
I sure as hell hope this is not a pity party, I hate those. I just want all of theses things off my chest.
How disgusted I am by my friends. How this year has been the worst yet. How so many people know what a coward I am. How I feel like the worst person to ever be. That is so dramatic. I hate it. I despise it. Why can't I be normal? Dammit, that too is dramatic. No matter what I do, something I say winds up being dramatic.
Fuck it. Fuck life. I want to start new. Get away, and never look back. Well, there are several glaring exceptions to this overly dramatic rule. But that is for a different post.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Hop in Puddles
I am writing my essay, it's going along okay, could be much much worse. I am actually going crazy right about now, I think I am going to turn in. It's kind of deserved. I have written things.
Love Will Tare Us Apart Again
Joy Division is an exorbitant band, need I say more? Nay.
I write in an hour of quiet desperation; there is a sizable essay I need to write by Wednesday. Seeing as I will have no time between now and then: I must write it today, or tonight... or hm.
I am starting to think writing this essay will be harder than fighting windmills. 'Twill be just a romantic notion, no different than finding true love. What I was referring to as the "romantic notion" is writing this piece of desultory filth (the essay). I am probably not making much sense, care I not about making sense. This just a post so I can ease my whizzened mind and sooth my burning thoughts.
I cannot write an essay arguing who deserves the Holy Land. Palestinians or Israelis? Yeah, it's actually not too bad, yet it still seems like an immense topic, riddled with so many religious and moral implications and is such a highly disputatious topic. Even though I have my beliefs, it is still incredibly hard to justify what side I believe in. Maybe it's because I did such a poor job in gathering sources, or maybe I am over thinking this. Who knows, I know I do not. I just want to sleep for a thousand years, and awake in a different time. If I were to wake and everyone I love was gone, I don't think I would grieve much. And that very thought scares me. Maybe I just want that to happen, which is just as dire.
I cannot focus. I need to write this essay. I need something down. I have zero out of 7-10 pages written. It is at this time I worry. I need something, and I cannot think, my brain processing power is below my normal, so whatever essay I write will be worse than normal which is terrible.
I expect an F or lower on this essay. Oh well. Maybe now I will actually try writing it.
I write in an hour of quiet desperation; there is a sizable essay I need to write by Wednesday. Seeing as I will have no time between now and then: I must write it today, or tonight... or hm.
I am starting to think writing this essay will be harder than fighting windmills. 'Twill be just a romantic notion, no different than finding true love. What I was referring to as the "romantic notion" is writing this piece of desultory filth (the essay). I am probably not making much sense, care I not about making sense. This just a post so I can ease my whizzened mind and sooth my burning thoughts.
I cannot write an essay arguing who deserves the Holy Land. Palestinians or Israelis? Yeah, it's actually not too bad, yet it still seems like an immense topic, riddled with so many religious and moral implications and is such a highly disputatious topic. Even though I have my beliefs, it is still incredibly hard to justify what side I believe in. Maybe it's because I did such a poor job in gathering sources, or maybe I am over thinking this. Who knows, I know I do not. I just want to sleep for a thousand years, and awake in a different time. If I were to wake and everyone I love was gone, I don't think I would grieve much. And that very thought scares me. Maybe I just want that to happen, which is just as dire.
I cannot focus. I need to write this essay. I need something down. I have zero out of 7-10 pages written. It is at this time I worry. I need something, and I cannot think, my brain processing power is below my normal, so whatever essay I write will be worse than normal which is terrible.
I expect an F or lower on this essay. Oh well. Maybe now I will actually try writing it.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Dear Anyone,
I am so very tired. I should stop writing these blogs and do homework, but I am so jaded I honestly do not care that much anymore.
I ask "What's the point?"
I am given the reply "College something blah blah blah."
Said reply does not appease my whizzened mind. (whizzened, much like buzzing or scattered, I have now just realized my definition does not make sense.)
Life keeps chugging along the railroad tracks of something or other. I am almost definitite that I am falling asleep as I write this, which will not help with the whole I have homework to do thing. At this moment please refer to the aforementioned jaded comment. Thank you.
I write not with a deft and whizzened hand, but with a befuddled mind and tired eyes. I am surprised at how unwrought this post is turning out to be.
Today in one word: odd.
Explination needed? Too bad, thou art one getting not. HA! SYNTAX MY ASS.
Today started off rather poorly, rushing out the door and barely making it on time to PE. In drama class I was given an extension on my monologue, which is a Godsend. In AP Language I was given another extension, refer to aforementioned Godsend. Thank you. In AP Language we were given the all but benign task of timed writing. We were then instructed to pass said piece to the left, where it would be graded by a peer. We all scored several esssays. I was called during the middle of class to do something about regestration for next year, which I am still not sure what that was for, so therefore I was unable to score the last essay.
When I was handed mine back it had the following scores: 7, 8, 8. Which is rather impressive considering I am not the best essayist. Maybe it was the fact that it was graded by peers, or it really was a strong little essay. Who knows.
It's easier to write things off as a fluke then to actually admit you did well by your own merit. Well at least for me anyways.
I am studying stem cells at current. Certain sciences are fascinating, such as biology and astronomy. All the other scieces can stick their jagged rocks and physics equations right up their rock formations and delta signs. <---- that did not work out as well as I had hoped.
I am presenting to the class a slideshow about stem cells. Hopefull there is enough information, and hopefully I know enough on the subject to at least BS my way through it and somehow scrape a B or an A.
Valentines Day is fast approaching, riding upon it's horse of love and awareness. Galavating about with those whom have true loved ones in which to share said "holiday"; the idea of that "holiday" bores into my thoughts, rather quickly, like a worm of some kind burrowing into the flesh of a human being. I hate being single and yet, if I were to become "taken" as they say, I would probably hate that too. I am too insecure, crazy, paranoid, busy and socially retarded to keep the relationship alive. At current, I pitty any girl who would want me as more than a friend. And that is not sefl-deprication, or self hatred, it's jsut the plain old truth, it's a rather blunt and lonely truth, but all the same: true.
If I say true one more time...
Hmm... checklist:
metaphysical speculations in post? possibly
exestintialism? not relavent
humourous antecdote? depends on sense of humour, but more or less Yes.
long string of unconnected rants? youbetcha'
The last line in post? is this one.
I ask "What's the point?"
I am given the reply "College something blah blah blah."
Said reply does not appease my whizzened mind. (whizzened, much like buzzing or scattered, I have now just realized my definition does not make sense.)
Life keeps chugging along the railroad tracks of something or other. I am almost definitite that I am falling asleep as I write this, which will not help with the whole I have homework to do thing. At this moment please refer to the aforementioned jaded comment. Thank you.
I write not with a deft and whizzened hand, but with a befuddled mind and tired eyes. I am surprised at how unwrought this post is turning out to be.
Today in one word: odd.
Explination needed? Too bad, thou art one getting not. HA! SYNTAX MY ASS.
Today started off rather poorly, rushing out the door and barely making it on time to PE. In drama class I was given an extension on my monologue, which is a Godsend. In AP Language I was given another extension, refer to aforementioned Godsend. Thank you. In AP Language we were given the all but benign task of timed writing. We were then instructed to pass said piece to the left, where it would be graded by a peer. We all scored several esssays. I was called during the middle of class to do something about regestration for next year, which I am still not sure what that was for, so therefore I was unable to score the last essay.
When I was handed mine back it had the following scores: 7, 8, 8. Which is rather impressive considering I am not the best essayist. Maybe it was the fact that it was graded by peers, or it really was a strong little essay. Who knows.
It's easier to write things off as a fluke then to actually admit you did well by your own merit. Well at least for me anyways.
I am studying stem cells at current. Certain sciences are fascinating, such as biology and astronomy. All the other scieces can stick their jagged rocks and physics equations right up their rock formations and delta signs. <---- that did not work out as well as I had hoped.
I am presenting to the class a slideshow about stem cells. Hopefull there is enough information, and hopefully I know enough on the subject to at least BS my way through it and somehow scrape a B or an A.
Valentines Day is fast approaching, riding upon it's horse of love and awareness. Galavating about with those whom have true loved ones in which to share said "holiday"; the idea of that "holiday" bores into my thoughts, rather quickly, like a worm of some kind burrowing into the flesh of a human being. I hate being single and yet, if I were to become "taken" as they say, I would probably hate that too. I am too insecure, crazy, paranoid, busy and socially retarded to keep the relationship alive. At current, I pitty any girl who would want me as more than a friend. And that is not sefl-deprication, or self hatred, it's jsut the plain old truth, it's a rather blunt and lonely truth, but all the same: true.
If I say true one more time...
Hmm... checklist:
metaphysical speculations in post? possibly
exestintialism? not relavent
humourous antecdote? depends on sense of humour, but more or less Yes.
long string of unconnected rants? youbetcha'
The last line in post? is this one.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
In the Wee Small Hours of the Night
I was mulling over my previous posts, and realized a lot has changed in a rather sudden manner. Over the course of, five maybe even six months, I have lost and gained.
Emotions I once found troubling are now numbed and suppressed for another broodish day; feelings I once had are now gone, evanesced.
I now write to keep my sanity and make sure I don't have a complete emotional and physical collapse. I love this site and all it's splendiferous, wondrous charms.
I write now instead of finishing up homework, or memorizing lines or monologues; I write now because I truly feel like purging these tempestuous thoughts, no matter their size or significance, so I can rest easier or feel better, whether momentarily or not.
Okay I have to go now. I know right, lame, no major conclusions concluded nor anything mentioned and brought to a resolve.
Gute Nacht
Emotions I once found troubling are now numbed and suppressed for another broodish day; feelings I once had are now gone, evanesced.
I now write to keep my sanity and make sure I don't have a complete emotional and physical collapse. I love this site and all it's splendiferous, wondrous charms.
I write now instead of finishing up homework, or memorizing lines or monologues; I write now because I truly feel like purging these tempestuous thoughts, no matter their size or significance, so I can rest easier or feel better, whether momentarily or not.
Okay I have to go now. I know right, lame, no major conclusions concluded nor anything mentioned and brought to a resolve.
Gute Nacht
Monday, February 9, 2009
If There Are Noises
Things are piling up; hours are slowly passing, slipping into the nothingness that is the past. There are few things I find comfort in, such as music and friends I never talk to; writing letters, blog posts, and stories keep my facade from breaking, and spilling forth a torrent of emotions. This is all truth. I swear by it.
Just thinking about school brings forth painful pangs and distress. I don't know why this is so; that is where I truly wish I was lying. One should never want to lie. I am a firm believer in truth, whether is brings about the best results is up for debate.
I also firmly believe in "everything happens for a reason." Whether or not you acknowledge it, things you do will always affect your future; your past dictates your future. This reminds of a rather ingenious and veracious quote "he who controls the past controls the future, he who controls the future controls the past." That quote should be something similar in the text of 1984, by George Orwell. Arguably one of the greatest writers of all time, he is on a pantheon that few are placed upon. Well for me, there are very few authors but here they are: George Orwell, William Faulkner, J.D. Salinger, Jeffery Eugenides, John Steinbeck, and Kurt Vonnegut. All of the aforementioned are my favorite authors for several reasons. I extol them, and wish so badly to achieve they greatness they have earned.
But one step at a time is all I have to say to myself.
Taking AP Language has a reason, I do not know that reason as of yet, but soon I will. Only time will tell what I regret.
The days are getting longer, slowly but surely they are. I cannot accurately judge by the weather living where I live; it is too sporadic to judge from temperature and sunshine.
Spring is slowly enveloping the landscape. It's wrought with sweet scents and a feeling of renewal, with new growths and a closing school year.
Soon everything will be over. And I can act in movies, and dream without fear, and have time for things that I love to do.
This is one crazy post, it's a mix of ranting and monloguing...
These are my thoughts, and if you do not care for them, that's perfectly alright with me.
I just needed to clear my head. Find meaning in all the buzzing, find serenity in a rather hectic mind.
This could turn into a rather existentialist blog post, trying to find meaning in a rather meaningless world, or time I should say. It seems as though that is my generations zeitgeist, finding some sort of meaning in a rather hollow world. We are trying to try and reconnect with our roots, our past. Much like the Lost Generation, except minus Paris and Hemingway, please. The hour is of late, and I should study up on chromosomal packaging and trigonometric functions.
Just thinking about school brings forth painful pangs and distress. I don't know why this is so; that is where I truly wish I was lying. One should never want to lie. I am a firm believer in truth, whether is brings about the best results is up for debate.
I also firmly believe in "everything happens for a reason." Whether or not you acknowledge it, things you do will always affect your future; your past dictates your future. This reminds of a rather ingenious and veracious quote "he who controls the past controls the future, he who controls the future controls the past." That quote should be something similar in the text of 1984, by George Orwell. Arguably one of the greatest writers of all time, he is on a pantheon that few are placed upon. Well for me, there are very few authors but here they are: George Orwell, William Faulkner, J.D. Salinger, Jeffery Eugenides, John Steinbeck, and Kurt Vonnegut. All of the aforementioned are my favorite authors for several reasons. I extol them, and wish so badly to achieve they greatness they have earned.
But one step at a time is all I have to say to myself.
Taking AP Language has a reason, I do not know that reason as of yet, but soon I will. Only time will tell what I regret.
The days are getting longer, slowly but surely they are. I cannot accurately judge by the weather living where I live; it is too sporadic to judge from temperature and sunshine.
Spring is slowly enveloping the landscape. It's wrought with sweet scents and a feeling of renewal, with new growths and a closing school year.
Soon everything will be over. And I can act in movies, and dream without fear, and have time for things that I love to do.
This is one crazy post, it's a mix of ranting and monloguing...
These are my thoughts, and if you do not care for them, that's perfectly alright with me.
I just needed to clear my head. Find meaning in all the buzzing, find serenity in a rather hectic mind.
This could turn into a rather existentialist blog post, trying to find meaning in a rather meaningless world, or time I should say. It seems as though that is my generations zeitgeist, finding some sort of meaning in a rather hollow world. We are trying to try and reconnect with our roots, our past. Much like the Lost Generation, except minus Paris and Hemingway, please. The hour is of late, and I should study up on chromosomal packaging and trigonometric functions.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
An Inglorious Account
I like using words in unusual ways and I think sometimes the ends are justified by the means. To further explain, seeing as that was a rather general statement, the ends are cutting derisive witticisms by means of me using sizable, ostentatious words. I thought 'twas funny, amusing, and somewhat satirical; I know seem to think that it makes me sound like a pretentious idiot who does naught know what he is talking about, well the way some people look at me after mine fanciful remarks it sure seems that way.
Well I am sick of it. I am not stupid, nor am I smart; I am average.
But that really had nothing to do with anything. This is me, ranting to stop from worsening my mental state. I am one more D paper away from quitting the whole damn system. What's worse is that there is no, "you should focus on this", not even a "make one more of these mistakes and I will not grade your next paper". I need something, if I get about five 5+'s in a row, OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING IS WRONG.
I hate AP Language more than I have ever hated a class in my life. I do not hate the teacher, although I suspect she does not like me. Probably because every time I am called on for an answer I over think the answer and then sound like an idiot. Or the fact that I walk in with a horrid attitude that I really don't care to fix. I want out of that class, and damn whatever colleges say. I am sick of hearing about how college justifies torture in high school. The hours you waste taking class you'll never need, the unrelenting stress and torment.
I can't take that excuse anymore. You can waltz into any fucking in state college with the bare requirements because, like in high school, YOU'RE ONLY MONEY TO THEM. (Them being the college/school/whatever else is government funded.)
There is also a lot of work piling up all at once. YEAH WELL FUCK YOU TOO HIGH SCHOOL. I do not want to destroy the building, or lives of others. I just want to not have to go to a high school run by air heads, or worse than that: borderline fascists.
Who knows what stupid thing will be next, it will be something patronizing and angering that's for sure.
Sorry if my prose isn't elegant enough for some, sorry I cannot construct fluid sentences with an aloof tone (just to sound smarter), sorry I cannot find fourteen different ways to say the same damn thing. I just can't take it.
I cannot wait for AP Literature, it is something I care about, something I like reading, something like analyzing. It's easy for me to find literary devices, character flaws, unreliable narrators and such. I worked hard for that, I disciplined most of my synapses to fire when I see or read something that has depth, tone, metaphor, simile, stream of consciousness, anything related to literature of the fictional kind. I do not know how to rhetorically analyze everything. I can sometimes, but not always. And never when it counts. I cannot take a letter or speech someone wrote over 150 years ago and then analyze why they did this, and what they're saying, and how come this and blah blah blah. It just pisses me off, I can do it at a depth than most, and that's still not enough.
Ugh I am so pissed of now I have to go.
Well I am sick of it. I am not stupid, nor am I smart; I am average.
But that really had nothing to do with anything. This is me, ranting to stop from worsening my mental state. I am one more D paper away from quitting the whole damn system. What's worse is that there is no, "you should focus on this", not even a "make one more of these mistakes and I will not grade your next paper". I need something, if I get about five 5+'s in a row, OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING IS WRONG.
I hate AP Language more than I have ever hated a class in my life. I do not hate the teacher, although I suspect she does not like me. Probably because every time I am called on for an answer I over think the answer and then sound like an idiot. Or the fact that I walk in with a horrid attitude that I really don't care to fix. I want out of that class, and damn whatever colleges say. I am sick of hearing about how college justifies torture in high school. The hours you waste taking class you'll never need, the unrelenting stress and torment.
I can't take that excuse anymore. You can waltz into any fucking in state college with the bare requirements because, like in high school, YOU'RE ONLY MONEY TO THEM. (Them being the college/school/whatever else is government funded.)
There is also a lot of work piling up all at once. YEAH WELL FUCK YOU TOO HIGH SCHOOL. I do not want to destroy the building, or lives of others. I just want to not have to go to a high school run by air heads, or worse than that: borderline fascists.
Who knows what stupid thing will be next, it will be something patronizing and angering that's for sure.
Sorry if my prose isn't elegant enough for some, sorry I cannot construct fluid sentences with an aloof tone (just to sound smarter), sorry I cannot find fourteen different ways to say the same damn thing. I just can't take it.
I cannot wait for AP Literature, it is something I care about, something I like reading, something like analyzing. It's easy for me to find literary devices, character flaws, unreliable narrators and such. I worked hard for that, I disciplined most of my synapses to fire when I see or read something that has depth, tone, metaphor, simile, stream of consciousness, anything related to literature of the fictional kind. I do not know how to rhetorically analyze everything. I can sometimes, but not always. And never when it counts. I cannot take a letter or speech someone wrote over 150 years ago and then analyze why they did this, and what they're saying, and how come this and blah blah blah. It just pisses me off, I can do it at a depth than most, and that's still not enough.
Ugh I am so pissed of now I have to go.
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