Got another 98 percent on my math quiz. What the fuck. So close to 100.

Blog #2 2/11/2012

12:07am Sunday Night

It's been a pretty unproductive week. Today, just like yesterday, I played Starcraft II the majority of the day. I really need to find some new hobbies. Video games are a huge time sink and I don't think I'm good at moderating myself when I don't feel anything pressing to do. I should gone and hung out today. But even then, I don't know. Too much hanging out. Sometimes I feel like I'm either not valuing other people's time, or they are wasting mine. When we hang out, all we do is complain. The fuck? Why are we so prone to shit all over a good time for the sake of our misery? I'm not saying confiding in others isn't a good thing, but it seems so cheap to gather together and then think about how horrible we're feeling, all the fucking time. Okay, I'm being a bit dramatic. I just don't know why people insist on hanging out and having a shitty time every single day. Get together when you have stuff to do together or you actually want to hang out with those people. It makes the relationship so much more sweeter when you're not constantly exposed to their bitterness. 

But starcraft 2 is so fun. We touched on meditation in our psych 101 class. I realized how good it feels and refreshing it is to be immersed in something.

Other than that, pretty decent week? Haven't really been able to think about much. No new thoughts. No new ideas. Nothing to flesh out. I really need to read. I'm at a loss for words trying to express myself right now. What the heccckkkkk it's so frustrating. I might have to bail on basketball. I didn't do ANY homework this weekend. Again. Dammit.

How do we get hope? Do we just assume things are all right? Or are things always all right? It's funny hearing really profound things at times when they're meaningless to you. Life goes on. That's fucking solid. Coming out of your hole, your moment of despair, you come out and realize, nothing has stopped for your sake and nothing will be stopped even by your mistakes. Life goes on. It's like messing with an ever growing bacteria that's slowing and infinitely spreading across. You can hack the shit out of it, but there's so much more, in the past and the present, that's pressing on. Even if I stop living, the world functions without me. There's a lot of peace in that. Like no matter who hates me, don't understand me, or simply have zero fucks to give my way, life goes on. It's all a part of Life and we're all little bits of it. I feel like no matter where we are, even if we leave that larger piece of bacteria and create a meaningless existence for ourselves, the whole carries on and proceeds, not without care, but in its infinite capabilities. 

Also, how do we win in life? It's weird to think that the term successful is thought of as financially stable. I definitely do see positives in being financially stable. I think financial stability creates more opportunities to "win" in life. It's not guaranteed, but it creates a buffer between you and your mistakes. Sometimes it takes a fortune, or the loss of one, to understand what makes us really freaking happy. So what happens? I think that freedom is a greater opposite to greed than being charitable. 

Greed encapsulates you. You become controlled by desire; overwhelmed and restricted. Greed is a false sense of freedom. But to what scale and measure? Aren't there different types of greed and varying degrees? There's a greed of what we have and the unwillingness to part from it and the greed of wanting all and more, not being able to focus on what we have. What good can being greedy bring? Great rewards? In the form of what? Wouldn't it be great if we only desired what can sustain us? Maybe we do and we're like black holes, unlimited in our wants and needs. 

Blog Post #1 1/30/2012

I'm about to start homework after having taken a nap. I just wanted to jam out a post before I actually began. It's funny when you want to say something when there isn't anything to say at all.

It's also funny when you're tired in your world history class and your teacher asks you descriptions about the journalist and you mumble out that he's sexy because his last name is Fineman. I was so surprised I actually said that but she was cool about it and made it a joke till the END OF CLASS. That statement was probably inspired by what I said in my English class right before. We were reading our new introductions and I had a lot of fun with mine. I wrote one about a child asking his parents about pregnancy (super cliche, I know). We had a workshop where we sent around our three and the students marked which one they liked best. To my honest surprise, they liked that one. I actually like the last one: it was very tongue-in-cheek and kind of mean but I guess that's just what gets me off. Anyway, the teacher asked me why the other students liked the interaction between the child and parents the best. I didn't know why so I just said it's because it has sex in it. The teacher started giggling and asked if it was appropriate. I said it was very appropriate and she kept laughing. It was cool. She's really pretty.

The days have been so nice. Going to school kind of scares me. I wonder if after I start a career, will I never find something worth working for? Will I continue to be so exhausted during the days that are so packed and just work to no end? That's probably the worst though. Working to no end. That it'll never end until retirement. But I think and hope I'll find something worth working towards.

I was also wondering about how damn shitty it'd be to be an English professor or a teacher. I was reading some of the essays in class and also as part of the introduction workshop I mentioned earlier, and they were just horrific. I was seriously about to shit my pants (unrelated, but still. fuck you dairy products) when I was reading them. A few folks never even did the assignment correctly and the essay is due in TWO days. What the heck? At first I was arrogantly angry for some reason. I was like, "are you fucking serious you dumb ass nut buckers?" but I thought about how this actually affects them and their future. For some reason, when I encounter problems or things I'm unsure of, I get mad. That's also why I don't want to get married. But, after having that revelation, I started wanting to help them. Does that count? Wanting to help someone after you call them a retard? Is that only because of guilt or can it be genuinely seen as an act of kindness?

Other than that, I miss the outdoors and nature. Saturday was really fun. Went to Balboa Park with Monica and Kaitlin. I love small groups because you don't have to worry about all the shit going with a large group entails. Some people might not be having fun or some people might be tired or some people are just mean ass pricks. Whatever the case, it was really fun and I'm glad I got to spend time with both Monica and Kaitlin since they're gonna leave soon.

Okay, I think that was like 20-25 minutes. Homework time! woohoo!

I guess I'm back

Every time I come back and reread the last few thoughts I let out, I'm always engulfed in the state of being I was in at the time. It's so fun to relive and reverberate in a passion or lethargy once ascertained through circumstance and error. 

I blocked almost everyone of my subscribers. There are 3 that I didn't and I'm hoping they won't mind. I want to continue writing. It's a dear passion and joy I have. I like being able to log in a website and flip through the pages. Physical copies are okay, but why leave it to human fallibility when there is technological machinery that'll ensure an eternal safekeeping? Sometimes I'm absolutely verbose for no fucking reason. I forgot I was going to let this be a cathartic piece. It's my first time without all those people subscribed, receiving e-mails of a subscription they don't even know and want, and being able to know that there are only a few people who have already established who I am to them so this endless stream-of-consciousness thought and sentence won't mean balls or dicks to them. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK HAHAHA

It's sad that the only thing I can think of is to swear and curse. I've been doing it a lot more. In my freestyle jammin' sesshunz 4sh0. In my car. It's dope as fuck. dope as fuck. dopamine as vulgar sexual intercourse. I guess that makes sense. 

This is the only consistency I can maintain. There may be a series of months in between, but I've developed a relationship with Xanga that'll keep me hooked.

So, I think I'm allergic to my cat, but I'm more allergic to the piece of shit kitty litter we have for it. Oh my god i feel like i'm getting cancer, ulcers, and stupider because of it.

Maybe there needs to be structure. Maybe I don't give two lefts of a fuck. Maybe I do. Maybe I'm just so damn pent up. I should be doing homework right now. I won't have time to do it tomorrow. Bitch, I'm a bus.

Heroes

When I was younger, I didn't grow up thinking I'd be anybody. I didn't dream or wish. There were no visions of wild police chases, saving lives as a firefighter, mad scientist or any normal thing a boy would dream. I lived among myself and the present times. But one thing I did do: I wished to be older. Never content with my age, I longed for maturity bestowed upon with days gone by. It wasn't even intelligence, was it? I only thought being older would fulfill my wants and longings of any greater good or evil I desired. How funny is it that now I so desperate ache for the past. It's as if I haven't learned my lesson. My present calls and aches for my attention squandered. A flurry of regrets disable me.

Okay, this isn't really what I wanted to do. What I want to do right now is write a story about something. Something at all.

At Fall Shore Elementary, there was a lad about the size of his father's leg. This young boy, Thomas, was a great boy as most are. He was filled with wonder and bewilderment. Many things astounded him because he thought of such things. His heart was held captive by his imagination and was swooned so easily by the tides of each passing hour. Thomas loved school and school adored him.

As all characters are refined by the testing of such, Thomas stumbled upon a beast whose name he did not know. He sat quietly, observant, though not willingly. It was a fresh new experience that lurched his insides outward. This beast reared its all consuming head. Its breath smelled sore of each child plundered. Its claws in disarray that clenched all things in an equal unmerciful grip. And as Thomas faced eye-to-eye with this monster, he did no heroic thing. He acted as a child should and stayed beyond its grasp. Away from danger and restrained by fear was Thomas cast in a light no different than before. For he was a child and children are not expected to be heroic. They are not expected to slay such beasts in one fell swoop or tame them to everyone's delight. They stare in awe of power they no not negative and blister inside if it is indeed inhumane. And the clumping of their throat and swollen sense of injustice resound in them and whisper the crooked lies and deceits in which to follow or deny.