Torschlusspanik

Aug 11

2011-08-11T17:34:00.002-04:00

This is a personal post. I'm going to talk about my pitiful sense of direction, and the way it threatens to change my life.

I don't know about anyone else, but I cannot walk in one direction without getting lost. I feel like I know where I'm going, but I never get to where I want to go. I even get confused when I know I'm walking in the right direction. If I think making a left turn will get me to my destination faster, I throw all caution to the wind and just go for it. Maybe that's my own fault, but I'm never right when I take these shortcuts. I get really, really lost. EXAMPLE: Today I got off the train on 72 and 8th. All I had to do was cut across central park and come out on 72nd and 5th. Can you guess where I came out? After walking along confidently for about 20 minutes, I popped out of Central Forest on 6th and 58th. I thought to myself, 'What the fuck did I just do?', and started walking what I thought was the right way. 5 minutes later I was on 7th and 57th. I then realized how many mistakes I had just made, and humbly asked for directions.

It sounds funny, but this sort of thing really destroys your confidence. I'm wondering, "Should I carry around a compass from now on?" Maybe I should leave my apartment 15 minutes earlier than usual to account for general confusion and misdirection. If I end up arriving late to class because I got lost, I have no real excuse. What do I say? "Professor, I was taking the train... and then decided to get off early and walk across Central Park to school. I must've made a full circle in the park without knowing it and then walking 40 blocks in the wrong direction... I know, teacher, I fucked up... what?.... you can't call me retarded! You're the teacher!... SO WHAT IF I GOT LOST IT DOESN'T MAKE ME DUMB... yea, so?.... uh-huh... ok... wait, what?... I HATE YOU; FUCK YOU AND FUCK THIS CLASS, I'M GOING HOME!... Get lost? OH, VERY FUNNY."

But seriously, getting lost really fucks you up. You stop trusting yourself to do basic things. You start double- and triple-checking grocery lists. You hate going to new places. You only take subway lines. You refer to your subway map app constantly.

It's bullshit.

Hours of Flowers

2011-05-17T20:39:00.002-04:00

I have a dream. My dream is that one day, the consumer will have barcode scanners that will scan a product and provide the user with all the information needed to make the right decision: to buy, or not to buy. The scanner will pull up all information relevant to the consumer such as similar products that could be bought cheaper nearby, objects of higher quality elsewhere, poor customer service, reliability of product, ect. The result is twofold- one on hand, competition will be reduced for the company that can produce highest quality for the lowest price and thus allow the company to grow exponentially faster, and on the other hand, it will allow new companies with a better product to enter the market without fairly quickly. The interaction of these two would create growing dynamic. The larger company would be continually pushed to develop their product by the threat of smaller, rapidly growing companies, and the smaller company would be able to realize immediate growth provided they can create a superior object. Competition would be comprised of fewer, but higher-quality companies. This means fewer failing businesses, which in turn means fewer people having to change jobs. With a greater number of people able to maintain their jobs, there will be a greater degree of specialization in all jobs across the working spectrum. Greater specialization means stronger technical ability within the corporation and a lower rate of mistakes. Mistakes cause waste and no one benefits from waste except hobos.

Let’s go back and look again at what it means to have fewer failing businesses. This means fewer defaults on loans, and less risky investments. This creates a very relaxed investing environment where money will flow easier, via investing, to new companies (again- provided they have a superior product/service). Lower risk also means that less interest will be charged on loans.

By removing the barriers to break into a market, individuals will be provided with a chance to jump directly into the sector, IF they have an idea. This means billions of people will simply need to think to start their own business. A wider variety of different products will become available, instead of a wide variety of the same product.

Wait, what? Think? This is where my thought takes its jump.

I believe that a cultural movement towards thinking, even if over about services and products, will lead people to recognize the use of science. Biology, chemistry and physics would be tapped for new ideas. When science provides an edge, it will be considered vital to growth by financial institutions. Scientists will be in demand, and wages for scientists will rise, making professions in scientific fields more lucrative. Instead of parents pushing kids to become a banker or a doctor or a lawyer, they will be encouraged to study science. A greater number of researchers would speed up the rate of discovery and breakthroughs. Chemists will create superior materials. Biologists will discover cures for diseases and develop biotech that can augment our health. Physicists will produce highly-efficient sources of energy and tell us about whether there are other universes. Electric Engineers will develop barcode scanners that will lead to an informed publ-

… aw shit.

To be named (round two, part one)

2011-02-01T20:49:00.003-05:00

Surreal Thoughts.

"I've been coming on this website every day for the past two months."
"And what do you like about the site?"
"I like that when you write something, it means something to somebody else."
"Thank you so much Jared, and now, back to the weather."

That was my fourty seconds of fame. Right after he said this, they all packed up in a van and drove off without even a goodbye. You know, I'm glad it wasn't longer... they didn't care about the whole thing anyways. There's nothing to do in this town, and the only things they think are worth talking about, are the things that don't involve farms or the last school board meeting. What am I talking about! Those things get more attention than everything else combined. What do I care. I hate that station.
I just want to go back to what I was doing. How could they do a special on the site and never even look at it! They show boring news for boring people. I shouldn't have even let them in the house. Let them go do a special on Gilmore's John Deere hat collection down the street. That will get some oooh's and ahhh's. Why am I still babbling about this? I don't care about that stupid station. I only care about my site.

[surrealthoughts.com]
02:21:57 GMT
Thread: Why do I care?
by philosaraptor: I remember reading oflippit's post about compartmentalism and thinking, this is where I want to be. For those of you who haven't read it, you should go and read it [here]. For those of you who aren't going to click the link, I'll sum it up for you. oflippit said that we care so much about the things going on around us, that we've split our mind into hundreds of different compartments that we can access when we need to. This allows us to 'store' different mindsets, equipped with different memories and even different vocabularies, until these persona's are needed. I don't think this is a big surprise to any of you here, but keep on listening- it gets good. oflippit then wrote, (and I can only quote this to do it justice) "In those mental compartments, you look in at the future, past and present like a TV screen, or a video game. I think we should begin closing the doors on these compartments, one by one, until we hit the brick wall of reality, where we are firmly attached. When we've finally backed out of our mental labrinyth, we won't be looking at the past, nor the future. We will look directly from our eyes. Breath directly with our lungs. Speak directly from our heads. No more bottlenecks on our thinking. No more walls to contain our imaginations. We can escape. We can live." Now like I said, I agreed instantly with him. It made perfect sense! However, I've been trying it, and I can't get anywhere. You all know I ramble a lot (at least those of you who have made it this far), but I just think that I have a lot to say. My mind is always in overdrive. I don't know where to stop, and I just keep on going and going and going... Sorry. Anyways, I think that I have a prepensity to think in circles, and get caught up with just about anything without looking up. I want to stop and open my eyes, but well... my mind has a mind of it's own! What do you guys think?

-philosaraptor

03:01:57 GMT:
by nas: hey man, it's all good, i know how you feel. sometimes i get pretty annoyed too cause i get caught up in dumb shit, which happens a lot. idk why, just the thug life i guess. but yea, dont sweat it, its fuckin impossible not to think about anything... (that sounds like its your current goal) even if you try to think about nothing you still gonna end up thinking about SOMETHING. like look, penguins. now you cant stop thinking about penguins.
were human man, think a little, it keeps us growing.

03:42:57 GMT:
by hykkikiky3
the buddhist monks try to do this same thing and they do it by spending all day meditating, thinking about nothing. at the same time, they force you to solve these puzzles that have no answer. its supposed to help you abandon logic and reason. my friend does this and he seems to have changed a lot, he eats, sleeps, and thinks. maybe you should look into this.

03:42:57 GMT:
by philosaraptor
Thanks for the replies. I see where you're coming from nas, it may as well be impossible not to think (i know this from experience), but still, I'm not hoping to stop thinking. I just want to think more about my life and the world around me. (i probably sound like a hippy) And hykkikiky, I've read up on the monks you're talking about, they're actually Zen monks... It's right up my alley, but I just don't know about committing to it for some reason. It's almost like, if I were to join, I wouldn't know if I ever actually got anywhere, or if I just stopped thinking. It would be difficult to distinguish the sensation of enlightenment from actual revelation.

05:42:57 GMT:
by oflippit
Is there a difference?

Thread locked by admin.

Title to be chosen upon completion. (part one)

2011-02-01T20:39:00.002-05:00

Sunday neurosis.

I've always wondered if everyone gets it sometime or another. The phrase was coined by Viktor E. Frankl, the father of logotherapy. Logotherapy is a school of psychology that revolves around the depression that accompanies man's search for meaning. Sunday neurosis is the feeling we get on Sundays, when we've finally stopped working, playing around, eating, and realize that we have nothing to do. When we're finally sober from the constant stimulus, we can look around and see that we have nothing.

Nope. Starting over in next post.

Book.

2011-02-01T20:34:00.002-05:00

I'm going to start a book today, and finish it(hopefully) by March 1st. I will spend the month after creating a short 15-minute film. Following that month, I will make a video game. After that, I will make an album. Then a website. Finally, I will attend college.

My first entry is today.

Minecraft.

2011-01-09T18:09:00.002-05:00

Why Minecraft should be implemented as a method of cancer prevention: A Query.

Minecraft is fun. Although this first statement is neither strong nor relevant, I want to establish a point of reference to return to later, as to look into alternatives to drugs

Second point, aka point DOS (pun intended), Minecraft allows you to create your own world. Because the game is so ghetto, due in part to the horrible physics and 16-bit game engine, Minecraft makes you feel like you are always cheating the game. This is nearly synonymous with hacking, and hacking as we all know, is 1337. But here is something you don't know. When you divide the number of Hindu gods by the number of words in the bible and divide by the unholy number 666, you arrive at the close cousin of 1337: .6395, and as we ALL know, .6395 is Professor David Lings class on Investment Property Analysis, except with a dot at the beginning (probably just a smudge on the paper).

From this we can derive the very simple idea that thinking about buying property is a good idea. Now, we understand that good ideas bring good things, so we have no choice but to recognize that this very, very good idea is good for the world. If you remember back to elementary school, death is a bad thing. I hope you'll all agree. NOW- if death is a bad thing, and cancer causes death, then things that don't cause cancer are good things, and do you all know what DOESN'T cause cancer? Exactly, good things! FURTHERMORE, if buying property is a good thing, then it doesn't cause cancer, and then everyone lives.

Below, I have included some links to plots of land, so that you may all live longer. Reserve your thanks for the 'thank you' e-mail you will send me.

http://www.landflip.com/land.asp?listing_id=36039&hfeature=1

http://www.landflip.com/land.asp?listing_id=36288&hfeature=1 (I like this one a lot)

http://www.landflip.com/land.asp?listing_id=20967&hfeature=1 (for the alligator hunters aka texans)

....

I'm just kidding guys. ALL A JOKE THAT WAS HA HA HA.

Minecraft stops cancer because it's addicting as fvck, and when kids play it, they won't go out and get malaria from playing too much football. This is especially handy in the antarktic, where the ozone layer is like a UV-ray magnifying glass.

I can almost taste the longevity!

Writing Again.

2011-01-09T18:08:00.000-05:00

I'm going to start writing again. It's been over 6 months since I last published. BEGIN READING.

New Dream Job.

2010-04-17T17:31:00.002-04:00

I just read an article that described the new processes uncovered by astrophysicists about the formation of stars. I will not bore you on the subject, but I ask that you re-direct your attention to something much more significant- the plight of the astrophysicist. Talk about the perfect career choice for me.

Check.

Infinitesimally Small

2010-04-17T16:48:00.004-04:00

I realize that I am absolutely fascinated by physics and astronomy. There is nothing in the world more interesting. After reading a few articles on galaxy formation and super massive black holes, I am brought to reflect on the fragility of life. Astronomers say that studying the universe makes them feel so, so small. Just reading about it puts everything else into perspective. My goal in life is shifting from living a bleak, dismal existence, to understanding the universe around me. I must come to terms with the fact that I will not transcend reality, or become a god. I will die, and life will go on. I will be forgotten. So why live?

Albert Camus once said that only one question matters in life, and that is, "Why shouldn't we kill ourselves?" For fear of hell? Let's get past that and assume that there is no hell; or we can be Calvinists and believe in pre-determinism. Either way, we are going to die and our choices on earth have no effect on what happens in the afterlife. How should we spend our meaningless existences? Why should one person spend their entire lives reading books, when they can simply play video games the entire time?

Why should one spend any time at all?

Why live?

I do not have suicidal thoughts because I have no desire to end my awareness of living. I could kill myself and end it all now, reducing time to a singular, inconsequential point, or I could live it all out. Either way, the time will come to nothing. Why throw away so many years if it doesn't matter either way? I think the best bet is to live for as long as possible, and hope they figure out what happens after death by the time you kick the bucket. Or work long enough to afford cryogenic hibernation. Those are the only two things that are going to make a difference.

That's all the hope one can harbor.

I abandon the notion of hope in favor of something more practical- understanding. I would like to come to terms with life, so that I may stop worrying. I am convinced that when I stop worrying, time will work much more in my favor. It will fly by and inevitably reduce my lifespan to that single point anyway. I am getting abstract.

I want to go into astronomy and theoretical quantum physics. The latter has always been the generic 'rocket science' subject, but it is the most interesting. I don't care about politics or business or English anymore. That all focuses on the personality. There is no new knowledge in those fields. Education in those subjects would entail tuning our faculties to cater to other people. I do not want to cater to other people, for even a leader is at the mercy of his followers. I just want to learn about things I don't know. Isn't that the real goal in life? I feel like every other aspect of successful living will follow, as long as I've got my priorities straight.

This is something that just blew me away: Super massive black holes are stripping entire galaxies of their gas. When a super massive black hole pulls things in, debris circles around the black hole and dust particles are slowly compressed smaller and smaller. All the energy is consequentially squeezed out of them and a geyser of heat shoots through the galaxy. That energy heats up all the gases in the galaxy and makes them less dense and causes them to expand, forcing them further away from the center of the galaxy. Because the gases are so far away, they cannot condense and form stars and planets- food for the black hole. The universe will not live long enough to see the gas cool down and re-condense. Seeing as how the super massive black hole is eventually left with nothing to feed on, it expands and expands until it collapses, taking entire galaxies with it.

What does a promotion matter when this is happening constantly throughout the universe? The purpose of school shouldn't be to make us successful, but to equip us with the knowledge necessary to comprehend these magnificent occurrence's throughout the universe.

In light of this, the question of 'Why live?' is made much more important. We are so insignificant in the grand scope of things. The very thought of self-destructing black holes reminds me that our universe is finite, and is will eventually collapse on itself, ending every form of existence possible. Thus I am brought to conclude that there is no god, and no afterlife, just the great motions in the universe around us. On the other hand, it brings me to consider the origin of this mystery. There must be some incredible power responsible for the creation of all this. What is that power?

This, is a more formidable question, and possibly one with an answer.

Becoming a lawyer, or a stockbroker, will not help.

Major Choice

2009-12-19T22:45:00.004-05:00

My mother once said, "Steven, why do you want to be a writer? You'll be a hobo on the street, do you really want that?" A young me closed my ears and said, "Please stop talking, if you're not going to accept it, then don't talk to me about it." I felt like I was defending my sexuality to my mom.
I started writing when I was 12. Things were kind of tough for me back then, but I was never really stressed out, per se. I never knew how to handle my emotions, and what I consider stress today, simply manifested itself as confusion in my young soul. That confusion and discord made me angry and sad and torn up. Dealing with things on a daily basis meant that I had to command my erratic, capricious mind to move in the right direction.
On one of my birthdays, my dad and stepmother(witch) Kathy, bought me a journal. They didn't buy it so I could have a positive outlet for my emotions, but rather so I might practice my cursive. Kathy made me write about my day. In cursive. Devil. Of course, THAT didn't last very long (to this day I have horrible cursive hand-writing), however I picked the book up days later when I had an urge to draw. And then every day after that I drew and drew in that book. When I saw that I had no artistic talent and that there was no enigmatic sleeping artist buried inside me, I closed the book for an indefinite period of time. Some time later, I opened up the book to write down song lyrics I had thought of. Again, no luck. The journal collected dust until I opened it back up one day and wrote about something that happened in school. The first entry started, "Dear Journal, something is bothering me." And just like that, I began to confide in my journal. I told my journal about my friends, and I spoke about all the girls I thought were pretty. Me and my journal were best friends. It was a way for me to get everything off my chest. I was my dream catcher whilst I slept. However, I began to think just a little too much. My journal was filling up. The time of the day was being lost to pages of my journal. I got to a point where I couldn't write anything, because my entire week had consisted of me doing nothing but writing in my journal. When I had realized that there was nothing left to write, I closed my journal and fell asleep.

Purpose? I say not.

2009-11-29T22:43:00.006-05:00

I've looked all around the interweb and found one thing that successful blogs have in common- they all have a focus. Does mine have a focus? I s'pose I could answer this the cheap way and say,"I'm giving the people insight as to how I view things." However, nothing would come of that answer. So let me think about a better-sounding answer. My blog is here to show people creative ways to check their premises and serves as a instigator to live again, when life gets you down. This blog is called Torschlusspanik. Torschlusspanik doesn't have an English definition. It doesn't have any definition, really. It's a German word that alludes to the feeling of mid-life crisis. Mid-life crisis, we're familiar with what it is. It's how this guy feels.

But on a more serious note, it's not. That guy is thinking more along the lines of beating his family when he gets out of prison and finds them. And that's not cool. Neither is thinking that your life is going down the drain. It's probably how this guy feels.

And even here, I wouldn't consider that a mid-life crisis pose. He is brainstorming about what to do with his life. Huddled in the corner in the fetal position, thinking about the loss of his soul to normalcy and the poor summation of his life in a few more years, seems a lot more characteristic of a mid-life crisis.

can you believe that there was actually a picture that fit my description?

It's crazy that I found this. Now, this is a guy who is definitely undergoing revelation. Or he's modeling for the Sculpture 101 class. I'm not sure where this was taken, so it's hard to say.

Goodnight.

Stress Responders.

2009-11-24T14:29:00.002-05:00

Family therapist Virginia Satir identified five personality types in situations of stress. The first four have to deal with those who put stress off, blame others for it, over-rationalize it, and switch between the three. I can sort of see which personality pattern I follow. What I'm getting at is the last personality. The last is called the leveller, the one who takes things at face value, and sees them in an unbiased manner. The leveller sees stress as normal, and instead of trying to cope, engages the problem with intent to resolve it. So I've been stressed out, but today I was open minded. I imagined being relaxed and comfortable with my problem, and now I am. At least for a little while.

Incidentally, I am going to start liking olives. I used to hate them, but I particularly like the taste when I keep the juice at the tip of my tongue. It's strong and rich, but when it gets to the back of my throat, the juice gets heavy and dark and bitter, as if I were munching coffee beans.

Accidental Love

2009-11-24T13:10:00.003-05:00

I realize that I often end up listening to two different songs at once. It happens like this, I am listeing to one thing, and I start downloading another, and then when that downloaded thing is finished it starts playing, and I rarely realize it. It's usually good! Like, really really cool! The two different beats usually blow my mind, and there's usually some form of a dissonant, echoing wailing going on somewhere in the background. It brings me to wonder how babies see things. Again, I wonder this more often than I should. I also wish I could pick the music I listened to when I was a baby. If I did, I'd probably be some mute and blind genius. I don't know why.

Second Stage.

2009-11-24T12:30:00.003-05:00

Alright, so I've reached that point. I no longer care about school. I don't care if I go to UCCC or to Harvard. I still want to learn- I want to know everything, it's just that I don't care about how others see my education. I'm not going to be competing for the top spots in JP Morgan. I'm not even going to compete for manager at McDonalds. I am going to work so that I can make money. When I make that money, I will survive. And while I'm surviving, I will spend my time in cheese shops writing and reading. I got a 1970 on my last SAT's. I'm upset. I shouldn't expect too much out of it as I hadn't put all that much into it. I probably would've broken 2100 if I didn't almost go into a hunger-coma in the middle of the test, but that's in the past. What is in the future is a decent college, and a lot of work. I used to wonder why people would settle for a sub-par life of success. I'd imagine for most people, it's because they have no choice. For me however, it is different. My values have changed. Although I've only alluded to the shift of my life outlook a few times, I have changed. For the best. I used to be scared about dying unfulfilled. I was afraid of dying in a bed of money. Afraid of turning 60 and having forgot why I wanted money.
I'm done with that.
I'm trying to come to terms with music. I know that I want to create beautiful music, and that I want an outlet to express myself. However, Ayn Rand has brought me to check my premises. Why do I want to do this? Do I really want to create my masterpiece as a way to summarize my existence? Or do I want to make my masterpiece to impress others and show everyone who I really am?
Am I doing it for myself or for others?

I'm making a banjo. Out of scratch. It looks hard but imagine how it will sound! Again, I catch myself. Some of you will read that exclamation and say, "The banjo will probably have a really unique sound to it!"I read it and say, "Hey guys, I made a banjo." And then everyone goes into awe. That statement sure sounds cool. Real cool, Steven.
But I'm not giving myself enough credit. I want the banjo because I love the way a banjo sounds. I want to make it myself because I'm not willing to throw down 500$ on an instrument I've never even touched. Gosh! I LOVE the banjo sound. Every strum is a choir of buzzing bees, singing until I take my hand off it's hive. Grizzly Bear is a banjo. They all play their parts, and their echo and resonance mirrors that of the banjos. I can play eternal lullabyes with a banjo.
I'm also strangely excited to buy a rocking chair and sit it in, and play my banjo.
I want to make a rocking chair too.
I should talk to Jake Waruch about it.
He made one.
Sounds hard.

Self-Actualization

2009-11-13T18:02:00.002-05:00

Some of you may be familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. It is a theoretical sequence of needs suggested by some guy named Maslows. It stipulates that in order to reach the upper echelons of the hierarchy, we must meet and satisfy every aspect below and before it. The sequence goes as such: Physiological, Safety, Belongingness and Love, Esteem, and Self-Actualization. The first two are satisfied by living a comfortable life and not worrying about making it through the day. The third and fourth levels of the hierarchy reflect on the person trying to achieve or find acceptance. The average person tends to stop their ascent at the Esteem need. Getting past it means that you have to be completely comfortable with your place in the world around you. I see this particular stage as the harmony stage. Once you reach harmony with yourself, you can move on to Self-Actualization. Maslow's SA is a stage where one begins to work with a purpose of their own. It is committing to a path of enlightenment, a commitment that Maslow says we can only make once we have cleared our minds of worry.
Self-actualization? Sounds like it's right up my alley. I would happily give up college and money and success and love, just to reach that stage.
Problem: Maslow says that the rare cases that reach the stage, often do so around 60.
WHOA, I know. Sixty years? Of not having a purpose? And even then it is not guaranteed. This really scares me, the thought that I will not be like Buddha until I'm old and wrinkly. It's the idea that I'm going to waste 60 years of my life, getting to this one point. When I reach it, it will only be a matter of years until I lose it again- hopefully to death, as opposed to anything else.
Tangent: I would like to die of Alzheimer's.
So, what am I getting at? This: I don't see why I would spend my life doing anything but pursuing this elusive stage of contentment and happiness. This may sound silly, but I don't see why I'd waste my life in college and on the job, when I could be spending it writing, and getting closer to mental and spiritual ascension.
We're all going to die. Blah blah blah. I'm moving past that. Now, I'm stuck on, what am I going to do while I'm alive?
And then the next big question will be, How am I going to do that?

I don't think there are any questions after that.

Experiment K

2009-11-08T16:43:00.002-05:00

So I've been thinking lately. How important is school? With college app deadlines coming down on me, I am being pushed to settle on what schools to apply to. I ask my friends what colleges they're looking at, but I don't really care. Not only will I never see them again, but I rarely share any interests with them. Hamilton, Cornell, Berk, Colorado, Emry. These are schools I'm looking at. Chances are I don't get in- I just don't do THAT well in school. That brings me back to a central point, how important is school? I refuse to simply write off this question as a lack of confidence in my ability, this is a serious question. What will school do for me? I know I'll learn math and science and history, but how will that help develope myself as a person? I've known and read that the personality does more work than the mind does, in business. I've heard that a good voice is as important as a good face. I've heard that a good face is more important than your undergrad. In this particular moment, I want to improve all the parts of me that will help me further down the road. I've spent the weekend downloading Malcolm X speeches and revolutionary seminars. I am going to read about communism. I'm going to hear about Marxism. I'm going to understand Facism. What I've been downloading is NOT objective. This is subjective propaganda. This is the sort of thing that changes people. This is not logical appeal, this is emotional appeal- a very strong persuasive tool.
I am very vulnerable to this sort of thing. I am a young man, void of zeal and looking for a purpose in life. It is young men like me that are picking up the picket signs, and starting revolutionary blogs, and marching down streets during the rallies. I am influencable! I am not weak, but willing to listen. I have a big open mind and I'm asking big important questions! It is like I am being adopting into a philosophical gang-family. I am reading up on science-philosophy too. For some reason, I hadn't ever thought that men like Eistein and Bohr and Hawking had views on religion and metaphysics. Of course they do! They created the basic principles that me and you know about, but they didn't just make theorums just for fun. They made theorums to explain the things that they didn't know. And what didn't they know? Well, these great minds, which are often in agreence with each other, came to odds on the greatest and most important questions a man has to think about. Is there another universe out there, or are we in the only possible universe? Is mathematics one of the eternal truths, that stays constant throughout these other universes? What happens to particles in black holes? Are they lost forever, or is there information preserved in some parallel metaphysical world?
I used to have a problem with these questions. I told myself that they were impossible to answer. And in many ways, they are. That's what I thought. These men though, did not stop with 'no'. They went on to create. I've read posters that say, Edison failed a thousand times before he invented the lightbulb. I don't care about creating things(although I sure would be good at it). I just want to explain things. If I have to spend the next 60 years hunched over at a desk and survive on water and rice, JUST to figure one of those questions out, I would. In reflection, my purpose in life is to learn. I just want to be enlightened. Who doesn't? In my mind, enlightenment is realizing that the little things don't matter and that the only thing that does, is understanding what happens after death. All I want in my life is that comfort! I want to comfort of knowing what happens when I die. When i cease to exist. When I turn to dust. I want someone to tell me, Yes, there is another world that you live on in. I can't give this all up! I can't simply forget living! People turn 80 and say their life was short. I am so scared of that! That truly freightens me. That notion... The thought that we are going to be close to death, and forget about living.
But wait. It won't even matter. When we die, I believe that time is lost and we cease to have ever existed. When we get old, it won't matter how much of our lives we remember, it will only matter in our last moment. A moment that is not nearly as monumentous as we make it out to be. There is nothing less magical about life than dying. It is like thinking about ants dying and going to heaven. When ants die, nothing is lost. No soul escapes. No questions remain unanswered. They get crushed, and are nothing more but a part of the physical world. Just like a stool. I don't feel guilty when I break stools. Or crush ants.
I stop writing for a moment and look up and think, I'm condemned already. I've killed so many ants already. All these small, insignificant animals, and I've been killing them and forcing their souls out of their bodies. God will be very angry. Either that, or it doesn't matter, because there are no souls, and we die as simply as ants. To me, there is a very thin line of distiction between ants and humans. The biggest difference is that humans can hate you before you kill them. They can make you feel guilty. It makes you think, Wow, I sure hope no one does this to me. I never think that with ants. They don't make noise. They crunch a little. But if there's a soul in us, there's a soul in them, because we're all made up of the same cells. Humans are just fortunate enough to think. Just kidding. We all think! Duh! Ants probably know that we're crushing them. They probably think, Shiiiiitttt!, when our big rough fingers smoosh the jelly inside their shells.
Ants don't really matter. They don't have souls.
Incidentally, dogs don't have souls either.
Therefor, humans don't have souls.
Just ask Rene Descartes.

But I digress.
The point of this post is to tell everyone that I am going to join Toastmasters, study Malcolm X, come up with my own conclusions on communist propaganda, and find enlightenment through sciecne. No biggie.

Musical Lisp

2009-11-08T16:21:00.001-05:00

Here's music I've found. Some of it I haven't heard of yet, but time will change that.This list will always be growing!Good Songs, (...)My comments, [...]Album, {...}Confusion, ...
First.
Misophone(The Sea Has Spoken)The TwelvesBlue NileReal EstateSt. Vincent(Marrow)(Human Racing)[Sounds like American Hanne Hukkelberg!][versatile]My Friend WallisBlockhead(Carnivores Unite)[This band plays some dope shit]The Leisure SocietySleepy SunLittle JoyLos HermanosToe[Credit to Dylan DeBiase]El Michels Affair(C.R.E.A.M.GusGusZero 7ZebraPortishead(Hunter)Kool Moe DeeHiroshimaLouis HayesThe Real TuesdayCrystal StiffsDirty ProjectorsKurt VileJulie LondonThe Dandy WarholsDovesGrand NationalRob DouganCepiaTelepopmusikSigur RosMy Brightest DiamondBaby WalrusStina NordenstamBroadcastChistine FellowsLhasa de SelaSmoke CitySaint EtiennePizzicato FivePretty Girls Make GravesZZZZWise in TimeBourbon PrincessDJ AvanThe MicrophonesBon IverFleet FoxesThe NationalHelio SequenceFour TetAir TrafficStephen MalkmusTK Webb & The VisionsSam ChampionNina SimoneThe ReplacementsGolden SmogBlitzen Trapper(Furr)[New Bob Dylan]Okkervil RiverDeerhunterSebastien TellierTindersticksMercury RevCalexicoRa Ra RiotPylonDark MeatThe BlowBlonde RedheadGotan ProjectDeltron 3030JuanaWolf and CubDo Make Say Think[Credit to Jacob Hefele]SiaSpalding RockwellKashDavid GuettoBoy RackersLadyWill.I.AmDuffyWhiskey CatsEsperanza Spalding[Credit to Dylan DeBiase]StarsTyler JamesThe Jesus and Mary ChainMursThe New YearKoushikGang Gang DanceApollo SunshineChad VangaalenSupergrassThe Cool KidsRatatatDarker My LoveFamily Force 5TqGod-Des & SheNeraOjos de BrujoBlue Sky Black DeathRobynBitter:SweetThe Bird and the BeeThe RootsYelleCSSDJ AppsRadio CitizenLady SovereignModeselektorLoghJemGreenskeepersEvil NineHairPantytecPoleLuke VilbertLeftover CrackPepperKrishna DasHercules & Love AffairThe LKPatrick WolfPorcupine TreeCrowd Near DoorsThe Miles Hunt ClubOur Lady PeaceSoul MerchantsThe ChurchFreezer DoorRancidGuided by VoicesBroken Social SceneRobert PollardIslandsWorm is GreenQueenBlack Hat BrigadeThe Good, the Bad & the QueenKruder & DorfmeisterFrou FrouMozezThe World is GoneHaley BonarVox VermillionNitsPharellRJD2Nino MoschellaGabriela MonteroForest City LoversGallowsLovemakersChromeoMiloshEditorSteve AokiBlack CityTill West & DJ DeliciousCelebrationJonatha BrookeLorna LeeNedellePort O'BrienMystery JetsBeach HouseKerliFinal FantasyShe and HimCut CopyMetricSonny JCrackerThe DodosAirDog DayLeif VollebekkShazamDinosaur Jr.M83Be your Own PetCrystal CastlesPinbackHome VideoI Am JenThe KlaxonsParlovrJulie FaderSister SuviWhale ToothThe Rural Alberta AdvantageFucked UpHandsome FursJapandroidsOhbijouTimber TimbreBruce PeninsulaThe BalconiesK'NaanDan ManganThink About LifeThe Wooden SkyLeonard CohenGentleman RegGiant HandDiamond RingsDrakeSaid The WhaleD-SisiveGreat Lake SwimmersJoel PlaskettCoeur de PirateBell Orchestre Olenka and the Autumn LoversLightning Dust Julie Doiron Two Hours TrafficAndrew Vincent Tune-Yards Still Life Still Bruce PennisulaThe Autumn LoversLeonard CohenThe Hidden CameraVicious CycleWax MannequinThe White WiresWilderness of ManitobaWomenWoodhandsWoodpigeonYearsYou Say Party! We Say Die!Young GalaxyZeus SaukratesSedativesShout Out Out OutSlakah the BeatchildSpiral BeachStatuesTim HeckerTokyo Police ClubTonaTorngatTragically HipUbiquitous Synergy SeekerValery GoreThe Paint MovementPale Air SingersLa Patère RosePatrick WatsonPink MountaintopsRae SpoonRah RahRed MassThe RestReverie Sound RevueRock Plaza CentralRoyal CityRuby Jean and the Thoughtful BeesLand of TalkLightsLindi OrtegaLittle GirlsThe Lovely FeathersLullabye ArkestraLuxury PondThe LuyasMalajubeMarie-Josee HouleMatthew BarberMatthew GoodMockyModernboys ModerngirlsThe Most Serene RepublicThe Mountains & The TreesIsla CraigJenn GrantJill BarberJody GlenhamJokers of the SceneJunior BoysJustin RutledgeKarkwaKatie StelmanisKestrelsKetch Harbour WolvesKids on TVKing KhanKing ReignK-OSElliott BroodEvening HymnsFlotillaGhislain PoirierThe Ghost Is DancingGobGramercy RiffsGreen GoHannah GeorgasHey Rosetta!The Hidden CamerasThe Hoa HoasHolleradoHoly FuckHooded FangCancer BatsCFCFThe CFL SessionsCharles SpearinCluesConstantinesCuff The DukeDalaDD/MM/YYYYDepravity BrownDestroyerThe DiablerosThe D'Urbervilles$100The AcornAmelia CurranAmy MillanAnvilArkellsAttack in BlackAyahAzeda BoothBasia BulatBedouin SoundclashBonjayBraidsBrian BorcherdtBroken Social SceneThe Burning HellTheophilius LondonEmeraldsFever RayShaatzLaid BackNico Muhly(Quiet Music)The Antlers(Shiva)[grizzly bear+something new; really good]Mr.Gnome(Vampires)Hanne Hukkelberg(Balloon)[A delicate, ephemeral voice singing jazz]Julian Casablancas(11th Dimension)[This guy's voice alone made me like the Strokes]Big Boi(Shine Blockas)[Rap that makes me feel happy]Phoenix(Love Like a Sunset){Wolfgang Amadeus)[They're original stuff is actually better]CuDi ft. Kanye West & Common(Make Her Say (Sammy Bananas Remix))[this remix is pretty cool]Mumford & Sons(Little Lion Man)[A little too Irish for me]Mystery Jets(Half in Love with Elizabeth)The WeepiesGood Old War(Weak Man)[Interesting progression, I'm digging it]Page Francis(Daytrotter Sessions, Dogs)[Sounds just like the Decemberists]Hella[Credit to Eli Cohen]The Temper Trap(Sweet Disposition)[Friendly Fires+ Angels&Airwaves]Person L(Storms)[I dig this]Flosstradamus(Big Bills)Passion Pit(Sleepyhead)[A lot of tight harmonic and rhythmic lines, combined to make this cool song]The Lonely Island(Shrooms)[This song does a good job at expressing hallucination]The Books and Jos Gonzlez(Cello Song)The Sea and The Cake(Sound and Vision)[Always chillllllllllled]Starfucker(Florida)(Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second)DJ Earworm(Reckoner Lockdown)[Yes, this is Radioheads Reckoner, and Kanye Wests Love Lockdown; although it sounds crazy it's actually really chill]Royksopp[Almost forgot about them]Apples in Stereo[Almost forgot about them too]Chiddy Bang[Girl Talk-ing it]The Ruby Suns(Tane Muhuta)[What a great song!]Million Young(Sunndreamm)(Chlorophyl)[THIS IS AMAZING SONG]!!!!1!!!DM Stith(A Soft Seduction)Mount Pleasent(Ghost Extension)[Experimental]OK Ikumi(Shining Path)Bebel Gilberto(The Real Thing)[Sterolab gets soulful]Sparklehorse(Star Eyes)[very laid back, almost ambient]Bandi Carlile(Mad World)[heavy Fiest]Will Bailey(Hustlin And Scratchin (Gigi Barocco Remix))[good dance music]Beat!Beat!Beat!(Fireworks)Throw me the Statue[Credit to Maia]Hurricane Bells(Freezing Rain)[pretty deese]Aberdeen City(Sixty Lives)[A little Blink 182-y]Taken By Trees(My Boys)
Always more to come.
Note- This list has no order to it as of now, but i'll try to catagorize it when I get some free time. Thanksgiving perhaps? PERHAPS INDEED.
Second Note- Does anyone know if Thom Yorke's new touring band (the one with RHCP's Flea) has a name?
Third Note- I don't listen enough to Animal Collective! I've just discovered, they're so gooood!

Musical Lisp

2009-11-08T16:21:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Reeder

2009-09-10T15:30:00.004-04:00

Dear Mr. Reeder,

Last class you also asked us to characterize our souls.

My soul would be purple because it's the color of mystery, and it goes good with orange. Thanks.

Dear Mr. Reeder.

2009-09-10T15:25:00.002-04:00

Dear Class,

We were all told to go home and think about what our conscience would look like if it were to take form. Pinnochio has a cricket. Drunks see angels. What do we see?

My conscience is a ball of play-doh. I enjoy grabbing it and squeezing it. Making shapes out of it. Digging my fingers into it. What I make out of the play-doh is beautiful, but it's beauty speaks to me. So I become careful of what I make. I am afraid to make happy things because I will think I'm lying. I am afraid to make sad things because I will think I'm lying. I make nothing. My conscience remains nothing, because if I make anything out of it, it is a lie. My conscience is one thing, a big squishy ball. I play with the play-doh. There is nothing else to do.

My conscience is most like an orange, because they're tasty and I like the color orange. Thanks.

Conception

2009-08-31T13:07:00.002-04:00

"You are invited to Apocalypse."
Some indeterminable time later, I found myself on a small island with no tide. The sky was suspended in some incredible electrical storm that although was catasrophic, did not even come close to the island. A full moon was out, and illuminated all the people on the small sandy island. And in the middle of the island, a beautiful roman pantheon stood- it's conception only made possible by the dim moonlight. I did not know why I was here, or why I came, or how I even got here, but I arrived, and I was in Apocalypse.
I turned away from the white pantheon and lowered myself onto the grey sand of the island. It was beautiful. Just as massive red mountainous crags and cold blue ravines had stunned me, the eternal dark blue sea that lay before me reached out to me and opened my mind. I was glazing over the sea when a dark bulge began to move, miles down the water's strech. I thought there was something wrong with my eyes but the bulge was gyrating faster and faster. And growing. It was as if a seam was about to be torn in the universe. The bulge began to turn purple and separated itself from the rest of the space around it, becoming a large, spinning, yet faintly existent purple blob, oscillating and growing larger at a frightening rate. The space around the blob became dense and distorted all the darkness around it. Surely I was witnessing the end of the universe. My hand was drawn to it and I unraveled it- for I secretly wanted to believe that I could control it. Silver thread-like lightning bolts shot from my fingers and in surprise, I pulled my hand back to no avail. The lightning storm in the sky had carried over to this blob and an electric cloud surrounded it, the bolts supplied by my hands and fingers. I could do nothing and I was going to be the first person sucked in by apocalypse. I wasn't scared. I closed my eyes.
I opened them back up again and the blob was no where to be found. Nothing had seemed to have happened, the water where the blob hovered over was left unbothered. No clamor rose from the pantheon. Even the lightning in the sky did not acknowledge it.
I stood up and thought it to be about time I finally entered the great white roman house that consumed the island. I walked quicker, because I realize I had been keeping someone waiting, my girlfriend Jordan.

This is sucha long story. I'm going back to sleep.

2009-08-10T18:00:00.002-04:00

I feel sick. I've been talking myself into moving for a short while now. I spent 5 minutes telling myself to get up and type. I just wanted to throw up. My head rolled and my elbow slipped between my dead weight, and the desk. Nothing has happened since then. I am still sitting here, feeling quite sick. However, I didn't sit up for excersize- I sat up because I had something to say, although my thought has lost it's eloquence during the move from imagination to reality. What I meant to say was, my summer is coming to an end and with it, my conciousness. All I want to do this year is work, study, eat and sleep. To me, that is the essence of productivity: transforming yourself into a mindless robot capable only of hard work. I am saddened though, by the thought of obscurity. I have seen and heard many tales of cutthroat ambitious college students who go far, but end up wilting away. I hate writing.

SAT- A

2009-07-28T17:20:00.002-04:00

No, no, this isn't about me getting an A on my SAT- that's impossible. The SATs aren't letter-graded. This is actually me, trying to improve my vocabulary, so that I can do better on the SAT critical reading and word completion sentences. There are 14 words in the A section of "The Top 250 Most Difficult SAT Words Known to Man"(I added the Known to Man part myself, heh heh.), I'm going to use all 14 in this A blog and ultimately, I will use the rest over the course of the next 25 letter blogs. But I have to go to work now, so I'll do this shit tomorrow.

The purpose of non-fiction.

2009-07-28T16:29:00.002-04:00

I often endeavor to write some sort of comprehensive study on things I find insteresting and useful. The idea is, benefitting the reader. Most reader get nothing from the things they read. Take for example the latest book craze, the Twlight series. I can only assume that the binding of the Twlight books holds hundreds of pages that describe vampiric fantasies and the typical teenage ideals being threatened by a dynamic , mysterious force. I could be completely wrong. I do care less. Shits dumb.
That's my general take on the book. Yes, I understand the fact that I am completely uninformed and I cannot and should not make judgements about things and ideas I have not yet dealt with, but then again, the book is about vampires. And the author isn't Bram Stroker. This is a different kind of vampire. Not one who is blood-thirsty and murderous- the very definition of villainy and evil, but rather a teenage vampire, which is no more than mysterious person with a deep dark secret. The deep-dark-secret trick is no more than a literary device, one that you'd learn about in class. It's a cheap, overused trick that holds no connotations for any heart than the ones the laud the silent but dangerous figure. The deep-dark-secret plays to every young persons heart, because every young person thinks they have a deep dark secret. But rarely do they actually have one. This world of vampires gives them that secret. They feel welcome to this world. They feel like they know about the vampires. They know. Oh, how omniscient third-person narratives are often abused in literary 'works'. Such a powerful point of view should be used to engage the reader in an active discussion of morals and challenge their very assumptions about the ethicality of subjects that are brought under review. Instead they play to the childish mind and feed it junk food. Instead, these stories encourage people to close their eyes and teleport themselves into the world of vampires. The reader escapes the real world and finds themselves in the book. Yet ironically, they are caught in the books pages when the covers are closed. People do not escape books. Books are left in people, and people are left in books. Books that offer some vague return are the ones that we should read to develope ourselves and give us the experiences that we cannot attain in the normal life. But what have we to gain from Twilight? Smiles? A fast heartbeat? Certainly not any newfound sense of moral obligations towards the real world, and not some renewal of the human mind and soul. In return for your hours of reading, you get nothing that a rollercoaster or girl can give you.
Thushenceforth and so on, we can see that Twilight as said thereinfor, is dumb like nuts and no one, save for young teenage girls and other disillusioned individuals, should waste any minute fraction of their life reading it's pages.
Declared this summer day, July 28, 2009 by Steven J Wendel, who has been sworn in at the La Paz County notary by the Honrable Judge John Drum.
Hereinsoforthsaid.

5 pages

2009-07-23T15:31:00.002-04:00

I'll never become a good writer if I stop writing at page one. I lose my motivation. I wonder what will happen if I don't stop writing for 3 hours. I'll start now, until someone comes into the office. You see, this will be a brainstorm session. Purely therapeutic. I don't want anyone to read this, and if they do... whatever. They'll have learned nothing from it. Rightfully so. This IS a disclaimer that if you read this, you will get yourself nothing. No conversation fodder. No smiles. No nothing. Go fuck yourselves. ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I just wanted to get riled up. I wanted to get emotional, but I'm not even at that part of the exercise yet. If it had to be somewhere, it'd be towards the end. I've been typing nonstop for about 3 minutes and this is all I've typed. Maybe I'm a slow typer, buttttt I'm not. I'm pretty agile on the keyboard. I once typed with my toes for an entire day. I somehow fooled myself into thinking that it was fun and cool to type with your toes. NAGHT. It's disgusting. I look back on it and realize that I would type with my toes, and the next day I typed with my hands. And then I would scratch my eye. Bleh. Well, a month has gone past since I learned my lesson(jk, more like 4 years), and I am more conscious of my surroundings. I am not a bookworm anymore, I am a fileworm. What I do all day is delve into manilla folders of all shapes and sizes and look for papers with writing. I enjoy reading, that's why it's not bad. I'm re-learning how to read fast, and how to get to the meat of things quick. But this subject should've brought me to my next point. Doing this kind of meticulous, grueling work turns you into an accounting machine. My job name is Fiscal Technician. Sounds like some guy with no life. It's because he is a guy with no life. I'm not condemning myself, I'm just saying that a fiscal technician is one of those soul-destroying, demoralizing jobs that so many people end up working. It's not even crunching numbers. When you crunch numbers, at least you're making new numbers. No. This is you trying to makes heads or tails of a piece of paper. It's not the only piece of paper though. You pull it out of a box. A box full of papers. And you pulled that box from a shelf. A shelf full of boxes. And you climbed to that shelve on a ladder. You climb OVER shelves to get to that shelf. And when you're done, you go to the next row. And after that, the next row. Next row. Next row. Next row. Next row. Next row. Row. Row. Row. Row. Row. Row. Now the other side. Row. Row. Row. Hours pass as you sweat. I sweat. My sweat rolls down my forehead and I cannot wipe it off, as my arms are covered in dust. Tired and full of dread, I sit in a musty old chair and I look down the rows. My head... sinks, down and down. I lay my head on my knees and I am hunched over. Uncomfortable, dirty, vulnerable. I am no prisoner. I am the lowest organism on the food chain. I am a manifestation of everything that people are led to do. Lives are being wasted every day on simple, demeaning tasks. People are dying, without ever getting a chance to become something special. No one realizes how slow our world is moving! No one realizes that we are fading away as a species. There are billions of incredible minds, yet those minds are laid to waste by the mundane tasks that are assigned to us by our superiors. Our arguable superiors. Those fat men sitting on fat chairs with their fat back pains and their fat heads.
I realize now why I stop writing. It's not that I lose motivation, it's because I had too much to begin with. I start with many, many ideas, and I write one down at a time. But then I start new ideas before I finish the old. Then the newest ideas are left unfinished too, and then everything is underdeveloped, and I've been left to mentally run amok. It is too much left unfinished. There are too many ideas that are not being described as they should be. Too much is left unsaid. I get discouraged. I become upset, because I have failed. My writing is not a fresh breath of air. It is nauseating. It chokes me when I write. It is short and choppy, or it is long-winded and ranting. It is not cut out into little edible bites, like most good writers take care to do. but it is not the intelligent rant of philosophers and scholars. It is the unintelligible rant of a high school girl with a big vocabulary. It is repetitive past the point of impact, and it goes into incessant complaining. It is sad, but pitiful. And in a strange way, I am not beating myself up. My thoughts will stray into every part of my brain, and I have little say in where it goes. I can think through idiots, and I can acknowledge genius, but I cannot see my own brain. It is elusive. It is not the same for anyone. No one knows me yet. I know no one. There is nothing I can, nor will do. I am satisfied with having no self. For I am only defined upon my values. And my values are not even mine. They are a manifestation of brilliant people. Ayn Rand and Aristotle. They have changed me. I did not consider their words. I memorised them. Their writing encouraged me to listen to the things they said, and I was so mesmerised that I could not even consider the things they said. I didn't even consider them. I just listened. Hm. Hmmmm. Hummmm. Ummmmm. What's next? I don't know why I wrote that, I didn't mean to ask, because I know what I want to say. I always know what I want to say.
Sometimes I say, "I don't care what I say." That's a lie. Sometimes I say, "I say what I want." That's true. And I say it so nonchalantly. It is conversational fodder. It is a cute series of words. Catchy even. ZEST, E, HEEEE HEE.

The other day, I was driving and my girlfriend was sitting next to me, and I wanted her to drive. Even though it could cost me my life. Well, I devised a plan to make her drive. A plan that involved perhaps one of the most intricate and funny jokes I've ever made. A joke that is clever in every way and funny to every personality. I wanted her to drive, so I said," ...WHOOOPS. I dropped, TWO, pennies!" And we almost died because it was the funniest thing I ever said. My girlfriend didn't get it(jk), and wouldn't laugh, but I'm sure it's funny. It reallly is.
My brother always wanted to be a comedian. He could be. He would be a good one, if only he didn't value their reactions so much. We have something in common, we both had rough childhoods. Not abusive ones, but we were emotionally undernourished for a long time. The results? My brother is hyper-ambitious, and bases his whole life around the philosophy of a man he'll never get to adequately come to terms with. And me, well, I'm normal. Maybe. No. no. I'm not normal. i just wanted to say I was, as if it were some disclaimer. This is an online journal entry. Here's what I should've said. I'm different. I hate everyone, but I cannot live without them. I want love yet I am incapable of it, because I'm incapable of it, I cannot recognize it. People will give themselves to me, but I am different in person. My thoughts are impossible to understand because at the root of every thought is my own mind and thoughts. Yet around it is a dense web of influences, a web that spreads miles in every direction. My thoughts are victim to everything anything has ever said to me. I am emotionally vulnerable, but I am not emotional. I am given emotions. I am a canvas to be painted on. I am blank. I can be beautiful. But I am someone elses. I am Mona Lisa. Steven Wendel. A beautifully torn painting. The tear is not clean, yet it's imperfect beauty adds to the painting. The tear, IS the painting. The painting was meant to be torn. I was meant to be torn by my painters. By every opinion and influence in the world. I was meant to be torn apart. Now I am. Now what?

Squaw-bop.

2009-07-23T15:18:00.003-04:00

Bop. Squawwwwwwww-bop. SQUAWWWWWWWWWWW... ... ... bop. The chicken runs around the yard, with no aim and no direction. A friend of mine told me that you can shoot chickens with airsoft guns, as long as you shoot them in the wings or in the butt. Really. There's a lot of feather padding. So my parents got chickens and I got an airsoft gun. Bop. Bop bop bop. Chickens don't like it, but they learn to live with it. They just run away. I've always assumed that chickens are too dumb to feel pain, but they do, they just don't know what they can do about it. So they run.
And I sit there and shoot. I don't hate chickens, but they're fun to shoot at. They're predictable. I'm smarter than the chicken, and I enjoy predicting where he'll run. I'm smarter than the chicken. I know what the chicken will think and what the chicken will do. I will take advantage of the chicken. I will shoot it until it does not know where to run. I will shoot until it stops running. But the chicken isn't even that smart, it doesn't stop running. It just runs in different directions. It is an idiot. I continue shooting. Die chicken. Die.

Bedtime Tunes

2009-07-23T13:25:00.004-04:00

Last year, I stumbled upon a site that should have revolutionized my musical world. Unfortunately, I was absorbed by life at that time, and thus couldn't take advantage of my discovery. She was called bedtimetunes. Ahh, what beautiful sounds my ears could behold. Sometimes. It's not music itself, but rather a database maintained by some very diverse musical tastes. What amazes me is how underground it is. I've really never heard of 60% of these bands, and for me, that's a lot. Last year I devoted my life to music and here I see people uploading new, impossible-to-find songs on the daily. As if they draw music from some sort of super music well. Crazy. Regardless, I am thoroughly impressed by the site. It is updated by a group of people every night, with just one song. The music isn't ALWAYS incredible, but within 30 minutes, I found a song I really liked. A feat that usually takes weeks.

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - The Flaming Lips.

Letters Home from Vietnam

2009-05-17T23:58:00.003-04:00

So I wrote a report on a movie(actually a prime time documentary) called Letters Home from Vietnam. It was part of a big series called Dear America:. Anywho, the entire thing is people reading letters- letters from Vietnam that were sent home. In most cases, the senders ended up being mutilated and massacred. I don't usually post this sort of thing, but I thought this report was interesting. I started off not wanting to write it, and then I ended up sort of,... getting into it. This is the shit I write for school.

Begin.
Letters Home from Vietnam masterfully captured the emotion and experiences of American soldiers during the Vietnamese War. The strength of the movie comes from the understanding and empathy that viewers come to share with the soldiers in the film. The movie does a great job of exposing the raw, unedited reality of the war. It is unlike other war footage because it defines and delves into the uniqueness of every solider. The letters make for exceptionally moving literature, and the style of writing in each letter reflects the persona of the writer. Listening to the letters almost replicates the experience of talking with the soldier yourself. It is as if the soldier is sitting there and pouring his heart out to you. You find out that he is from a small backwater town in southern Alabama, and he can't wait to get home. He's just turned 18, but he's already in love with a girl. She has blue eyes, and named Mary Ann. He tells his mom about all the different kinds of birds in Vietnam, because she loves birds, and that he can't wait to get back. He sends pictures as often as he can, because there is so much beauty in the countryside. And then the letters stop. The hope and beauty of the boys life has ended abruptly and without notice. The next letter the family receives is a sad one, because the boy was blown up by a mine. Letters home from Vietnam lets the reader get caught up in another persons life, and then tears them from it, just as abruptly as they were removed from their lives during the war.

Personally, I was moved by the film because it introduced me to people that weren't much unlike myself, and then took me away from them. I became involved in the movie, moving along and seeing all the different soldiers, with all the different voices. I became emotionally vested in their well-being, because I liked them and wanted them to survive, and then found that they had been turned into casualties. Names on paper, that would have no uniqueness about them. And it made me think. There were thousands who died during Vietnam. Every one of those deaths meant that another life turned into... nothing. It truly bothered me to think that life was so frail. It reminded me that the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. How true and how sad.

Vietnam was a textbook war, just like every other war. To me though, it became more. It became a massive hole that dead bodies were dumped into, and no faint glimmer of any eyes remained. I love eyes because people say so much with them, and they can't control it. I could only imagine the way someones eyes change when their lives are meaninglessly extinguished. When they were alive, I would think you could look into their eyes and see their minds, working and thinking. You would see yourself in their hearts machinations. But when I imagine the eyes of the dead, I can only imagine seeing dull black pupils. No reflection of yourself. No mind, no heart.

I would like to think the film had a special effect on me, because I could see the eyes of the speakers. I could see that glimmer of innocence. When I had found out they died, I could imagine that glimmer disappearing. But it did, and I was put at ends with reality, refusing to believe the harsh, unforgiving cruelties of war.

Info.

2009-05-16T14:49:00.002-04:00

You know, it takes a lot to write. A lot of chutzpa. That means balls in Hebrew. Guts is a necessity when it comes to spelling your soul out for other to see, especially if you believe that no one will like you. So I guess the easiest thing a writer can do, is write about random things, things so random, no one can put it together and figure you out. That's probably why there are so many blogs out there today.
I was talking to a friend the other day and something came to mind. I realized that I can't analyze baby pictures or any pictures of a persons childhood. You'd think that of all things, you can learn the most about a person from the way they were when they were young. Well, it's hard to learn about a person from baby pictures.
Thoughts: Maybe it's hard to tell because most children have the same kind of childhood, the one of smiles and laughter. Maybe it's because the only pictures that are taken, are of smiles. Maybe people change completely, and lose all relation to their old self. Maybe it's worry that changes people and makes them different.
Continue: The problem with me, when it comes to analyzing others is that I don't commit to it completely. I'll never be able to tell if I'm right or wrong, because I never go and find out if I have indeed figured someone out. But it's nonetheless no easy task. I just have to continue working on it, continue listening and understanding. Of many things, I'll give myself the credit to say that I'm a good listener. If anyone knows that, I know it best.

I, Ds and E.

2009-05-05T18:52:00.002-04:00

“Each man reads his own meaning into New York”
-Meyer Berger
It's been said that lives are fragile and New York is rough, and that the two aren't real compatible, but I feel like me and New York have something in common. It's like we both know the same secrets and are doing the same job. We're the big brothers of society, keeping an eye out for those who can't take care of themselves. New York makes it possible for everyone to have a piece of success, and I keep them from it. I'm not a bad guy, it's just, not EVERYONE can have a slice of the big cake- I gotta stop some of the hopefuls. But if anyone knows the human will better than me, they know that only a phycological barrier is gonna keep people in check. Love, sex, drugs are all great at making those barriers. I'd like to use them all, but love takes too much time and attention. That leaves sex and drugs, but sex can get really complicated and besides, I'd rather let people figure it out on their own. So all that's left is drugs. It was up to me to save my city with cocaine, heroin and ecstacy.
There's someone at the door. "Senator?"
A few quick raps follow and the secretary repeats, "Mr. Senator?"
Ehhhh, I'm bored with this one. Maybe next time.

The Bugbear and the Dwarf Ranger.

2009-05-01T19:34:00.003-04:00

"Fuck these dice. And fuck this game."
James stood up.
"Sit back down and just play. Why you gotta be a bitch whenever you get unlucky? You don't see any of us crying over it."
"Fuck you too, Gary! I didn't even want to enter the cave anyways. I'm just realizing how stupid this is."
James turns around and heads for downstairs.
"Hey James, James- the bugbear got a critical hit. You're dead. Prick."
The door slams and Gary's muffled voice grows distant as James makes his way into the living room. He walks past the elf wizards parents without saying a word and picks up his backpack, preparing for his departure.
"Everything alright James?"
"Yea, yea, just a little bit tired, I think I'm gonna go and get some sleep."
I fucking hate your son.
His words obviously pass unnoticed through their heads, and their eyes remain fixated on Seinfeld.
I fucking hate you too, you dirtbag breeding scum.
James leaves the house and realizes he has no where to go, nothing to do. He always spends his Saturday mornings like this. Wasting away with other lifeless idiots. Today he changes.
He grabs his cellphone.
He looks through his contacts.
Jessica, 954-522-0945.
She is beautiful and dumb and dates football players, but she is new to the school and he and her hit it off once during English class. That's where he got her number, although they've only talked once.
Deep breath.
Beep boop bap beep.
"Hi, Jessica?"
"Hey, who is this?"
"It's James."
"James who?"
"James from English class."
"Ohhh James! You finally called."
"Yea well, I wanted to know what you were up to tonight."

Don't Stop

2009-04-27T20:24:00.003-04:00

Things have a way of starting and stopping. It's as if the laws of the universe rule that all things must come to an end one day. What a ridiculous thought. In all honesty, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to die. It just seems like a crazy idea. To think that everything we're feeling is going to amount to nothing in a few decades. I mean really? Not living? I can't even grasp it. But I can see the end of this blog. If I don't blow life into, it'll die.
So I can't stop writing it, because otherwise I'll never know when I fall out of consciousness with reality, like I inevitably will.
By the way, I want to get Alzheimer's. Some sort of brain parasite. A kind of dementia. I want to struggle in my last months. I want to touch the boundaries of my mind, before they close on me. There's got to be some answer. I feel that if I learn everything, that eventually I'll find the answer to life. Whether that answer is morbid or consoling, my life revolves around it. As long as I learn it, my life will be complete.
There's a chance religion might be the answer. There's a chance that there is no answer. Even that would satisfy my thirst for purpose.

Just, I want to have a purpose. I don't mind closing my eyes and becoming one with nothing. Just as long as my questions are answered. And I only have a few questions left. The big ones.

Cheer up Pluto.

2009-04-18T22:49:00.002-04:00

This is the first time I've heard this song, but I feel like I've heard it a million times before.

I like it so much. I can't quite describe it, but she sings it the way its meant to sound, and it can never be sung any other way.

Eeeek, thump thump thump, crack. Silence.

2009-04-13T20:04:00.003-04:00

Today, I am angry. I get caught up in such a rapture sometimes, that I cannot control myself. I end up screaming.
It was in between the vast cornfields that I made my mistake. My friend was sitting in the passenger seat of my car and I was blasting loud music. I was driving too fast around a turn and the car began drifting. My immediate thoughts? We were gonna flip and die. The steering wheel turned itself and I lost control of the car. We are alive in this moment because I hit a guardrail. I lost control of my temper because I dented my car. Crack. Pop. Crunch. Those were the sounds I heard coming my the side of my car. Foreign, high-pitched sounds that resonated through my tight, heavy heart. Brakes. Screech. I pulled over to the side of the road and unbuckled my seatbelt, trying to tell myself that it was a big scratch, when I knew it really wasn't. My eyelids were burnt open from the intense fear I had just experienced, and upon looking at my car I felt something even greater rise from my lungs. I screamed my life out. I called myself an idiot. I wanted to punish myself for being so stupid. A long discolored dent was carved into the side of my car, right above the right rear wheel. In my mind, the dent had formed over the most precious, important spot of my car. So yes, I screamed. Fuuuccccckkkkkkkkk. It was almost picturesque, how the birds flew away and my consonants echoed back from the mountain range. The black crows that were picking at the fields took off, and now no one, not even birds would hear me. There was no chance left that the birds would pity me.
"Dude, I don't even know what to say."
My friend stands there with his mouth hanging open. He's scared, of me. And he's speechless. He had looked up to me, and in under a minute, I poured my soul out on the street. I don't know how it is to see someone screaming at the top of there lungs. I can't imagine what it must be like, to watch someone break down. And yet he had just seen someone he liked and admired, become crushed and broken. The screaming was loud. It was deep and hoarse, but it was piercing and violent. The sound we make when we lose control. An involuntary, natural and unique sound that we all own. I wonder how it was to see me. To see me fall to my knees and scavenge for things to throw at the trees. I can't believe I lost it over a dent. I need to work on it.

100m Dash.

2009-04-10T19:39:00.002-04:00

Incidentally, I'm pretty good at track. I failed to mention that in a recent post about track. I was too busy rambling on about the philosophic ramifications of running. My 100 meter time ranks among the state elite. Just thought I should let ya know.

Speling Check

2009-04-09T23:22:00.002-04:00

I just found the spell check button. I've been told that I need to use it.
Yes, I AM offended.
But I will accept this advice.
Touche, Jordan.

db.

Saturday Meet.

2009-04-09T17:58:00.005-04:00

I don't know why I love running track. I absolutely hate training, but I can't stop myself from working out. All I want to do is work out. I want to abandon all my friends and family and grades and life, and just run track. Now that I think about it, I do. That's why I have to run track and I don't socialize much during it. It's the only time I spend where I don't have to care about others. An individual sport in the most perfect sense. My sport. I'm exhausted from it though. I work out between two and three times every single day. I drink nasty-ass protein shakes and I eat food like it's my job. Maybe that doesn't sound very fun, but neither does sleeping. To me, track and sleep are emotional and mental equivalents. It's the escape from reality that I need. I don't want to go to parties anymore, or even get blazed on the weekends. Someone once said alcohol accentuates what you would do and feel anyways. If you feel happy, you get happier- if you feel sad, you feel sadder. I'm not happy nor sad. I'm scared. I'm scared to get hurt, because then I'll have to stop running, and then I'll have to stand up and look around. I'll realize that I've built nothing around me. No knowledge, no real friends, no life. I have though, and I'm confident that even if I haven't, it's not hard for me to make something out of nothing. If I have nothing, I'll make something.
In reality though, I run because I love the soreness I get in my quads and hamstrings the next day.
Me, running away from the truth? It's cliched. I hate cliches.

I can't hear anything.

2009-04-09T00:00:00.002-04:00

And how the FUCK do I put music on here?

Writer.

2009-04-08T23:16:00.003-04:00

I have a dream. It doesn't have to do with the liberation of an oppressed group of people. It has to do with writing. I want to be a writer. I want to write. I want to make beautiful things. I can't draw or paint or take good photos or anything like that, but I know a lot of words and I have passion. Even if I'm not a good writer and I have a style similar to those of teen-drama novels(the style where we try to make a big impact by overusing short incomplete sentences), I'll still write forever. Until I get better and can make words flow like thoughts. I'll write and write and write- whatever it takes to make my words a proper and suitable vessel for my thoughts. I haven't written in years, so this is the closest thing to re-birth that I can get to.
And there's this kid, Eli Cohen. We have similar tastes. It's strange.

Manyshevits.

2009-04-08T22:46:00.003-04:00

It's a kosher wine. It comes in many different kosher flavors, like cherry, concord grape, and regular grape. I think it's actually spelled Manishewitz, but all the Jewish people say Many Shevits. It's strange to see the older woman across from you acting ditsy from her second cup. It really separates you from the table. What is going through her head right now? Can she snap out of it if she wanted to? Or is this her excuse to act the way she's always wanted to act? I ask myself this, as I sit behind my fourth glass of wine, and I drift out of reality with each question. It is as if my mind asks one question, and then a bully-thought comes out and proposes another question. And then a bully to push that bully. So further and further goes my thoughts into the murky depths of my unconscious mind. Soon I have an endless string of thoughts that extends past my threshold of understanding and I phase out.
Phase in.
The lady across from me is blushing, yet in a conversation with no one. She props up her swaying head with her forearm and I realize that she's thinking too. She's thinking aloud. It doesn't matter if anyone hears her. She knows no one cares. So she takes advantage of the moment and confesses to the greatest lie of her night. "I'm alright." I know it's true because she knows it true. I can see it in her eyes. Her sad, sober eyes.

Another life flashes by another person.

My Career

2009-04-08T16:17:00.003-04:00

I am going to make money whether I want to or not. I don't mean that I have an uncanny knack at racking up the dough, but I mean I have to, I can't integrate myself into the world without it. I don't know how I'll making money writing, but I will because I have a strong mind. If only there was a way to measure our souls. Had a way been invented, I'm sure I would be deemed as having the greatest soul in the world.
Without that machine though, there's no way to tell and the soul means nothing. It can't make a connection with other peoples soul. No MySoul.com to network on. It's just for ourselves. Were the only ones that will ever appreciate it.

I'm trying to let it out.

IMM

2009-04-08T13:05:00.001-04:00

I used to read a lot. That was back in the day, when my head was a big sponge and I listened to everything everyone had to say. It was a good and a bad thing. Anyways, among the books I had read was one called The Frustrated Songwriter's Handbook. Now, I wasn't a songwriter, nor was I particularly frustrated, but for whatever reason the book tickled my fancy.
TANGENT: I have found that informational books written by individuals aren't necessarily grand compendiums of all the information I'll ever need to know. They basically have one or two important points that they champion throughout the book(and try to drill into your head). The head-drilling technique is surprisingly effective, for the main point of the aforementioned book, was successfully and completely integrated with my understanding of music.
POINT: The Frustrated Songwriter's Handbook taught me something important. Their special technique for writing songs named IMM, or Immersion Music Method, or as I prefer, the-keep-writing-until-you-write-something-good method, reflected on a old adage that I never give much thought to: Persistence is key.
CONCLUSION: The Immersion Music Method can be related to all success in life, especially as a writer or artist of any kind. It is sad though, that quality writing is slowly losing it's place in the world, and that quantitative writing is rising as a more practical way to create work. Nevertheless we can see from IMM and from life, that no one is going to look for your work. You simply have to do so much work that no one can go without looking at it.

I am not a great writer. I don't write enough. Yet, I can't help but feel that I have the potential to become great. It is the way everyone feels, and I suppose that feeling is hope.
I wonder how older people feel when they believe they've found their dream job. What happens to their hope when they fool themselves into thinking they're reached their potential. What happens to their lives when they have no need for hope.

Jouissance, gone.

Little Steven Big Thought

2009-04-07T23:33:00.001-04:00

When I was little, I always wanted to be lawyer. That dream was crushed when someone told me that lawyers were bloodsucking leeches. It's not hard to influence me, and that commentary was fairly effective at dismantling my love for law. If you've keeping up with the blog(ha ha), then you know I've gotten a speeding ticket. I understand why law is not the right thing for me.

I was researchign Freud yesterday. I vaguely remember reading that something about identity and non-identity had something to do with his death. Because there was so much left out of my memory, I have been forced to make stuff up ever since. This is how I've come to understand it all. Sigmund Freud was distressed and torn apart because of a simple contradiction in his internal workings. He wanted to be perfect, and he wanted to be complete. What killed him was his greatest discovery. He realized that in order to be perfect, he had to have an identity through which others could perceive his perfection, yet in order to be complete he had to abandon the tag of identity and become one with the world and with life. It would be impossible to reach them both as they are each others antithesis. Perfection and wholeness were two separate extremes on a grand spectrum that encompassed life.

That's just what I assumed he meant. Smart guy. You should read up on him.

Wake Up

2009-04-07T23:25:00.000-04:00

I just got a speeding ticket. 76 in a 55. That's my excuse for starting this blog. It's always about cash money.