Prelude to the Apocalypse

Safe Haven

2008-07-30T22:49:00.005-05:00

I'm not sure if it's the stress, or the nostalgic desire for something simple in life, but lately I’ve been looking towards [insert national chain] employees with a certain unwarranted envy. The simplicity of stocking a shelf, the simplicity of pulling out a cart and hauling a customer's television from the back of the store to the front of the store. The simplicity of ringing an item into the computer and throwing it into a bag all seem to point to two things that seem to be lacking in my life: stability and routine.

Though, with all nostalgic dreams, the fantasy never seems to stack up to the reality. I thought about the practicality of it, running the numbers, multiplying out an estimated $9.00*40*.71 and I'm reminded of a haunting quote by a fellow commissioned based sales rep; it began with me staring into the monthly numbers report while he crept up behind me and chimed in, "You can stare all you want, but the numbers aren't going to change." And with that the nostalgic dream of simplicity is gone. Back to the commissioned environment, back into the classroom, back into graduate school - all in the name of making a decent buck and exchanging happiness and safety in return. I think, more than anything, I’m looking for a safety net, a fallout shelter that beckons protection so that in the event of not hitting a monthly quota, failing to understand how the theorem works, or improperly explaining how to solve a problem I can simply have a plan B to run to. Strangely enough, I think Holden Caulfield thought the same thing:

I figured I could get a job at a filling station somewhere, putting gas and oil in people's cars. I didn't care what kind of job it was, though. Just so people didn't know me and I didn't know anybody. I thought what I'd do was, I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes. That way I wouldn't have to have any goddam stupid useless conversations with anybody. If anybody wanted to tell me something, they'd have to write it on a piece of paper and shove it over to me. They'd get bored as hell doing that after a while, and then I'd be through with having conversations for the rest of my life. Everybody'd think I was just a poor deaf-mute bastard and they'd leave me alone. They'd let me put gas and oil in their stupid cars, and they'd pay me a salary and all for it, and I'd build me a little cabin somewhere with the dough I made and live there for the rest of my life. I'd build it right near the woods, but not right in them, because I'd want it to be sunny as hell all the time. I'd cook all my own food, and later on, if I wanted to get married or something, I'd meet this beautiful girl that was also a deaf-mute and we'd get married. She'd come and live in my cabin with me, and if she wanted to say anything to me, she'd have to write it on a goddam piece of paper, like everybody else.

What scares me most is that there is no safety net, that failure is simply not an option, as the game ends when you run out of money, out of hope, out of dreams, out of [insert here]. Doing something for its own sake is one thing, but having to rely on the outcome of that thing is totally different. Maybe this is overreacting, or maybe it's a bit of last-minute anxiety before the storm, but I think more than anything I yearn for something simple, something safe, something that beckons out "If you fail, I’ll be here for you." I'm sure time will wash away all these feelings, but for now there simply is no place like a safe haven.

Star the Page.

2007-01-17T17:40:00.000-05:00

Star the passage. That is the passage I found within the dark recesses of a library long forgotten about five years ago. I was randomly opening books, reading a few pages, and throwing them back upon the shelf as I eagerly moved on to the next book in hopes to find some remnant that would bring significance to my existence, a passage that would thrust true knowledge in my face. I hoped that the books would become the teacher I never had, the teacher that would proclaim the true workings of the world, the true workings of myself, though that never happened...

This passage did happen though, and it’s the closest I ever came to the concept of true knowledge that I so eagerly sought - so eagerly sought out but never found...

Catcher in the Rye did come quite close, it came close to illustrating the discontent and heartfelt longing I felt for something real, but it provided no real answers; instead, it merely illustrated the example that all lone men face - the example of Holden Caulfield and the endless inescapable fall that consumes us all.

In any case, this book was the book that illustrated my thoughts as I had written it myself within another life. I have since ordered a copy of it and hope to read through the entire book (if I have time, which we are all so short on) but in any case if you wish to read it, here is the info:

ISBN 0-394-47995-5

“What Do You Say After You Say Hello?” – Eric Berne, M.D.

...But That Was Someone Else's Dream

2007-01-04T18:34:00.000-05:00

Strangely enough, I have spent my day going through my old diary entries in a vain attempt to figure out where I’ve been and where I’m going. My favorite post included the quote,

"I truly hate alcohol and I have vowed that I will never get drunk, but I will probably forget about it and get smashed someday. Nothing is more pathetic than a drunk." (My Diary)

So what does my future self say to the past self that wrote that quotation? I post a picture of myself smashed out of my mind as a response as well as a testament to the fact that existential man is a prisoner to his own vices, that when you remove external points of reference and leave man to wander around aimlessly he eventually picks up the lighter and begins to burn the house down.

Lately I have had a strange urge to drop out of everything and join an art school. My rational is two-fold, one being that an art school leads to an art degree which is completely useless and would only be attained for its own sake; that is to say that no one obtains an art degree for the future but rather it is a passion that implies living - it implies thinking for today, that life is a day-to-day venture that doesn't follow the systematic routine of storing up treasures that rust will eat tomorrow. My second rational would be the fact that I want to feel again. I want to look at a tree and be inspired, look at a bird and feel a sense of awe, look at a woman and perceive beauty, and perhaps through much practice I would be able to attain those senses of feeling once again.

I figure the art degree is about as far away as I can get from my present math degree, far away from the fact that math merely reduces everything to numbers without any sense of awe or inspiration, and far away from the fact that a math degree is merely obtained for the future. Though I must say, I do enjoy working out math problems (loser). Every math major I know loves to spout out their major and hear the words "Oh, Wow. You'll have no problem getting a job!" which in turn merely provides an excuse for tomorrow, a nest egg down the road - none of us are really living for today, but rather we are traveling upon the hopes and dreams of others.

How do I live then? Through the alcohol, through the alcohol and the vain idea that if I could get myself into an art school with like-minded individuals things could be different. That perhaps if I wish it, will it, and hope for it I will wake up in an art school a penniless pauper with a beautiful woman and it will merely be a Hollywood fantasy ending where the two inspired art majors drive off into the distance under the pretense of love and eternal longing for each other....

I can see us now with ratty tight-fitting tee shirts covering our perfectly toned bodies and Levis jeans, her with spattered paint stains from a freshly made portrait and I with the classic hole in the jeans signifying the trendiness that I so will so ardently oppose.

...but that was someone else's dream, I am just stealing it.

"CalLing Card"

2006-12-14T19:37:00.000-05:00

MM.

I distinctly remember telling myself, "If you want it, take it" though just as so many young men often do, I was guilty of spurting out nonsensical talk that I knew nothing of. Through my elaborate visions, I had made for myself a fantastical illusion that had flown me into the highest peaks of the heaven, only to then allow me to fall into the farthest depths of hell.

I took it, I took MM today and like a naive doe stuck within the headlights of an oncoming train I find myself praying to God for salvation. I find myself harkening back to the fall of man, to the first temptation of Eve only to realize that I have fallen into a trap that has been marked from the dawn of time - a trap as old as humanity and as fresh as each passing generation, the trap of sex. I suddenly understand the wisdom that so many had tried to pass on, the wisdom that is impossible to teach, but rather must be learnt through cold bitter experience...

So says the poet,

"My child, be attentive to my wisdom, pay close attention to my understanding, in order to safeguard discretion, and that your lips may guard knowledge. For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her seductive words are smoother than olive oil, but in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave. Lest she should make level the path leading to life, her paths are unstable but she does not know it. So now, children, listen to me; do not turn aside from the words I speak. Keep yourself far from her, and do not go near the door of her house, lest you give your vigor to others and your years to a cruel person, lest strangers devour your strength, and your labor benefit another man’s house. And at the end of your life you will groan when your flesh and your body are wasted away. And you will say, “How I hated discipline! My heart spurned reproof! For I did not obey my teachers and I did not heed my instructors. I almost came to complete ruin in the midst of the whole congregation!” - Proverbs 5:1-14

Life is a hard teacher, though without a doubt life has taught me the lesson of a lifetime - the lesson of sex, the lesson of redemption, the lesson of falling into complete oblivion.

As I walked out of her apartment I couldn't help feel that I had just made a trade, I had traded myself for a cheap handmade mug that bore the name of MM - a calling card. An object that would forever mark that MM was here, MM had done this, and MM had left her business card. I stared into the elaborate font that marked her name upon the bottom of the mug only to feel that the name might as well be marked within my very skin, that instead of marking it into the cheap mug she should have been sound about it and scratched it into my flesh with her burning nails. She should have torn away at my flesh and carved it into my soul so the physical scars would bare testament to the spiritual scars of fear and disdain.

...Though in the end I am merely left with an a plain unwanted mug...

"Alright see-ya later. Adios."

2006-12-06T18:38:00.000-05:00

"You can't leave the bread sit out"

[Silence]

"This isn't store bought bread."

[Silence]

"It doesn't have all those preservatives."

[Silence]

"It will get moldy."

[Silence]

Is life nothing but a series of mindless elaborations that go on and on and on with no purpose so that at the end of the day we so eloquently state that life is, "...a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?"

So as the last day of the semester looms over my head, and with it the last day of traditional schooling, I’m tempted to ask myself whether or not I’ve seen all that life has to offer. Distraught, I ask myself "Is this how it is? Fixing the car when it breaks down? Going to work forty-hours a week? Checking an empty email inbox day after day in hopes that something will change? Doing laundry and preparing food to sustain me one more day in this vicious cycle of repetition that never ceases to end?" In asking these question I’m overtaken by a prophetic vision in which I’m led to the center of my town, the town I’ve spent endless summers driving through, only to have a masked visionary figure state "This is life", whereas I respond back in a puzzling tone stating, "WTF, this is only [My Town]."

Forgive me, though I fail to see the point. Maybe I feel this way because it’s the end of the semester, which always leaves me distraught, or perhaps it’s because I watched Ashley walk out of my life today. Ashley, her friend, and I all stood outside of the restaurant where we ate on a daily basis in that momentary awkward silence when I casually stated, "Alright see-ya later. Adios." in my traditional callous fashion - pretty smooth, wouldn't you say? In response, I’m tempted to call her up and state how much I will miss her, how much I care for her, and that I want my existence to revolve around her - that I would do anything for her and that I want a relationship in which we are completely inseparable so that our existences are so intertwined that it will be impossible for us to be defined individually...but...

...I already tried that once, and it didn't change anything. Instead of going on with that rant, I listened to her as she stated more news about her ex-boyfriend and his plans to return. I would wager to say there are many cruel acts in this world, many images that all of us would love to forget, though I would say none is as cruel as a woman dwelling on her past boyfriend in the presence of a man who absolutely adores her.

In my moment of hesitation, I am immediately drawn back to a previous moment in my life where I suffered from a brief bout of insomnia. I lived in an apartment complex where the tenet above me would play his music just loud enough so that I could make out the rhythmic notes of the bass, which in turn would keep me up all night long. After the third straight night of sleeplessness I broke down (I cannot function without 8 hours of sleep, let alone three days) and laid out on the bathroom floor praying to God that the sound would subside so that I could get some sleep. I remember thinking that as someone takes your sleep, they take all that you have as they leave you in that dreamlike state where you cannot function, cannot think, and cannot live but merely exist as a mindless puppet that can do nothing more than feel pain.

In that tragic moment of seeing myself wrapped up in my hoodie laying out on the bathroom floor, I’m immediately drawn to a parallel between then and now where the same distinct pain seems to linger in both rooms with no end in sight. They say that time heals all wounds…

…that’s what they say anyways…

The Thin Line between Love and Obsession

2006-11-13T19:46:00.000-05:00

"On the surface Don Quixote is a complex novel that is written in an ambiguous fashion; a fashion that many readers have found fault with, writing off the book to be a narrative of two idiots roaming the countryside in a completely random fashion, thereby eliminating the possibility of any meaningful whole. Though mostly false, it is quite understandable how many readers arrive at such a notion seeing the structure of the story is riddled with seemingly independent events and occurrences that often leave the reader oblivious to the nature of the book. The exploits of Quixote are impossible to predict, while the frequent deviation of the author into seemingly independent side stories baffle the reader to such an extent that the story becomes merely an account of two wonderers without any greater moral bearing or significance. Whereas the wonderers of Don Quixote spend their days within the secluded countryside of the Sierras..."

Then suddenly, in the midst of it all that thin line between love and obsession seemed to slowly fade off into oblivion as my mind brought back the fateful thought that marked my loneliness, my destitution. Like a ray of light sent directly from the sun itself, her presence made its way within my mind, causing me to abandon all care for the superficial paper that would act as a testament to the mundane tasks that marked my existence. Her face, her beauty, suddenly my mind could focus upon no other as my existence immediately took a backseat to the mere thought of her. Papers, exams, responsibilities - what were responsibilities if they did not involve her? What was anything if it didn’t involve her? What was the purpose of existence if it didn't involve her? Her hair, her eyes, her picturesque skin tone all conspired together to lull me off towards distant fantasies so far removed from the present reality of isolation.

"I love you. I want to love you. I need you." though the words just didn’t seem to capture the moment, they didn’t seem to stress the intense admiration for the object that now occupied my hopeless thoughts. "I want nothing more than your happiness; I want nothing more than to dry your tears of pain and present you with everything that I have" though that too seemed quite superficial as it had been state before, and done a thousand times over through the eons by such desperate men who thought they had as much love and admiration for a woman as I.

While my heart longed for the appropriate words, the beautifully haunting images of her eyes seem to tranquil my worries, ease my sorrows though all that remained of them now where the distant memories of a time long past, a time unbearably long. "The most beautiful of eyes" I would recant in a desperate attempt to conjure up more than a mere mental image of them, "...and her hair, her face, her countenance " I would speak out as if words had the power to create images, to ease the sorrow, or to pass the time.

…AlL This While the Paper Lay UnToucheD.

New Horizon

2006-11-09T11:51:00.000-05:00

Temporary Post :)

Technorati Profile

Where do I go from here?

2006-11-08T14:56:00.000-05:00

He goes into the apparel store defeated, eyes cast down upon the ground as he makes his way to the sale counter by following the gridlines of the tile. Waiting for the bubbly cashier - that feels the need to make small talk with every customer she checks out - the man stands silently awaiting his turn as the cashier slowly and ever so methodically rings out the five customers ahead of him.

Finally, with a turn of her head and a flutter of her beautiful brunette hair she asks, "May I help you?" with the smile that would ease the most disenfranchised of hearts, though not this one.

The man calmly lifts his downtrodden head and replies, "Yes, do you sell the shirt that reads, ‘I fell in love with a girl and all I got was this lousy 500$ cell phone bill?”

--

Though it hasn't happened, I can foresee the events that will lead to Ashley casually waving goodbye and walking out the door, leaving me with that cold sensation that my mind so ardently avoids at all costs. I must say, with her walking out she not only takes away my hopes but she takes away my emotions as well, taking away all that I care about with each step she makes - dragging with her my will as it silently gets up and leaves me.

What does a man do? I asked Bn today what I do, where do I go from here? I wanted to state that I’m picking up and leaving, that I’m moving on, that my life in [Town] has ended as there is absolutely nothing left for me - I’ve exhausted everything, and like an obedient virus once I consume all there is to consume I get up and move on. I merely want to get in the car and drive east – just as the condemned men do, always to the east. Eventually I will hit the beach, and at that point, I will just sit upon the sand, crack open a beer, and cry the day away while I stare into the overbearing impersonal ocean that is never impacted by the actions or thoughts of man.

That’s what I thought, but what I felt was completely different. Without going too far into it, I must say the idea of not having to face the day was particularly interesting as the idea of her walking out leaves me with a sense of complete abandonment, similar to the scene in which the man stands outside of a house on Christmas Eve looking in at the occupants feasting upon their Christmas dinner while he spends his days with the cold elements of nature – the snow, the dead trees, the decaying leaves are his companions. I must say, I refuse to admit those as my companions, and that is what makes the decision so difficult.

On the one hand is Ashley, on the other is the long winding road of solitude that I am tremendously tired of wondering – so tired that I refuse to go back to such a road – REFUSE.

Thanks for listening…

Ultimate Full Frontal Assualt

2006-11-01T19:32:00.000-05:00

In light of the realization that my hopes and dreams with Ashley seem to be slowly sliding farther away from my grasp, I am left with the cold sensation of complete isolation that I have felt for so long. My stomach can testify to that as I have been emotionally sick for the past week – going so far as gagging in the bathroom as my body emotionally vomited. I’ve never seen anything like it, nor have I heard anything of it, but just thinking of her made me heave blindly over the toilet as the realization of her leaving became ever and ever more apparent. Leave it to a woman to take away the cold feeling of loneliness only to hand it back to you again...

In any case, I’ve spent my days watching a classic Volkswagen commercial that embodies the Ultimate Full Frontal Assault, a clip that I now have a further understanding and appreciation for...I must say I’ve watched this clip a thousand times and yet each time its as fresh and as new as if I’ve never seen it before…

I give you, Volkswagen "Big Day"

Full Frontal Assault

2006-10-30T16:53:00.000-05:00

Full Frontal Assault
[fool] fron•tal as•sault Pronunciation Key
Audio pronunciation of "full frontal assault" [P]

1. An attempt [Usually made by a male and in a last ditch effort] to exclaim affectionate feelings for a member of the opposite sex.
2. To vainly attempt to win a member of the opposite sex over by recounting ones true feelings in light of an external force [I.e. previous boyfriend/girlfriend returning]
3. What [Narratethis] did to Ashley while he was drunk.

v. intr.

To make an effort at a relationship; launch a harmonious friendship: As he got drunk and the prospects of Ashley's ex-boyfriend returning, he attempted a full frontal assault in a vain attempt to win her over.

So I did it, I did what I failed to do when I was sober. I knew, as my mind was subtly relaxed with each $2.00 bottle of Coors-lite that I downed, that at the end of the night I would let it all out, I would exclaim everything I had to exclaim in what had been previously planned as my 'full frontal assault.'

Together my mind as well as stomach conspired against me in a fruitful attempt at subduing me from exclaiming the emotions my heart felt, though with each bottle of beer they slowly became more and more silent, luring me into a false sense of confidence by the mute critics.

Eventually, the time came and I stopped her, looked her in the eyes and began on my drunken tirade, stating,

"I'm sorry to do this drunk, I know you're never supposed to do this drunk and I wanted to do it sober, but ...."

Taking a deep breath, I continued,

"Ashley, I just want you to know that whatever happens between you and [Ex-boyfriend of four years who is thinking of coming back] I am here for you, whatever happens I am here."

Seeing her state, "I know" in a calculated way that neither confirmed nor denied any emotions she had for me, I continued...

"And I’m sorry for never saying you're beautiful, everyone knows it and maybe it doesn't even matter if I say it or not because everyone knows it", I rant out in my drunken state, repeating myself often.
Again, in her calculated way she merely laughs at the notion neither confirming or denying her emotions for me. After I let it all spill out, I gather my things, ask if she will be alright, and make my way towards the exit allowing her to think over what I’ve stated.

So there it was, there was a 'full frontal assault', an attack notoriously known for its inability to change anything, though I must say I had to do it. Like a failed general, or a general that had to make a tremendously difficult decision, I spend the next two days recounting to myself, “I did what had to be done, I did what had to be done” in a vain attempt to convince myself that it was not only the right thing to do, but the only thing.

That was Saturday, and here it is Monday with no real results from it. I saw Ashley, though things went by relatively smoothly as though it was awkward for me, it did not seem to be for her. Instead, I spend my days recreating her face and the entire atmosphere as my mind mentally recreates the scene to gather any type of inclination of how she felt, or if I should call her up and recount it all in a more dignified, more sober, tone.

But then the small inconvenient fact of "Boyfriend of four years returning" reminds me of the true impact of the entire frontal assault...

I FalL Forever

2006-10-17T16:05:00.000-05:00

The professor continued to speak of things I needed to hear, things I wanted to hear, but things I didn’t hear. Instead, I merely cast my eyes down upon my page and my pen began to freely write across the tablet spilling out thoughts long suppressed. It hurt to think such thoughts, but it hurt even more see them manifest out on the white page in the middle of the populated room. I felt as if I were bleeding, bleeding right there across the page, saturating it with everything that I am. Though it all hurt, it hurt to see every word work its way across the page, it hurt even more to think of Ashley, it hurt to hear her name, it hurt to think of it, and it hurt to say it.

AlL I know is that I'm tired of being alone.

Zeal.

2006-09-26T16:49:00.000-05:00

In my English class, my classmates and I were given an essay exam on “The Odyssey”, whereas the professor asked the questions:

“According to ------, why is there so much repetition in the Odyssey? And secondly, what are the effects of all this repetition on you as a reader of the Odyssey?”

My response is as follows, and came to be the response that he read to the class as primary example of magnificence!

…Eh, not really, but I found it interesting to hear him begin to recount my “psycho babble” (Skip down to italic part). Not to sound too boastful, but I do feel it is a fair piece of work considering it was created on the spot as well as the fact that I beat out a room full of English majors in attaining the status of ‘best response.’

…And thus, here it is:

“Repetition in The Odyssey is mainly due to the oral history of the Odyssey, as poets were able to memorize this incredibly long book; they did so with thoughtful strategies including rhyme as well as repetition. "And young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shown once more" acts as a characteristic phrase in which Dawn is given attributes to elaborate on the concept of morning coming. Such repetitious phrases as "Cunning Odysseus", "Brave Achilles", "Noble Hector" that are constantly repeated throughout The Odyssey and the Iliad act to drive home characteristics that the characters are known for.

It is often said that this repetition has a two-fold affect upon the reader. One, it enables the characters to quickly be defined - thereby creating the character as a physical manifestation of an ideal. "Noble Hector, Noble Hector, Noble Hector" drives the point that Hector is noble and thus represents nobility. Secondly, the repetition mimics the mindless repetition in life. As every morning, young Dawn climbs upon her thrown it becomes evident that the world continues with or without man. This repetition comes at key scenes in the Odyssey where tragic events are followed by "Young Dawn shown once more", thereby signifying that whatever happens in the mind of man the repetitious world continues to churn.”

"Boom Boom Boom."

2006-08-26T17:25:00.000-05:00

He tried to concentrate on who he was, on whom he wanted to be, though with the incessant techno beats and all the colors of the visual spectrum reflecting upon his retinas he could only retain one thought as his mind involuntarily decided to take a dive from the heights of decency into the ultimate pits of decadence. While the inner ego of his mind continued to send lucent signals that were lost in the essence of alcohol that so elegantly blocked out all sense, the rest of his body focused upon the sole object that was now before him - the girl that moved her body in perfect rhythm with the oscillating pounds of the unrelenting music machine that seemed to slowly and methodically remove away all sense with each additional electronic note it pounded out.

The sense, the justice, the absurdity of the situation were all lost within the bouncing motion of the chest of the stranger that now danced in front of him – captivating his every sense. His eyes saw nothing else, his mind could focus upon nothing else, and as his eyes met hers it was quite apparent that she had no other focus on her mind either. She was an object, an object to be used and thrown away for the night as just as the stereo would eventually wither off and die so too would his feelings for her – though neither them, neither him nor her would shed a tear at the thought of the cold harsh reality that lay awaiting for them tomorrow. The rhythm, the electronic atmosphere - there was no room for human emotion this night, but only pure raw animalistic desire that had been forced to the forefront of his existence via the electronic induced state that was vehemently amplified through the excess alcohol that now pumped through his veins. With each failed attempt at matching the rhythm and pace of the girl he could feel the alcohol withering through his veins, and droplets of decency slowly leaving his body - perspiring throughout his pores leaving him with the chilling poison that had since been diluted by the drops that now fled without hesitation at the ominous thought of the oncoming events.

“I Love your shirt” she would exclaim in an exuberant sense of empowerment as the alcohol turned her into a doubtless immortal, and the rhythm of the techno threw her to the status of Goddess. His forefront, his prowess, his reflexes all adamantly forced the sense of a piece of fresh meat awaiting to be devoured upon his immediate mind - while the last remaining drops of decently trickling out while his inner psyche desperately pleaded that his animalistic complex to subside though it was of no use - for tonight he was a wolf. He had become a wolf in the clothes of man searching for a quick meal to end the droughts of hunger that had plagued him like a strange and stringent disease without cure.

[UnFinished]

Masked Illusion.

2006-07-31T22:40:00.000-05:00

What is it about a man dying in a mask that is so appealing?

I spent the night watching V for Vendetta, which is a terrible movie, though it did have one interesting aspect - I watched as V, being mortally wounded, made his way through an abandoned subway in search of the women he loves. It was interesting in that a masked man, in his dying moment, staggered through the barren halls of a long abandoned subway leaving an ominous trail of blood - a personal signature, all the while doing it behind the cold solemn confines of an impersonal mask. First staggering to the left, then to the right; often he would press himself against the wall leaving an alarming smear of blood across the wall which in and of itself did all of the speaking for a man who spent his entire life silently hiding behind a mask.

I saw the scene and I immediately drew a parallel to a book I once skimmed through entitled, "What to Say After Hello" - a book in which I intend to finish one day. I drew the parallel of the masks that everyone wears, the masks that become so attached that it is impossible, and implausible to remove them. In V's dying moment he refused to remove the mask, even as he lie there lifelessly the mask remained as his love, that which was dearest to him, knew there was no sense in removing it as the man behind the mask wasn't V, but rather just faceless nameless body that had no connection to V. V, just like so many others, had become inseparable from the mask so that his entire existence was embedded within the small plastic crevices that outlined the over-dramatized face.

I can't recall how many times I, as a child, had lived out that exact same scene wearing a mask. Mortally wounded, wearing a paintball mask, I would stagger through the halls of the house desperately trying to avoid the inevitable. Fallen, I would then cast my eyes through the mask and stare at the infinite sea of carpet as my mind would focus upon my eventually downfall. Strange.

The lasting impression I think the scene leaves me with is the idea of a masked man trying to stagger away from death as he clings to the wall for support while leaving a stark trail of blood that screams out all the emotion of man that was unable to express it. Like an open revolt against the illogical confines of the mind, the blood adamantly cries out in a panicked fashion, ‘mortally wounded’ as the mask dawns the same appearance it had from the moment it was adorned. Just as the man had spent his life throwing out illusions to the world behind the safety of a plastic mask, it shows that in the end it is but impossible to live solely by illusions as the unrelenting blood on the wall lies as a testament to that which cannot be controlled. Yes, the expressions of the face can be controlled, and the emotion of the face can be subdued, and the emotion of life can be deflated, but the essence of life cannot as the blood on the wall testifies to. Emotions, situations, and feelings can all be downplayed but the ceaseless bleeding cannot as everyone who sees it knows that no lie, no mask, and no illusion can attempt to cover up the tragedy of a masked man about to die.

Alcoholic Wedding Redux

2006-05-22T13:36:00.000-05:00

So, after quite a long weekend, I am just getting back from a wedding. See Alcoholic Wedding. This can be termed "Alcoholic Wedding Redux." It was grand, and grander than the wedding was the incredible atmosphere of friends and family. But even more grandiose than that were images of a world that had always been beyond the grasps of my fingertips. Have you ever randomly flipped through magazines only to find images of beautiful people whom seem to have a perfect life, on whom the sun always shines and the rain never flows? I used to believe that such a life was a complete lie, and that nothing positive would ever exist in a world so hideous but this weekend has proven me completely wrong. I now stare out towards the dawn of a new day after the hands of Fate have briefly given me a hiatus from the savage jungle in which I spend my fearful days. I have seen paradise, I have witnessed a world beyond my own that I had strived for day after day, though I have since given up. I knew for sometime I had died inside and was merely a shell of a man going throughout the daily routines in a vain attempt to accomplish something that held no personal significance. Though I knew I was dead, I couldn't quite pinpoint how or what it was like not to be dead - though this past weekend had changed all that and presented me with a world that I had forgotten about. I realize now that my entire 'Prelude to the Apocalypse' philosophy is completely wrong and that everything in my life must be completely abandoned in order for a betterment of my soul to take place. In the beginning of that reconstruction one thing must be present: God. From that point I can begin to build my life the way those at the wedding had, from the lowest point in my life I can begin to build a firm foundation - a foundation that will be able to supply a tower reaching into the highest points of the sky. After which I can cast off my loner tendencies and finally admit that I need other people, that I can't go through life alone, and that without companionship I whither and die. I just pray that in the months to come I will not forget this.

MM Falls, I Fall, We all Fall

2006-04-27T21:01:00.000-05:00

I just don’t know what to write. Today was one of those catastrophic apocalypses in which the forces of fate conspire to collide with your world simultaneously to ensure maximum destruction.

Today three separate forces struck me, though I don’t want to turn this into a bitch session - being that I just sat through two hours of that - but rather as a testament to a milestone I found myself lounging around - a milestone that I had thought I had passed a long time ago.

First and foremost, I saw perhaps one of the most moving images I could have seen from a complete stranger. Today was some type of 'Discovery Day" at my college in which thousands of little fatherless children ran rampant throughout the halls of the college screaming this and that as the university pandered to their every need in a vain attempt to ensure that they would choose this shithole out of the thousands of shitholes that lie within the dense dark solemn landscape of the American educational system.

One, one of these children did stand out though, it was a girl with a "homemade tee-shirt", similar to that in which a student of a gym class would create in a last ditch effort to avoid the penalty imposed for not having his name etched on his shirt. Only her name wasn't etched upon the shirt, but rather a political slogan was, it read:

"Life is Pain" in dark haunting letters, and below it stated:

"Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell something."

Brilliant. I loved it. I even loved the fact that it was a homemade tee-shirt on a pathetical looking scraggly girl which made it stand out that much more as if she had a strange epiphany and the only way to allow anyone to understand it was to transform her life into a testament to it.

So, now to the three forces that struck me down:

First of all, I felt depressed from the beginning - and let this be a note, if at anytime a male feels depressed all surrounding males have an psychic instinct which first detects the abnormality, then enacts the primal instincts to tear that male apart - I had seen it before and I knew it was coming today, and so it came.

1. So Bn gets the genius idea to begin to 'define' me before others. Stating, "[My Name] is sensitive, no he is hypersensitive - that is his problem." First of all, allow me to state you never never categorize a loner, much less call a guy sensitive. I cannot begin to express the intense loathing that has since entered my mind at the thought of such an inane proposition.

2. I began wondering the halls again - a travesty I know. It happened at my other university as well - I become a complete stranger and begin to randomly walk around and sit in solitude. I find it to be the beginning workings of a complete psycho and could quite possible the very act that inspired me to begin my online journal so many eons ago.

3. MM. MM had a complete collapse and I was there to witness it. She came to me as I was sitting outside our place of employment and began crying, she looked me straight in the eyes and weep as if to silently show me what had consumed her; after which she began to describe how just moments before she was standing on a bridge waiting to jump off into the cold waters that would end her life. Now, I’ve heard plenty of people state they were going to kill themselves on TV, and I’ve read plenty of journal entries in which individuals (like myself) expressed such a notion, though I had never come across this real-life situation. Only once before had a situation taken place and that was over the phone where the impersonal, unaffectionate voice on the other end managed to pull itself together. So, being the good little soldier that I am, I began to console her and state how life was worth living when just hours before I had spent my day wondering around aimlessly in solitude slowly losing my connection with the outside world.

She flat out asks me, "Why should I live?"

To this, I honestly have no answer, though I recalled in a book a short story entitled "The Untold Lie", to which I never quite understood, and suddenly my mind began to race off the notion. I began to spout out endless streams of bullshit about how utopian the future was and how much I cared for her and that the world is a wonderful place. Some of the shit she bought, some she didn’t. I have a strange feeling that, although she was quite genuine in her depression and anxiety, she wanted to cure it all with sex. It was quite strange, because of as some moments I could see in her eyes the desperation of a soul trapped within the cold confines of the twenty-first century and all the illusion that it brings with it, and moments later I could see her wantonness to have sex in order to make everything better.

I wanted to tell her it was all a downward spiral, that this world had nothing to offer, that her sex was merely a temporary illusion from the fact that she was living within the impersonal, incapable of being loved, twenty-first century, but I didn’t, I continued to patronize her.

All this while, which I view as a perfect example of the twenty-first century, a gentlemen across the room sat staring into the computer screen pretending he hadn't heard a thing as this woman began spouting out her intentions to kill herself - that is how it always is, someone screaming into the cold pages of the twenty-first century while no one is there to listen. To redeem the guy, he did come over at the end of his project to state how his girlfriend too was on anti-depressants (thereby stating this was a normal affair). I must give him credit, he tried even though neither of us knew that the @@@@ was going on.

All the while, I sat there, recalling the shirt I had seen hours before,

"Life is Pain - Anyone who says otherwise is selling something."

Spring Break.

2006-03-10T16:53:00.000-05:00

Hooya. Spring break is one of those events in life that is always hyped up to something so much more than it is. As of Wednesday I was licking my lips at the thought of actually sitting around for an entire week doing absolutely nothing. School has kept me insanely busy, and a week without work seemed to be an ecstatic delight. Though, as of Thursday I had two unpleasant surprises. I was asked to write a ten-page paper in History, as well as a ten-page paper in Argumentation and Debate. Shit. As a result, my entire 'one week of sitting around doing absolutely nothing' turned into 'two hours of sitting around and doing absolutely nothing’ - to which I have just finished. I figure I’d start on the History paper first, though tragically my Internet decided to die.

So, the topic of my history paper: I must do a biography of a mathematician. I've chosen a gentleman that died in a duel, Évariste Galois. So, story goes, the night before the duel he stayed up all night writing feverishly to all of his friends about the mathematical discoveries he made in a futile attempt to reach out and escape the clutches of death. I plan to transpose that situation onto the whole of humanity, once again, and in turn wrap the paper up in the fashion,

'Interestingly enough, Galois’s situation of staying up the night before his death can be symbolically broadened to that of humanity and its on going quest to escape the inevitable end that threatens to erase all its accomplishments into the cold solemn pages of “History Forgotten”. The act of Galois reaching out and trying to pass that which he knew onwards towards someone, anyone, is symbolic of the human race trying to defy the ravages of time and decay. The Egyptians built pyramids to defy their eventual erase into history, western cultures have done it via massive skyscrapers that seem to spit in the face of mortality, and so too have mathematicians tried in their vain attempt at avoiding mortality by publishing the most beautiful of equations; though in the end, all of humanity will eventually meet the same fate, the fate that Galois shared on May 31, 1832, but until that moment they are collectively staying up all night in a futile attempt to make something, anything, immortal so they that they too may escape the ravages of time, if it only be for a brief and fleeting moment."

Well, something like that. I suppose its rather tragic that I don’t know anything about him, other than his death, though I already have the entire paper constructed in my head; and not only I have done that, but I’ve also included my own twisted dismal philosophy about the future of the human race. Score!

You F!*#@ed Up by Coming Here.

2006-03-03T13:34:00.000-05:00

O how I hate the impersonality of email! In my naive foolishness I've taken the position of being President of a local club. I figured 'President on my resume? Man, that will look sweet', though the reality just doesn’t stack up to the promising ideal.

First of all, I never truly understood the cultural phenomenon of individuals never getting involved with anything. After all, the campus is continually asking everyone, anyone, to get involved with anything! They practically beg, though no one does anything - and it certainly isn’t limited to my small neck of the woods. I went to another campus only to read the exact same thing in their campus newspaper. It read something to the effect of, "Nothing to do on campus!" and blah blah blah, I'm sure you have all read similar stories.

So being the president of this club is a complete disaster, I find I work and work only to find dead ends and people who have no interest in anything - just as I was mere days before my nomination, and eventual election. I finally understand why no one gets involved in anything, its two reasons really:

1.) Everything sucks, as it requires enormous amounts of work for bullshit causes

2.) It violates the thirty-second rule

We are having a fundraiser on Monday, though we aren’t quite certain why we are raising funds. It is an utter bureaucracy at its best! So in order to complete this fundraiser I, being the President, must gather everything together and make sure it works.

Now this is the best part:

I email multiple people only to receive cold dead professional responses indicating I’ve made a mistake - no scratch that - a F@#I email multiple people only to receive cold dead professional responses indicating I’ve made a mistake - no scratch that - a F@#$&ing mistake. It seems in every cold email I receive back for an innocent question I posed, it always reduces it to "You F!*#@ed up by coming here." No constructive response, no sympathy, no advice just a cold professional letter reducing everything to "You f@#$@ed up by coming here." Shit, after three of those letters the psychological lacerations begin to sting!

So that really pisses me off, especially considering those lacerations are not petty scratches, but rather hardcore blows intended to permanently end the inquiry! Secondly, being involved in anything violates the thirty-second rule. I must say I’ve always believed in the rule, though I’ve never truly understood it until this day.

A guy once told me, "Do not have any attachments, do not have anything in your life you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you spot the heat around the corner." –Robert De Niro, Heat

Genius. I realize to fully grasp that quote you have to be a slave to something in order to realize the true philosophy of freedom behind it. Overall I must say, I’d rather be a slave to something pitiful like President of a crappy club, than be a slave to something more serious. Might as well learn now, rather than learn later.

Sweet, Sweet Academic Writings

2006-02-18T22:03:00.000-05:00

All right, first of all I have to have someone to brag to about my genius - my artistic flow. In my history class I was given the assignment of writing a paper comparing two numeration systems, (Inuit, some shit tribe in Alaska, and binary) and lo and behold I have done just that - creating a paper that is a masterpiece of English Literature...

.... well not really, though it does have its sweet points!

Take for instance the title:

Running from the numeration systems of man to the magnanimous language of the gods

A brief look at the contrasts between a numeration system that inhibits its inhabitants, and one that sets them free.

I don’t know if I have the 'guts' to actually use that though, but hold on because it gets better:

Introduction

"...Though, these two systems will lie in bitter contrast: one being a system
that enables its participants to reach into the farthest possible depths of the
abstract, and the second limiting its inhabitants from ever taking that first
step into the theoretical sea and thus forever holding them on the shore of pure
physical observations."

Body

"...The overbearing conclusion of the story highlights the complete ignorance of a system that refused to go beyond the boundary of physical phenomenon. Intertwined in the story itself is a story of the stifling of progress, as two hunters question which hide has more hairs and in turn subconscious question a primitive numeration system relying on nothing more than the physical sum of hands and feet. It is through the disappointing conclusion of a discouragement towards theoretical thought that the Inuit system forever finds itself bound into the realm of that which can be counted on hands and feet."

My Thomas Friedman Impression:

"Take for instance a popular IBM Business Consulting Commercial in which a group
of inventors try desperately get their invention from the blueprint stages to
the physical world. They stand before the austere Help Desk
of IBM where an IBM computer scientist informs them that concrete experiments
have thus been replaced by powerful supercomputers in which all physical
variables are calculated within the tiny world of microprocessors through the
deceivingly simple process of adding 1’s and 0’s. No longer
is it practical to create physical models of potential prototypes, but rather
the computational power of the gods is now within the grasp of man so that any,
and all, physical phenomenon can be taken into consideration thanks to the
profound power of binary. Through this process binary has
done so much more than merely pave a road into the abstract, it has brought the
abstract to the door of man and merged the abstract world with the physical
world so that man stands shoulder to shoulder with his dreams, employing them at
his will."

And finally, comes the conclusion, where I tied it all together with the oneness of humanity:

"At first glance it seems as if a system that brings the world of the abstract
to the door of the user, and a system that is so primitive it failed to even
take the most minuet steps into that abstract would have absolutely nothing in
common. Though, if one were to look deeper into the matter
it would become apparent that they are surprisingly similar in the way they both
met the needs of their time. In the Inuit world of
hunting/gathering, the numeration system of counting on hands and feet did
everything that the tribe required of it; and just as the Inuit system served
the needs of the tribe, so too does the binary system serve the needs of a
similar tribe – the tribe of humanity. In a global
economy/world the key to survivability in any economic field is creativity and
innovation – two ideas that are driven by the most complex of technologies that
find themselves going farther and farther into the world of the abstract, but
are always constantly grounded on the simple process of adding ones and zeros."

I can't read that 'tribe of humanity' crap with a straight face, I mean I just cant! You know what this reminds me of? This reminds me of a sweet, sweet paper I did on the masculinity in the twenty first century (another bullshit paper) though I did pull off the sweetest quote of my life in that paper:

"Although there is a vast market for “chick flick” movies, in which masculinity
is depicted as loving, caring, and affectionate; the vast majority of movies do
stick with the stereotype of masculinity as male aggression, filled with random
and sporadic bursts of violence entailed in a bittersweet symphony of blood and
gore."

Oh, how I love it!

Erased into History

2006-02-08T17:47:00.000-05:00

I've decided, for the time being, that I want this picture to serve as a remnant of myself. This would be the image that would contain the thousand words, similar to those pictures you find in yearbooks that are the only remnant of a life once lived. Enjoy!

P.S. I am somewhat disappointed, as the true Charcoal, Artistic Blend, and Plastering all lose their effects when I scale down the image this small but, sorry to say, I don’t feel like posting a 1.31mb .bmp file.

P-P-Propaganda

2006-02-08T17:44:00.000-05:00

In the midst of the day yesterday I happened to walk into the bathroom on the first floor of the science and technology building. For those who need the background information the bathroom in that building is notorious when it comes to sayings etched on the wall. I find it amusing sometimes to just enter and see what people have etched on the inside of the bathroom stalls. The sayings, words, and obscenities always seem so distant, as if no one from the campus had written those things, but instead as if an outside had come in the dead of night to scribble profanities on our bathroom stalls in an attempt to tease us.

I looked over the normal sayings, the expressions of hate, I even looked over the petty poems that always seem as if they belong to a bathroom at a local elementary school; but etched in between the swastika, and petty poems, were the words "No Fate."

I couldn't help but smile as I looked on towards those seemingly miniscule words with tremendous implications. "No Fate" I stated to myself, as I shrugged my shoulders in the most nonchalant way. I had always been against the idea, and tremendously loathed the idea that everything in my life would come down to predetermined circumstances beyond my control. I chuckled at the words as I knew the man who had written it, as if it were I who had spent the time sitting on the toilet etching the words, "No Fate", into the side of the stall in a vain attempt to accomplish something, anything.

I stood there blowing my nose with the toilet paper that hung adjacent to the carving thinking, "If you only knew...” If only the man who had etched that into the wall could only see the big picture then he too would chuckle at the words "No Fate" being etched into a wall.

I thought: a person is defined by their actions, actions that are based upon memories, and memories that are based upon past situations. The past situations come from circumstances that the person has absolutely no control over, i.e. birthplace, origin, nationality, etc, etc, etc.
Not to mention that long chain of events that continually starts and stops without us ever knowing - the bus that arrived two-minutes late to throw off the day, the car breaking down at a specific moment to alter a series of events. I stood there staring at the wall and suddenly an animalistic desire came over me, I suddenly wanted to carve "No Fate" in the wall in a vain attempt to rebel against that which is totalistic - that which has no escape. Instead, I merely smiled and looked down upon the words and half heartedly stated, "Yea, there is no fate" in the tone you would elicit in telling a child a lie, a lie that they would have to believe for their own benefit. I turned, opened the stall door and walked out across the barren bathroom, leaving the words, “No Fate” for the next gentleman who decided he needed to use stall no.2.

Worst Day of my Existence

2006-01-30T21:07:00.000-05:00

"Peter Gibbons: So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.

Dr. Swanson: What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?

Peter Gibbons: Yeah.

Dr. Swanson: Wow, that's messed up."

I must say I never appreciated the beauty of Office Space until very recently where the full implications of that quote began to ring through my head like an overbearing church bell. Everyday is the worst day. Between work, school (which has lost all of its meaning for me now), and a pathetic home life...it all spirals down into a human working in a cubical doing a meaningless job that is completely disconnected from his world.

I must say, I talked with my advisor about getting a full-blown math degree (considering I have an extra semester to waste and in that extra semester I can pick up the classes that would give me the degree) and I received the response that I would originally have to do three-independent studies including: Real Analysis I, Differential Equations, and Math Modeling. I could have honestly cried when she said that, considering I spend the last five years of my life piecing together some shit education only to have her say,

"In order for you to complete this, you must first do three independent studies (learn them on your own) on the highest math courses we offer."

That entire idea just destroyed my day, even though later she came back and said everything would work fine as the classes would be offered. Even though it worked out in the end, that entire idea just had me thinking about how lonely this world is...

I mean, here you go to college on your own accord and initiative only to find that no one really gives a shit what you accomplish, or what you do. I was sitting at lunch today with a few friends and I pulled out my degree audit and I was just completely blown away by it...

Everything I’ve done, my entire existence as far as who I am and what type of value I hold, is merely wrapped up in that document that lists what I’ve done and the grade I’ve received. They asked my why I was so taken back, I wanted to scream out,

"Why? Because these four pages are @$@*ing me! This is me! When people ask, who is [My Name] there won't be some huge response about who I was or what I hoped to accomplish, or what I didn’t accomplish, but rather a four sheet piece of paper that illustrates me in the form of:

FAITH REL & SOCIETY B+ 3.00
CONNECTIONS A 1.00
THINKING/WRITING I A- 3.00
MATH MANAGRL SCIENCE A- 3.00
INTRO TO PHILOSOPHY A 3.00

That is what they will say, that is who I am. God, this shit drives me crazy!

Those Eyes

2006-01-25T19:44:00.000-05:00

I give you an amateur rendition of myself, presented by Adobe Photoshop 6.0. Story of my life… I have so much software and resources, though no clue how to operate it. Going through the menus and filters, I managed to create the image you see before you. Though I am partial towards it, I would say its not bad for a first attempt.

The Midnight Sun

2006-01-10T16:08:00.000-05:00

Human Tragedy.

Meet Norma, from "The Twilight Zone - The Midnight Sun"

Norma is an excellently constructed character that finds herself in the days of the apocalypse awaiting a slow death through heat exhaustion brought on by the reduced distance from the earth to the sun.

The picture captures Norma at her worst, minutes before her demise as she sits on the floor staring towards the ceiling of the room that had once sheltered her, protected her from the world, but now serves as nothing more than an oven that will eventually become her final resting place.

Norma's expression goes so far beyond her current situation into a projection of humanity where the world at large is screaming towards the ceiling in an ever-increasing oven that threatens to bake us all. I love the expression as it signifies how helpless we are in the grand schemes of tragedy that plays out in the form of our lives over and over and over and over...

I imagine she would be crying in that situation, that is if she still had tears left to shed. Not only does the extreme heat of the sun burn off all your precious fluids but it also dries the tears from your eyes so that it not only robs you of your essence, but it robs you of your screams. It robs everything, like a sponge it sits there absorbing everything it can from you, your dreams, your possessions, your tears - like a black hole it absorbs it all and you merely find yourself sitting on the floor staring in hopeless agony towards an unrelenting ceiling.

What is a man to do?

2005-12-20T12:59:00.000-05:00

So what is a man to do when his mind begins to turn on him, taunting him with images of the past? I've had a dream, a dream about Megan - someone who I had long forgotten. These past few days have been nothing but a constant reliving of that dream as she has been on my mind all night and day. I have no idea what brought this on, as I did state before I completely forgot about her, though it always seems to go this route. I see her about once a year and during that time she always drives me insane - completely insane! Its one of those mistakes, one of those people you walked out on, that you just cant live down. Anyways, after consulting a close friend they suggested just merely calling her, but I realize how strange that would seem to her. After all, a guy who blows you off for two years immediately calls you after three-years of nothing in a vain attempt to answer some dream he had? On top of that I would have to admit going through the phone book to find her number, which I find is perfect symbolism of how close I let us come.

This dream did bring some good with it though, a blessing in disguise if you will. After reading over some of my previous works I was left with a sense of questioning as even I had forgotten their vague meanings and subtle hints. This dream answered a question for me and I now know whom the picture was of, it was of Megan.

Lastly, an excerpt from my dream:

She stood there as if she didn’t have a choice, as if my mind had dragged her to this location and she was but awaiting a few minutes for the image of her perfect face to be burnt into my mind so that the punishment for not wanting her wouldn’t come from her, but rather from my own mind as it would forever haunt me with the 'what if' scenarios. She impatiently stood there for a brief moment before, once again, she would take flight into the night and forever leave me with the haunting memories as a tragic payback for not wanting her, for not taking her when it was all laid out right before me. I could envision her laughing as she took off into the night, but that wouldn’t be suiting her; instead she would merely leave in a cold callous fashion without so much as making eye contact to ensure the cut would run the deepest. She, as well as I, both knew that her haunting memory would be more than enough punishment for what I didn’t do.

STD Cards

2005-12-16T13:12:00.000-05:00

STD Card

At the Apex of human degradation we have now officially eliminated all responsibility and human emotions concerned with sex. At the peak we now have decorative postcards (a selection of them mind you) that you can send to someone whose life you may have destroyed.

My favorite is the "You're too hot to be out of action."

I literally broke out laughing when I saw it. Too hot to be out of action? They've reduced the entire concept of being diagnosed with AIDS to some cheesy free birthday card you send to someone over the internet for the simple result of saving .37 cents in postage - and yet this is anonymous, even better!

Is this not consumerism at its worst? Have we not wrapped everything within the human existence to a mere package to be sold, bartered and traded? Think about the most intimate of human emotions and the consequences associated with those emotions - or don’t. We don’t have any consequences as of now considering all guilt can be thrown away through the simple task of sending an online anonymous postcard. Does anyone else see the complete irony in that? The irony of going through the most intimate of human emotions with someone else and the next day not even having the courtesy to spend .37 cents in postage, or even to sign your name to the card?

You have to read this second one as well:

"Going through my address book and you're on the list."

I can just image some brunette chick waking up in the morning, wearing nothing but a men’s dress shirt, and immediately going the refrigerator to pull out her morning Starbucks cappuccino in a bottle. Then, ever so casually, she walks over to the dining table where her Apple Laptop is so perfectly placed along side her Ipod, and plops herself down on the decorative designer chair. After taking a few sips on the cappuccino she logs on to inspotla.org to send her anonymous card. Thumbing through the ones she begins to think, "Well, don't know if the going through my address book and you're on the list is really what I want to say, after all it does make me look like a slut..."

She takes another sip in the most nonchalant way and immediately she hears the new ringtone she downloaded on her brand new Verizon LG cell phone.

"Hey girl...what’s up!?" she hears as she raises the phone to her ear.

"Nothin much...." is the groggy response that the voice on the other end receives as the Starbucks cappuccino hasn't set in yet.

"So how was that guy last night? I can't believe you scored him, tell me all about it, girl!"

The woman at the table continues to autonomously click through the pictures on the Apple Laptop. Tiredly she responds back, "Ya...I was just about to send him that STD card, can't really decide which one..."

"Was he amazing? Send him the 'Too hot for no action' one..." The girl on the other end of the phone obviously well traversed in the technique of sending various STD cards to dates she knew but only a day. Sometimes she would even find herself asking for the email address, the only line of communication she cared about, so that the next day she could send the card – she may have been a 21^st century girl, but even this girl had some responsibility.

"Ya, I saw that...though I'm not sure about it..." the brunette in the men’s designer dress shirt responds.

Then blindly, tired of the conversation and scenario, she picks one at random, enters the mans email hits send, and immediately closes the screen awaiting for the fresh new day that now lies before her.

@$%!ing unbelievable.

Cherry Orchard

2005-12-13T11:54:00.000-05:00

I must say this is a mighty fine quote:

EPIKHODOV: I'm an educated man, I read various remarkable books,
but I cannot understand the direction I myself want to go--whether
to live or to shoot myself, as it were. So, in case, I always carry
a revolver about with me. Here it is. [Shows a revolver.]

Obtained From:

Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov - Cherry Orchard

Bad, bad writings

2005-12-12T20:53:00.000-05:00

I posted an online story. I suppose it would be a big deal to thousands of poor impoverished writers trying to get published - though not me. I posted it for the soul purpose of getting some feedback either an "Eh...not bad" or a "Nice work, I like!" or a "Dude...stay away from the whole writing idea" but unfortunately the critics are silent. As it stands it has been about a week since I’ve published it, though no feedback as of yet - and the story will soon be falling off the "recent" list into the oblivious archives of the internet.

Reading over the story I find the introduction is the weakest part, I believe I was too vague, that my references to life were too subtle and that no one will understand or make the connection. No big deal, I wrote it in about one night, proofread it the next day so what do you expect? Anyways, here is the link:

Narratethis - Beautiful Disaster

Check out my signature, it is rather interesting. I pulled it off of an episode of "Ghost in the Shell" which in turn pulled it from "The Catcher in the Rye." I find that fitting that I would pull something genuine from a second hand source, something symbolic about the disconnection from the actual source or something like that.

"You know what I'd do? I mean, if I had my god#$%^ choice? I'd just be a catcher in the rye and all."

Foiled!

2005-12-12T20:49:00.000-05:00

Basically today was a day in which everyone wraps up the end of the semester tasks and begins to look towards the next semester. In the ML, my campus work-study, we started blocking-off hours in which we will work next semester. So naturally MM and I sign up together, namely so I can go on with my social degradation and she can amuse herself for about an hour or so. Unfortunately two other chicks, I'll refer to them as the red-headed twins, signed up for our block as well so they will be there, with us, like one large happy family...

Translation - MM won't go into her typical tyrant about sex and the like, or maybe she will; though I would be rather uncomfortable if she did. Something about talking blatantly about sex in a crowd is just so....so...

...trash.

Anyways, I don’t honestly care. In TMAT we had a final exam that turned out to be pure busy work - we took a group test, a group test! Completely pathetic. Anyways, it ended up that we had to print up something for the project and as a result my group and I ran down to the ML to print out some documents. So I enter, and it turns out MM was there with one of her "guys", which I found rather disturbing. Something about the idea of an easy chick was appealing, though I never truly grasped the flip side to that coin - the fact that there are about a half-dozen guys thinking the same thing. I'm honestly glad things never worked out, and this time, as is every time, I can walk away playing the song "I walk alone" with confidence....

...For about three weeks until reality sets in. :)

Devastating News

2005-11-22T11:51:00.001-05:00

By DEE-ANN DURBIN, AP Auto Writer Tue Nov 22, 4:06 AM ET

United Auto Workers DETROIT - General Motors Corp., pounded by declining sales and rising health care costs, said Monday it will cut more than a quarter of its North American manufacturing jobs and close 12 facilities by 2008.

United Auto Workers called the plan "devastating" and warned it will make negotiations more difficult, but some Wall Street analysts said GM's actions may not go far enough.

How sad.... Merry Christmas in pure capitalistic/global competition fashion.

Remember this when you’re running from store to store buying worthless crap so that some corporation can make revenue this quarter.

Dream of MM

2005-11-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

Incredible dream. I dreamt last night about MM, about staying in her dorm room trying to "get with her." I must say it’s about the strangest dream I've had in awhile, it went something like this:

It took place in a dorm room, though not a conventional dorm room. It was much like a house in which she had her own room, while the other guests of the house, other college students, had their own rooms as well. Her room was juxtaposing a type of "family room", which was connected to a kitchen type room where the kitchen and dinner table were joined. So during the entire first half of the dream MM and I concocted a plan in which we would head up to her room and have sex. While in there, MM begins stripping and gets down to her bra. She smiles and asks me if she is beautiful; without hesitating I respond, genuinely, "You look just like Julia Roberts". (Which is funny, because she doesn’t at all.) So, without warning there is a knock at the door and as a result MM flies out of the room and attends to something else. No problem, waiting a few minutes never hurt anyone. I sit down on the bed and begin to wait for her return, as the minutes begin to tick by. Suddenly, a professor, with two students, enters and begins to show them around on some type of open house tour - so naturally they decided to show everyone her room. Frantically, I tried to get them out of the room in hopes that when MM returns we would be ready to continue where we left off. I stand up and begin going through a spiel about the university in a vain attempt to usher them out of the room. It works, after a few minutes they leave and I once again begin waiting for MM to return. After they leave, her roommates show up and begin working on their semester projects in the room, which I find to be an incredible disappointment. I'm just trying to get with one girl, and it seems as if the entire world is working against it...

Continuing on with the tradition of interruptions, I open her dorm door only to find it leads to a type of family room, in which I see a member of my family there asking me for something to eat. @#$@ing unreal. I rush off to some kitchen in search of food trying desperately to get him out of the place and MM back in....

Long story short - events, and people, continue to show up throughout he dream, impeding my progress. Finally, after everything has occurred I realize it is impossible for me to get with her - fate just would not allow it. So I sit down at her computer and begin writing to my journal on there. In the upper left hand corner I write:

Zero - ClouD
MM

…And leave the rest of the page a blank white sheet.

After thinking about the concept of randomly sitting down at someone's computer and posting things on the Internet, I begin to think of it as a question of etiquette and log off the computer. Before I do I save the work to the computer, and leave. I turn back, thinking saving the work was a bad idea, and frantically try to find it on the machine. I fail, I can’t find where the computer saved it to and am desperately running out of time – as I don’t want to get caught writing Zero – ClouD on a computer machine that would link me to the journal.

Last act:
I turn from the computer, realizing the entire day was for naught, and begin heading out the door. As the door opens MM is standing there ready to come back in. I look at her, she returns the look as if to say, "You're leaving?" but she remains silent. I walk past her out the door. Interestingly enough, after all the work I've gone through, I decide to turn back and at least make one more attempt to get with her - as she is now back in the dorm, it couldn't hurt. I open the door, and without stepping into the room, I can see her sitting with three other guys at a large table. I turn and walk out of the entire house, or dorm, alone.

Tell me that isn’t symbolic.

Math Test

2005-11-19T14:46:00.000-05:00

I took the math test of my life today, and I would say the results are not as I would have hoped. Worst of all, tragically worst of all, I sat in the middle of the math test pondering to myself. The math test was quite difficult and as a result I had little time, if any, to think of anything but the test. Though, without thinking, I developed feeling a natural sensation that I know I’ve felt many, many, times before. I asked myself,

"Self, what the @#$@ are you doing here?"

I felt that feeling that you get in the middle of a speech, a trial, a something... An event in which you ask yourself what you're doing and suddenly you don’t feel like carrying on the urge that brought you to the stage.

This is life, and I'm not living it. Before the test, I sat around my room pondering what to do. At a last ditch effort, a futile attempt at studying for the test; I began to read philosophy in a vain attempt to sharpen my mind so that at least for the arithmetic part of the test my mind would be clear - no easy mistakes. When I was doing that I came across this quote:

"But most people, instead of acting, take refuge in theorizing; they imagine that they are philosophers and that philosophy will make them virtuous; in fact, they behave like people who listen attentively to their doctors but do nothing that their doctors tell them. But a healthy state of the soul will no more be produced by this kind of philosophizing than a healthy state of the body by this kind of medical treatment."

That hit home, particularly with the conversations with Bn. Bn likes to theorize, to look for possible solutions to test his theories. Me? Its more trying to avoid the fact that I’m not where I want to be and I continue to search for someone to get me there. Though, tragically, I understand that everything revolves with me making the decision to move onwards. Strange, I thought with this journal things would change. Looks like the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Political/Social Theory

2005-11-15T16:07:00.000-05:00

Quite a few things occurred today.

1. BN and I had a conversation concerning politics

2. Brother received his failing grades

1. So Bn and I had one of our classic conversations today, though instead of dabbling in the usual subject of philosophy we mixed it up and went straight into politics - social matters to be specific. I have no problem talking about philosophy, though I really did not want to get into a drawn out debate about social policy and thought. They always say that the easiest way to lose a friend is through a discussion of politics and religio, both of which we hit upon, and given the fact that my friends are quite limited I did not want to enter that conversation at all - though he pressed adamantly.

To start off he asked me, "What my problem with gays were?"

After merely stating that I didn’t like them, he continued to press on and went into the usual...

"Well, when I find someone doesn’t like homosexuals, its usually something inside of them, they personally have a problem with it. So are you a homophobe or what?"

Needless to say I was extremely displeased with this comment. I had always thought Bn to be a step above me intellectually, or at least on a day-to-day level. He has a duel major, while mine is merely a single major, plus the fact that of all the higher math classes we have taken he has greatly excelled in. I certainly do not want to paint the picture that he is far superior to me, rather I would say on a day-in-day out schedule he has the discipline/academic strive to out perform me. Though this conversation was clearly not illustrating that. The entire idea of reducing something of this complex nature to that of a, "are you homophobe?" was so ridiculous that I believe even he was taken back by it and I could see him, casually, falling back and trying to throw out that word.

He continued to spout of a few comments, comments that I felt were completely below his intellect though I restrained on the basis that I did not want to get into a drawn out debate on social politics seeing as how I can become rather fanatical.

I did not want to get drawn into a debate on social politics!

I knew I could destroy every argument he threw out, but in doing so I would open up my entire political/religious viewpoint that would allow him to see exactly where I stand on every issue. We've always seemed to make it a point to never get involved in politics, though this time it changed. I merely spent the conversation throwing out small arguments that would combat his and didn’t completely give away my political view. I felt my small “outer recesses of my political view arguments” were enough to at least combat his every argument, if not defeat them, however, we ran out of time as we both had to head to class.

How unfortunate…

2. My brother received his school grades. Yes, I do have a brother, even though I spend most of my time acting as if I don’t. The old man threw out a sheet displaying his Algebra II grade to me today and asked me to define it for him. The grade was a 78 or so which, needless to say, had the old man a little concerned over it. Knowing my brother is sometimes unruly and lacks discipline, and having some small sympathy for the teacher, I tried to present a non-bias statement towards the report card saying that the 78 could be justified, or it could not be - I needed more information. After talking with someone else it occurred to me that the teacher was a complete nut job and it was in fact my brother who deserved a higher grade. After realizing I came down on the wrong side it had me thinking about life. Somehow the entire idea of a kid being thrown out by a monstrous machine created by society seems so sad to me. Maybe it’s the idea that justice is never fulfilled, or that whole "human-condition" paradox that never seems to be resolved. In either case, I'm sure I’m not the only one shedding a tear tonight.

BN.

2005-11-15T16:04:00.000-05:00

BN. In "I am Charlotte Simmons" there is such a concept of a "Badass Intellectual". The concept alludes to those intellectuals who are cowboys, rebels, outcasts that merely pave their own way through life - taking whatever they can get without following a path.

Enter Bn.

Bn is about as "Intellectually Badass" as you can get without hitting the big time. What does that mean? Bn is the type of person that enters your world in the midst of your strange delusional fantasies only to have you take a huge step back into reality. He reminds me of a classic non-cookie cutter mold which stands out in the midst of all those who walk through life in the mold, or image, of something they hide behind. Its for this very reason of being a "cookie-cutter mold" that Bn hates the idea of being classified as anything, and as a result the only classification you could give to him is "Badass Intellectual." The man is unreal; his mental abilities are about the highest I’ve seen - though he isn't a genius by nature. He has a calm resolve about him that allows him to step back and analyze situations. Interestingly enough, he also has the day-to-day academic discipline that enables him to surpass me academically - far surpass.

I was never one to communicate my feelings well, at least not through a direct conversation or action, though I would like to leave this entry at:

I've certainly have not had many friends through my life, and as a result my friendship towards Bn really means a lot. I won't forget it.

Xavier And Tony

2005-11-08T17:26:00.000-05:00

The story of Xavier and Tony, a work by “Zero – ClouD”

The story of Xavier and Tony is the story of wanting to live above the limitations of the human race and its infallible human emotion. It opens with Xavier, a disgruntled American youth living at a college university that has become nothing more than a meaningless existence of pure moral decadence.

Side note: I developed this story long before reading Charlotte Simmons :)

To Xavier it is an existence not worth living, an existence that carries forth no absolute meaning or higher achievement.

Xavier is a product of the twenty first century in that he holds no definite positions of right and wrong, but merely is a being that goes through life in a daze of moral relativism - rejecting, or accepting, whatever he feels makes sense to him at the time. It’s through this complete lack of moral absolutes that drive Xavier to the one absolute in his life, mathematics. Through his constant search of religion, philosophy, and science, Xavier turns to mathematics as the one guiding principle of absolutism in his life. Though, again, being associated with the twenty first century Xavier has no complete lack of resolve towards anything - mathematics is merely a "nice idea" that fascinates him through his time spent at college but provides no true beacon of reasoning towards his life.

Through this complete lack of definite right and wrongs, Xavier begins a search for truth that will ultimately develop into the story at hand. Being a logical being, Xavier tries to look towards the confines of society as merely a machine that continues to churn. Through this churning machine there are working parts, and non-working parts, which begin to spurn the idea of eliminating the non-working parts so that the working parts function better off. I.e. if you remove the prostitutes, drug dealers, rap artists, and criminals society will in turn develop into a better working machine. Logically, through complete mathematical reasoning, Xavier concludes that human life has no inherit value other than the value we place upon it. Those "non-working parts", i.e. the parts that degrade society, should be eliminated without any remorse.

Enter Tony. Tony is a disgruntled youth at the university as well, though much more so than Xavier. Tony has been following the same logical reasoning that Xavier has, and has come to the conclusion that society should cleanse itself of those "non-working" parts in order to benefit society as a whole.

The plot of the story unfolds as these two meet and begin to discuss the concept of acting out their beliefs. To Xavier this is merely a thought experiment, an idea that holds no absolute moral relevance, but merely a nice experiment he'll try for the mere reason of having something to occupy his time. Tony, on the other hand, is a man who lives by his reasoning - a man who has become completely separated from any type of human emotion. Once these two meet and begin to carry for their idea of "cleansing the non-working parts of society" the exhilarating plot of the story takes place....

I'd like to draw the distinction between Tony and Xavier. Tony being the man who lives solely by logical reasoning will have no difficulty in removing the less than desired elements of society out, i.e. drug dealers, prostitutes, criminals... Xavier on the other hand represents the lost youth of America which perceive themselves to be logical beings without moral absolutes, but do carry with them morals and absolutes that they themselves do not even know that exist which in turn creates the atmosphere of being lost - not being in accordance with what you know to be the absolute moral authority.

The story will unfold with Xavier taking the small logical steps towards Tony's philosophy, but as the philosophy develops out further and further, Xavier finds himself at fault with a perfectly logical system - thus he turns towards morality, human infallibility, and as a result finds the morality he was searching for.

I love it. If only I can find the discipline to write it all out.

I have the key scenes in place that will act as the turning point in the story and will in turn lead Xavier to turn away from Tony and his idea of living through pure reasoning.

[Spoiler]...Ha

The scene: Tony and Xavier will begin killing known drug dealers, gang-members, and the like. They will also justify this through a "no-human-emotion policy" as well as through pure logical mathematics, which will be developed within the book. Tony will ultimately "cross the line" when he confesses to Xavier he has been killing prostitutes. Xavier will find extreme fault with this, but will reluctantly abstain from leaving the philosophy as he is merely a being that holds no complete absolutes and in turn will reluctantly continue onwards with his experiment to see it to the conclusion.

Side Note: The great idea behind this is the gray area that ultimately destroys the philosophy, as Xavier will find out - you can justify starting it, though you cannot justify ending it. You can merely add more categories of "non-working parts" to the list, until the list perpetuates itself into a monster that cannot be contained and begins to consume all that it touches.

Tony will not only confess that he has been killing prostitutes, but also that he has been having sex with them before he has killed them. This will in turn begin to divide the line from Tony being a man, to Tony being a monster. This is the pivotal moment that drives Tony to become the enemy as Xavier, not even through logical proofs and reasoning that has been presented to him, can allow himself to accept the fact that Tony has been acting "as a God."

Anyways, that’s the gist of the story. Though, I have concocted a pretty sweet ending that will lead the story straight back to the beginning – symbolic of Xavier and his “American youth lost in the wilderness” type of mentality.

Charlotte Simmons

2005-11-06T12:53:00.000-05:00

I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe.

Interesting book, I'd recommend it as an interesting read, though not a great read. I'm about seven chapters into it and am only discovering what I already know - namely higher education is nothing more than a joke, a mere excuse to party.

The book does have some excellent points, namely chapter six. Charlotte finds her roommate waking her up at 2:00 in the morning, asking her to leave so her and her boyfriend can have sex in the dorm room. Charlotte, after being horrified at the request, leaves and wonders through dorm aimlessly looking for somewhere to sleep. This point becomes the proverbial "straw that breaks the camels back", and Charlotte finds herself deeply disturbed over the fact that higher education is merely a front for complete decadence.

As a result of this disturbing line of thought, she decides to call a friend from her past, Laurie, who is a sophomore at another university. Being a year ahead of Charlotte, and thus having more experience and expertise, Charlotte believes Laurie will have the guiding words of encouragement to guide her through this troubling time.

Short side note on Laurie: Charlotte recalls Laurie baptizing people in the ice cold river water of Allegheny County, NC - alluding to her incredible spiritual foundation.

So what happens? Needless to say I love this part, though I don't particularly love the entire book:

Laurie answers the phone with obscene rap music blaring in the background. Immediately, within a few lines, Charlotte gets down to business and begins commenting on how life at Dupont, her university, is nothing but a lavish affair of moral decadence.

Laurie, who you would think would be the spiritual foundation in Charlotte's life, begins to slowly degrade the conversation to, "Having sex really isn't that bad, it’s not that serious." Then completely breaks loose and comments on how life back in Allegheny County was merely a prison for the sole fact that life included relationship obligations - if you had sex, you paid the consequences of sex via the entire town knowing what you've done and where you've been. Laurie, being a complete idiot, does bring one well-stated point into the conversation when she states something to the effect of,

"...College is like this four-year period you have when you can try anything - and everything - and if it goes wrong, there's no consequences? You know what I mean? Nobody's keeping score? You can do things that if you tried them before you got to college, your family would be crying and pulling their hair out and giving you these now see-what-you've-gone-and-done-looks? - and everybody in Sparta would be clucking and fuming and having a ball talking behind your back about it?..."

All this coming from the girl who participated in baptisms in the stream of the local river. Though it is a good point, and it alludes to the narcissistic self that removes all social ties in order to live completely free, or as free as one can live, within the world they create for themselves.

The key point I like in this chapter is the concept of Charlotte losing all of her faith and desperately reaching out to try and find someone who can reaffirm what she believes. She frantically reaches out in a last-ditch-effort only to hear blaring rap music on the other end of the phone from an "illiterate rap artist."

Personally, I think I like the chapter so much because of the relation to myself. Maybe we've all been there, but I know for one I have. Trying desperately to find something genuine in the world only to realize that everyone has succumbed to the MTV lifestyle of pure pointless moral degradation.

Logic

2005-11-05T20:48:00.000-05:00

Is logic nothing more than a mere line of thought that has yet to be defeated by another line of thought?

Is anything really logical, or rather is there really a set standard of logic that cannot be broken?

I was thinking about this a few days back during Theory of Equations. The professor said something to the effect of a logical statement, and it had me thinking. Isn't everything in this world merely grounded within human perception? There are really two types of reality, that external of the human race, and that involving the human race. The problem is that the entire "school of logic" that humanity subscribes to is merely human perception, so in reality humanity can perceive the world to be whatever they wish it to be. So, that being said, here comes logic. When someone says something is logical, isn’t that really stating...

"This is merely a line of thinking that has yet to be beaten, or surpassed, by a superior line of thinking, thus we believe this to be infallible, or logical."

So maybe the definition should be changed to:

Logic – That which is attributed to a certain idea or thought, that has yet to be beaten by a superior line of thought.

Because think about it. When someone states, “It sounded good at the time” aren’t they really stating: “As far as I could tell at the time it seemed very logical, as no superior idea had beaten it, though now looking back – and in light of this new line of thinking – I realize my idea of thought wasn’t the best.”

Isn’t that why people are insane? Aren’t they merely refusing the accept a superior line of thought that defeats their own?

Just a thought.

MM/. 2

2005-11-04T16:00:00.000-05:00

Talking with MM again today, usually every Friday we go into an hour or so discussion. She wasn't all-seductive, as she usually is, which worried me some. Last time we talked she said something to the effect of, "you're pretty self conscious", which in turn is a negative attribute, considering how those type of girls work. It doesn’t bother me though, I just hope its not one of those scenarios in which the decision is made arbitrarily for you. Instead of saying, "Let's @!#@" (as she would) it reduces her argument to "I don’t have time for that bullshit, I'll find someone serious."

I began to expand that onward and I hope that that simple concept doesn’t encompass my life. I hope that others haven’t simple labeled me according to what I’ve done and in turn thrown me into some arbitrary pile of, "that guy isn't serious." The more I think about it, the more I think that’s how things have turned out.

Pointless Stories

2005-11-04T15:57:00.000-05:00

..."It tells it with the urgency and pointlessness that all men's stories have, because if something has happened to us, then it is important to us no matter how indifferent the world may be."

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20051103/REVIEWS/51019007

As I was proctoring a test for business statistics, I began surfing the Internet and came across that quote. I must have ran it through my mind a dozen times or so as I stared out towards the faces of the twenty or thirty students in the class. I kept thinking:

"That’s how it is, isn’t it? Everyone has a story to tell, millions of us spouting out useless stories that no one will read. We are all just running through life shrieking our heads off, dying to tell someone, anyone, of our stories only to find that in the midst of our own shrieking there are thousands more beside us doing the same - drowning out our voices."

At that point I wanted to stand up and ask the class what they were doing, why they were taking the test. What drove them to this statistic course and what inside of them made them think that taking this statistic test would make them a better person? But that’s just my ideas and me.

MM/. 1

2005-11-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

Conversation with MM that I had a few days back, went something like this:

[First she goes on and on about how many guys she had slept with]

MM: I'm not real religious.

Me: That’s quite unfortunate.

MM: Why is that?

Me: Well, if there is no God then nothing really matters right? No one is watching…

Immediately she cut me off and stated in her seductive/innocent/logical tone that still boggles my mind:

MM: But you're watching...

Check and mate. I thought it was such a good comeback that I did not dare go into a philosophical discussion and try to undermine it. It completely caught me off guard to the point where I didn’t even know what to say after that. Just an interesting point.

MM.

2005-11-01T15:17:00.000-05:00

In stepping into the midst of a brave new chapter within my life, it only seemed fitting that a journal should be created as catalyst to see me through this.

So as this new chapter unfolds I find many new things in particular occurring: graduation, lack of faith, as well as a very interesting girl named MM. I've always made it a point to never use full names within my online journal entries. MM. The type of girl that shows up in the midst of your midlife crisis only to have you question what you've known that much further. The type of girl that all known logic would advise against, the type that sane man looking towards the future would adamantly avoid - though unfortunately those words don't seem to apply to me.

So who is she? She is the type of girl you don’t take home to mother. Remember all those interesting concepts that mother used to say concerning "dirty girls", or even all of those qualities that would illicit an "immoral woman?" MM fits the bill perfectly. She is the buoyant type that you see yourself making a tragic mistake with, the type that you just cant seem to shake once they enter your mind - and she is rather interested in me. I should qualify, as interested as a type of girl like that gets - the weekly feed, the hunger that she has to quench.

So enter the dilemma. As I’ve stated before a man looking towards the future would certainly stay away from her - though I stopped believing in the future a long time ago. And her allure is quite intriguing, though I would not classify it as sexually tempting. I constantly find myself looking towards her and asking myself the question, "She goes against all that I’ve known, and yet there she is?" I find it similar to the peer who first offers you the cigarette only to have you finding it so vile, so revolting, that you absolutely must have it. It’s not quite the same way, though it does compare in that:

“When a man’s mind is left to it’s own devices, it finds itself at the doors of destruction.”

So here I am, allowing my mind to wonder towards all that I’ve been taught to stay away, but in the end isn’t that how it always ends? The fall of man, Pandora’s box, the tragic mistake that everyone makes that ultimately leads to their own apocalypse...

...but as for right now, I'm just living in the prelude.

The First

2005-11-01T14:23:00.000-05:00

In creating a new journal, I find myself asking the question as to what to place in it?