Ok. Tomorrow's Tuesday. Larkin will be back the day after tomorrow. At 8 PM. Maybe, if I take twenty sleeping pills, I can just sleep until then. No, wait, I'll die.
So Sterling's mom is being a Nazi about the relationship between him and Kathy, much to my disproval. Kathy is awesome. And Sterling and her go together so well, I can't even believe it. For his mom to seperate them is such an atrocity unto everything I believe in! It's love! Something so unique, that they actually go together well, is too rare to be destroyed by some overstressed, conservative religious fanatic parent. I mean, I don't blame her for being irritable, what with all the kids, but she has no right interfering with the forces of awesomosity. Damnit! If I could drive, I'd hook those two up faster than a... fuck, I'm out of good analogies. my last one was-
JohnH778: man, your life is like yogurt on fire
JohnH778: it could be good
JohnH778: if it weren't on fire
Anyway, Sterling and I are in a deprived situation. I'm dying due to a lack of things to do, and he's dying due to a tyrannical, menopause-stricken superbitch.
But, selfish of me to act so depressed. It's not that bad. She'll be back the day after tomorrow, and besides- I heard from her today on AIM, and she seems to be having a great time. All those colleges begging at her feet... Larkin's amazing. She's like, the supreme queen of the academic universe or something. I swear I had this fantasy in fifth grade that I'd be dating the smartest girl in school.
Maybe there is a god?
No, it must be Joe Pesci.
Monday, June 30, 2003
True
(SIC)NaRuTo: shit sorry dark angel, im a dumbass
Dark Angel: don't worry about it, I don't take any of it to heart
Dark Angel: the internet is about as personal as buying condoms in a convenient store
Dark Angel: don't worry about it, I don't take any of it to heart
Dark Angel: the internet is about as personal as buying condoms in a convenient store
Sunday, June 29, 2003
Psychadelic Indeed
Time to do one of those things like Todd did. And I will start out with the word-
Pancake; oven; cooking; Iron Chef; Chairman Kaga; fake kimonos; anime conventions; Canada; maple leaves; maple syrup; waffles; IHOP; tacky Hawaiian shirts; Tyler Lamb; fat people; Americans; pigs; mud; forests; hiking; wilderness; tranquility; an AK-47; Russians; silly furry hats; Chicago; blizzards; my dad getting pissed at the cars for not working; ice; ice skating; falling; broken bones; x-rays; radiation; cancer; sodium benzoate; Dr.Pepper; caffeine; 2 AM; sandwiches; chicken; KFC; Colonel Sanders; old guys; the government; Nazis; Klein High; waking up; breakfast; pancakes
Pancake; oven; cooking; Iron Chef; Chairman Kaga; fake kimonos; anime conventions; Canada; maple leaves; maple syrup; waffles; IHOP; tacky Hawaiian shirts; Tyler Lamb; fat people; Americans; pigs; mud; forests; hiking; wilderness; tranquility; an AK-47; Russians; silly furry hats; Chicago; blizzards; my dad getting pissed at the cars for not working; ice; ice skating; falling; broken bones; x-rays; radiation; cancer; sodium benzoate; Dr.Pepper; caffeine; 2 AM; sandwiches; chicken; KFC; Colonel Sanders; old guys; the government; Nazis; Klein High; waking up; breakfast; pancakes
Bored as Fuck
Fuck. Why big post error? Here's the story again- thanks to Julia for telling me how to indent.
Mr.Fujiyaki didn’t always reside in central Texas. His ever-present Japanese (research regional dialects in Japan) accent revealed that to most that knew him; but few people really knew the old man anyway. Even his martial arts students only had a formal relationship with him. His lack of friends and the fact that he was an ethnic minority earned him the status of being tied with Jim as the most mysterious person in town. Even the church didn’t bother him; the community had long given up conversion, as Mr.Fujiyaki, unlike Jim, simply took a silent and stoic attitude towards their evangelism. Being a very mellow person at heart, and already a Buddhist anyway, he preferred to remain within peaceful relations with his American neighbors.
The only group of humans anywhere in the world that knew much about the old martial arts instructor lived across an ocean that only 60 percent of Centerville’s residents could spell the name of. The Pacific. The Fujiyaki family revolved around the martial arts. The sons and daughters of the family were trained to become world-renowned fighters, and eventually took their parents’ place as great teachers at the Fujiyaki School of Martial Arts in Japan. Being of better staff and funding than the old man’s shopping center gymnasium, the Fujiyakis’ school taught both Shotokan karate-do and kendo, the way of the sword. It was a highly respected dojo, and quite famous overseas, a fact the family took pleasure in taunting old Mr.Fujiyaki with.
The reason Mr.Fujiyaki, a son of the family destined to become a great master, was not now a teacher at this school was mostly due to his own decision to refuse such a position.
Mr.Fujiyaki was the youngest of three sons, and due to complications, his mother died while giving birth to him. When he was fifteen, his father also passed away due to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, a rare affliction of the brain and the human equivalent of mad cow disease. The family’s school had not been quite as prosperous at the time, but Mr.Fujiyaki’s brothers, the rightful new owners of the family’s dojo, saw to that. They filed a lawsuit with the beef processing company that sold their father the contaminated beef he contracted Creutzfeldt-Jakob from, and won several million dollars.
That was in 1958. Over the course of twenty years, Mr.Fujiyaki’s two brothers used their small fortune to rebuild the rundown dojo, hire some of Japan’s greatest teachers, and make the school among the most prestigious martial arts schools in all of Asia.
During this time, Mr.Fujiyaki himself didn’t concern himself with running the family’s dojo. He preferred to simply be a pupil of the school, and while his brothers were shaking hands with Emperor Akihito, he was wringing the blood from his own hands, callusing from his endless training in both specialties of the dojo, karate and kendo. He didn’t care for fame- only self-mastery and tranquility.
During all this time, the two Fujiyaki brothers lost more and more faith in the philosophies of their own art and Buddhist religion, and began to grow greedy and power-hungry. By the 1980s, they’d turned into money-grubbing powermongers that sought only to profit from the dojo’s students. They moved into a huge, Western-style house and began, as any American would want to, living large. They’d grown fat and lazy, not willing to take care of the usual duties of the dojo’s upkeep, and hired more workers to carry out their every task. They had servants in their house and chauffeurs to drive them around in their expensive European cars. Their lifestyle was any pig’s dream.
But when Mr.Fujiyaki protested all this extravagance, pointed out the hundred pounds each the two men had gained, they were infuriated. They argued that the students of the dojo were nothing more than walking bags of money, that the fruits of their labor should be feasted upon as much as possible. After much verbal and physical violence (in which the two brothers lost a lot of fights, due to Mr.Fujiyaki’s superior athletic ability at the time), the two obese corporate whores the brothers had slowly transformed into exiled Mr.Fujiyaki from the dojo and from the family. Mr.Fujiyaki swore his revenge on the family, and vowed to start a dojo of his own to teach the true way of the martial artist, which was, in his mind, to be as self-sufficient as possible. To depend on material possessions was foolish, he thought. A true warrior should depend only on himself.
Unfortunately, Mr.Fujiyaki’s funding wasn’t in spectacular condition. His brothers had strangled him of any real money whatsoever before he left the family, and he was forced to work washing dishes in a sushi bar for four years, living in a small apartment in Yokohama. Once he’d saved up about 20,000 dollars, he moved to America, and found the perfect location for his new karate dojo. Cheap real estate, cheap housing, a nice warm climate, and a great place to buy fresh produce were all he needed. He leased a small part of a shopping center, and with his remaining money, remodeled the building with its own gymnasium, and bought a tiny two-room, one story wooden cabin to live in.
To get his dojo going, he was forced to work part-time as a cashier in a convenient store, but once the small goofy Texan crowd caught interest in that “new Chinese place next to Gunny’s Shack”, Mr.Fujiyaki gained several young students in 1991, and made enough money from their membership dues to the dojo to make a living. It wasn’t much, but after all, he was used to depending on himself, and had a fondness for growing his own food in the garden behind his cabin anyway.
Jim was his first, and youngest student. He was eight at the time, and though he didn’t believe in Mr.Fujiyaki’s philosophy of a “true warrior”, he showed a remarkable love and talent for fighting. Not only that, he always brought nice wildflowers in to spruce up the small shopping center’s karate school. He grew to respect Mr.Fujiyaki as a mentor, or, at least his teacher. Mr.Fujiyaki also respected Jim, as he was the only student that didn’t poke fun at the old man behind his back after lessons. It comforted Mr.Fujiyaki to know that he had at least one friend in the world he could turn to, because no matter how much he meditated, no matter how he tried to clear his mind of troublesome thoughts, the memories of his family and his exile always plagued him. He could never be rid of the visions of his father, slowly growing weak and then dying, his brothers gradually withdrawing their faith from compassion, and depositing it in money, power, and the lust for both.
Mr.Fujiyaki lived a relatively successful, but tormented life. He also knew he would hear from his family again- simply because he was familiar with how his two brothers had before loved to taunt him with their concept of their power and wealth. At the very least, they’d send someone to Texas to ridicule Mr.Fujiyaki and his tiny dojo.
Mr.Fujiyaki didn’t always reside in central Texas. His ever-present Japanese (research regional dialects in Japan) accent revealed that to most that knew him; but few people really knew the old man anyway. Even his martial arts students only had a formal relationship with him. His lack of friends and the fact that he was an ethnic minority earned him the status of being tied with Jim as the most mysterious person in town. Even the church didn’t bother him; the community had long given up conversion, as Mr.Fujiyaki, unlike Jim, simply took a silent and stoic attitude towards their evangelism. Being a very mellow person at heart, and already a Buddhist anyway, he preferred to remain within peaceful relations with his American neighbors.
The only group of humans anywhere in the world that knew much about the old martial arts instructor lived across an ocean that only 60 percent of Centerville’s residents could spell the name of. The Pacific. The Fujiyaki family revolved around the martial arts. The sons and daughters of the family were trained to become world-renowned fighters, and eventually took their parents’ place as great teachers at the Fujiyaki School of Martial Arts in Japan. Being of better staff and funding than the old man’s shopping center gymnasium, the Fujiyakis’ school taught both Shotokan karate-do and kendo, the way of the sword. It was a highly respected dojo, and quite famous overseas, a fact the family took pleasure in taunting old Mr.Fujiyaki with.
The reason Mr.Fujiyaki, a son of the family destined to become a great master, was not now a teacher at this school was mostly due to his own decision to refuse such a position.
Mr.Fujiyaki was the youngest of three sons, and due to complications, his mother died while giving birth to him. When he was fifteen, his father also passed away due to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, a rare affliction of the brain and the human equivalent of mad cow disease. The family’s school had not been quite as prosperous at the time, but Mr.Fujiyaki’s brothers, the rightful new owners of the family’s dojo, saw to that. They filed a lawsuit with the beef processing company that sold their father the contaminated beef he contracted Creutzfeldt-Jakob from, and won several million dollars.
That was in 1958. Over the course of twenty years, Mr.Fujiyaki’s two brothers used their small fortune to rebuild the rundown dojo, hire some of Japan’s greatest teachers, and make the school among the most prestigious martial arts schools in all of Asia.
During this time, Mr.Fujiyaki himself didn’t concern himself with running the family’s dojo. He preferred to simply be a pupil of the school, and while his brothers were shaking hands with Emperor Akihito, he was wringing the blood from his own hands, callusing from his endless training in both specialties of the dojo, karate and kendo. He didn’t care for fame- only self-mastery and tranquility.
During all this time, the two Fujiyaki brothers lost more and more faith in the philosophies of their own art and Buddhist religion, and began to grow greedy and power-hungry. By the 1980s, they’d turned into money-grubbing powermongers that sought only to profit from the dojo’s students. They moved into a huge, Western-style house and began, as any American would want to, living large. They’d grown fat and lazy, not willing to take care of the usual duties of the dojo’s upkeep, and hired more workers to carry out their every task. They had servants in their house and chauffeurs to drive them around in their expensive European cars. Their lifestyle was any pig’s dream.
But when Mr.Fujiyaki protested all this extravagance, pointed out the hundred pounds each the two men had gained, they were infuriated. They argued that the students of the dojo were nothing more than walking bags of money, that the fruits of their labor should be feasted upon as much as possible. After much verbal and physical violence (in which the two brothers lost a lot of fights, due to Mr.Fujiyaki’s superior athletic ability at the time), the two obese corporate whores the brothers had slowly transformed into exiled Mr.Fujiyaki from the dojo and from the family. Mr.Fujiyaki swore his revenge on the family, and vowed to start a dojo of his own to teach the true way of the martial artist, which was, in his mind, to be as self-sufficient as possible. To depend on material possessions was foolish, he thought. A true warrior should depend only on himself.
Unfortunately, Mr.Fujiyaki’s funding wasn’t in spectacular condition. His brothers had strangled him of any real money whatsoever before he left the family, and he was forced to work washing dishes in a sushi bar for four years, living in a small apartment in Yokohama. Once he’d saved up about 20,000 dollars, he moved to America, and found the perfect location for his new karate dojo. Cheap real estate, cheap housing, a nice warm climate, and a great place to buy fresh produce were all he needed. He leased a small part of a shopping center, and with his remaining money, remodeled the building with its own gymnasium, and bought a tiny two-room, one story wooden cabin to live in.
To get his dojo going, he was forced to work part-time as a cashier in a convenient store, but once the small goofy Texan crowd caught interest in that “new Chinese place next to Gunny’s Shack”, Mr.Fujiyaki gained several young students in 1991, and made enough money from their membership dues to the dojo to make a living. It wasn’t much, but after all, he was used to depending on himself, and had a fondness for growing his own food in the garden behind his cabin anyway.
Jim was his first, and youngest student. He was eight at the time, and though he didn’t believe in Mr.Fujiyaki’s philosophy of a “true warrior”, he showed a remarkable love and talent for fighting. Not only that, he always brought nice wildflowers in to spruce up the small shopping center’s karate school. He grew to respect Mr.Fujiyaki as a mentor, or, at least his teacher. Mr.Fujiyaki also respected Jim, as he was the only student that didn’t poke fun at the old man behind his back after lessons. It comforted Mr.Fujiyaki to know that he had at least one friend in the world he could turn to, because no matter how much he meditated, no matter how he tried to clear his mind of troublesome thoughts, the memories of his family and his exile always plagued him. He could never be rid of the visions of his father, slowly growing weak and then dying, his brothers gradually withdrawing their faith from compassion, and depositing it in money, power, and the lust for both.
Mr.Fujiyaki lived a relatively successful, but tormented life. He also knew he would hear from his family again- simply because he was familiar with how his two brothers had before loved to taunt him with their concept of their power and wealth. At the very least, they’d send someone to Texas to ridicule Mr.Fujiyaki and his tiny dojo.
Larkin is gone. Gone until Thursday or so. Therefore, I am bored as all unholy hell. I mean, moreso than usual. I don't have anything to look forward to in the evenings. I'm just sort of sitting around, or riding my bike around, or playing too much CS. I hate CS. It's the worst game in the world. But it's the only thing to do.
I'm also working on my novel-in-progress. Oh, I hope it's not turning into shit. The first chapter was cool, what with the fight scene, but this is really the first thing like this I've ever done, so all this background information for my characters may or may not be pure crap. I've gotta get someone who knows what they're doing to review it. Like, not Todd. Because Todd says everything is crap. Except for lying around in the sun at the pool. That's fun.
Oh yeah. I did go to the pool with Rob and Todd the other day. It was allright, I guess. I think I prefer sitting around his dark house, wearing his trenchcoat and drinking his sodas, but it's nice to get outside every once in awhile. As long as I just sit in the sun.
I hate pool games. Pool games suck.
But I'm really liking this new thing Blogger's done with their publishing utilities. It's all better-looking and stuff, and the italics button isn't buggy, and I'm not getting pissed because publishing takes forever. Good job.
I'm also working on my novel-in-progress. Oh, I hope it's not turning into shit. The first chapter was cool, what with the fight scene, but this is really the first thing like this I've ever done, so all this background information for my characters may or may not be pure crap. I've gotta get someone who knows what they're doing to review it. Like, not Todd. Because Todd says everything is crap. Except for lying around in the sun at the pool. That's fun.
Oh yeah. I did go to the pool with Rob and Todd the other day. It was allright, I guess. I think I prefer sitting around his dark house, wearing his trenchcoat and drinking his sodas, but it's nice to get outside every once in awhile. As long as I just sit in the sun.
I hate pool games. Pool games suck.
But I'm really liking this new thing Blogger's done with their publishing utilities. It's all better-looking and stuff, and the italics button isn't buggy, and I'm not getting pissed because publishing takes forever. Good job.
Tuesday, June 24, 2003
Well, it's my favorite time of day again. 2 AM.
Just three hours ago I was with Larkin. What fun we have! Even in the sauna-like humidity of a Houstonian evening, we enjoy walking around the park and getting kicked out of Starbucks. Sigh. Why must she leave at midnight? It's the only thing that keeps us from practically living together.
So, yeah. That was fun. I just wrote two or three more pages to add to my Jim, the Karate Florist story. What fun it is to have my very own little character(s) and plot to fool around with! I do believe this is coming along quite nicely. I'm in the midst of describing Mr.Fujiyaki, the karate instructor's past, and I've got this whole struggle deal going on. It then leads into Jim's beginnings as a student of the old guy, and so on. It's gonna be all cool. I've got it figured out now- there will be the old guy's daughter- then she'll come to Texas to visit- then Jim will fall in love with her- but then EVIL EVIL Fujiyaki family overseas will be all EVIL and take her away! And Jim will have to be all heroic and shit and save her. Whee!
Just three hours ago I was with Larkin. What fun we have! Even in the sauna-like humidity of a Houstonian evening, we enjoy walking around the park and getting kicked out of Starbucks. Sigh. Why must she leave at midnight? It's the only thing that keeps us from practically living together.
So, yeah. That was fun. I just wrote two or three more pages to add to my Jim, the Karate Florist story. What fun it is to have my very own little character(s) and plot to fool around with! I do believe this is coming along quite nicely. I'm in the midst of describing Mr.Fujiyaki, the karate instructor's past, and I've got this whole struggle deal going on. It then leads into Jim's beginnings as a student of the old guy, and so on. It's gonna be all cool. I've got it figured out now- there will be the old guy's daughter- then she'll come to Texas to visit- then Jim will fall in love with her- but then EVIL EVIL Fujiyaki family overseas will be all EVIL and take her away! And Jim will have to be all heroic and shit and save her. Whee!
Sunday, June 22, 2003
Well. *claps dust off hands* What fun. I've just put two new experiments in the fridge- my own jar of pickled ginger root, and a jar of candied ginger root. I do hope they turn out allright. I really need to get some sake and rice wine vinegar. Some mirin couldn't hurt either.
And so, yes. I'm still on a high of culinary interest from the stuff I did today with Larkin. I had her over for the day, and, once we had shopped for some ingredients not usually found at my house, such as ginger and one orange, we commensed the brewing of a miso soup so good, it rivaled that of the Iron Chefs. A kickass day. I'd say it's one of the more memorable days of my life. I say that a lot. I probably won't be able to remember them, due to the sheer quantity of them. I'm very, very happy. Larkin and I feel so close to each other that it seems like, as she put it, a "beautiful mistake" that we met.
Glee! I'm going to go see if there's any more weird stuff I can do with ginger.
And so, yes. I'm still on a high of culinary interest from the stuff I did today with Larkin. I had her over for the day, and, once we had shopped for some ingredients not usually found at my house, such as ginger and one orange, we commensed the brewing of a miso soup so good, it rivaled that of the Iron Chefs. A kickass day. I'd say it's one of the more memorable days of my life. I say that a lot. I probably won't be able to remember them, due to the sheer quantity of them. I'm very, very happy. Larkin and I feel so close to each other that it seems like, as she put it, a "beautiful mistake" that we met.
Glee! I'm going to go see if there's any more weird stuff I can do with ginger.
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Friday, June 20, 2003
Hey, I'm bored! Supposedly, some Klein administrator whore complained to the people that run HLA, and all the students are being forced to stay there until seven now. Which means Larkin must endure the full twelve hours of the day. Tis a sad, sad story.
Yesterday, however, we had a good bit of fun once she got home- her, her mother, along with Ari, Liz and I went to this modern dance alteration of Alice in Wonderland. I don't really get to attend many performances or artsy things these days, so I'm eternally grateful of Larkin and her family for exposing me to such things. After much wonder over whether or not the show would suck, I really did love it. It was so different, and intriguing, and the music, the music was fabulous. I have such appreciation for all that a cappella choral music, and there was quite a lot of that sort of thing in there. It kicked ass.'
Ari and Liz are so cute together. Nice people. I also love Larkin's mom. She's hilarious!
I will be continuing to write my story about good ol' Jim the florist. I need a little time to plan out my plot- it may turn into a big novel depending on how far I take it. I'm having fun with it. I must do this sort of thing more often... I'm getting good reviews. Right now, I'm thinking there will be a chick. Yeah, a chick, and Jim and her will like, hook up and stuff. And then there will be evil guys. Either the Pope or an evil rival flower shop or karate dojo. And they'll kidnap the chick. And he'll have to go and be all like wraaarr and kick a bunch of people to save her. Yeah. It's gonna be neat.
Yesterday, however, we had a good bit of fun once she got home- her, her mother, along with Ari, Liz and I went to this modern dance alteration of Alice in Wonderland. I don't really get to attend many performances or artsy things these days, so I'm eternally grateful of Larkin and her family for exposing me to such things. After much wonder over whether or not the show would suck, I really did love it. It was so different, and intriguing, and the music, the music was fabulous. I have such appreciation for all that a cappella choral music, and there was quite a lot of that sort of thing in there. It kicked ass.'
Ari and Liz are so cute together. Nice people. I also love Larkin's mom. She's hilarious!
I will be continuing to write my story about good ol' Jim the florist. I need a little time to plan out my plot- it may turn into a big novel depending on how far I take it. I'm having fun with it. I must do this sort of thing more often... I'm getting good reviews. Right now, I'm thinking there will be a chick. Yeah, a chick, and Jim and her will like, hook up and stuff. And then there will be evil guys. Either the Pope or an evil rival flower shop or karate dojo. And they'll kidnap the chick. And he'll have to go and be all like wraaarr and kick a bunch of people to save her. Yeah. It's gonna be neat.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
I know jack shit about politics. I don't really read enough newspapers to keep up with each specific event in America, or anywhere else in the world. I know that there was this whole 9-11 thing, and then there was this war on terrorism deal, and that our president sucks. Don't ask me for details, because I won't be too keen on it. But this is what I observe from looking at what I know.
Democracy is largely a big hoax. It's like Christianity, except we're made to think we have more freedom than that. Has anyone ever wondered why we're made to think we can vote for our own leader and have that vote actually make a difference, when in reality, some electoral college in Maryland or someplace made up of old upper-class white guys that are the descendants of slaveowners determines who our president is? It's so fake, I can't stand it. If the government is for the people, then why not base elections off a popular vote, rather than 200 old men? I mean, if they really are old, then that means all those former KKK conservatives get their way. I do hate our president. This leads me to my next point.
America is an embarrassing country to live in today. In short, we're all just a bunch of fat pigs (which is not inaccurate, considering the amount of obese people here). We're fat, we eat a lot, we consume more anything than anyone in the world, and we're always sticking our big fat pig noses into everyone else's business. If some country doesn't adopt our big fat pig way of life or style of government, then we say fuck em! Bomb the shit out of them! Use the biggest fat pig bombs we have. And the pork flies everywhere. Pathetic. Our wars are so damn biblical, it's sickening. If someone's not like us, destroy. Whatever the hell happened to thou shalt not kill? Oh, that's right. The New Testament was written. God changed his mind, which was ever so convenient for we warlike peoples.
Democracy is largely a big hoax. It's like Christianity, except we're made to think we have more freedom than that. Has anyone ever wondered why we're made to think we can vote for our own leader and have that vote actually make a difference, when in reality, some electoral college in Maryland or someplace made up of old upper-class white guys that are the descendants of slaveowners determines who our president is? It's so fake, I can't stand it. If the government is for the people, then why not base elections off a popular vote, rather than 200 old men? I mean, if they really are old, then that means all those former KKK conservatives get their way. I do hate our president. This leads me to my next point.
America is an embarrassing country to live in today. In short, we're all just a bunch of fat pigs (which is not inaccurate, considering the amount of obese people here). We're fat, we eat a lot, we consume more anything than anyone in the world, and we're always sticking our big fat pig noses into everyone else's business. If some country doesn't adopt our big fat pig way of life or style of government, then we say fuck em! Bomb the shit out of them! Use the biggest fat pig bombs we have. And the pork flies everywhere. Pathetic. Our wars are so damn biblical, it's sickening. If someone's not like us, destroy. Whatever the hell happened to thou shalt not kill? Oh, that's right. The New Testament was written. God changed his mind, which was ever so convenient for we warlike peoples.
Inspired by the enigmatic mind of Todd, I give you the first few pages of my new short story, or hell, probably more like novel-
Karate Florist (working title…)
Jim Butler worked at a flower shop. He’d always had an infatuation with floral arrangements, engrossed by the vivid colors and the miniscule detail of the bouquets he picked for his relatives at his hometown in Centerville, Texas. Jim was also one of three students who took all four years of the Floral Design class in high school. The other two were, as one might expect, of the opposite sex.
But despite his specific fancy for pansies, Jim did not happen to be one. When not practicing the deep art of his plants, he could be found with the few male friends he had at his local Shotokan Karate dojo.
His secondary pastime was all that kept him from being flogged by the hick community that resided in Centerville. Jim’s intellect and love for the finer things didn’t make him too many friends in Texas; most graduates were more obsessed with driving around ranches in their pickup trucks than the idea of actually adding up the amount of money the vehicles cost their parents. The philosophy of a true country bumpkin can be condensed into three four-letter words: truk, meat, and beer.
And so, Jim was a smart man. Especially in comparison to, well, just about anyone within a 30-mile radius. But with the ridicule that comes with being a florist, also spawns much stress buildup. Jim didn’t embrace the “way of life” that karate generally stands for. The word karate comes from the combination of two Japanese characters: kara, meaning “empty”, and te, meaning “hand”. The suffix do is usually added to the combined word, which means “way of life”. In essence, the traditional art of Shotokan karate-do goes far beyond simple self-defense, but encompasses a larger philosophy: that polishing the physical technique will polish one’s own mind, and vice versa.
Jim didn’t care much for all this. In his mind, he was polished just fine, and simply wanted to beat the stuffing out of a punching bag to rid himself of his inner torments. Number one was being made fun of, and number two was being forced to work with those middle-aged women in the flower shop. Better to say “bossed around by” than “forced to work with”. The bouncy old Margaret in her blue sweater-vest, telling Jim where to put this and that, how to do that and this, when deep inside, his mind filling with hatred for the old hag. The only other thing she ever did was talk about her three little children; subtly beg for his sympathy for her financial situation and the agony of having to put them through college. Jim was her silent pet rat terrier in the sense he’d pretend to listen to everything she said; all the more convenient he was strong enough to lift giant crates of fresh roses.
Jim’s mind was always full of such scathing vituperations saved up for his boss. Like an incalculable number of atoms in a balloon struggling to escape, the evil thoughts bounced off his skull and soaked back into his brain, a bitter acid he would save up until he quit his job. Damnit you old whore, stop telling me what to do! I know more about this art than you ever figured out by being a hippie before I was even born! Tough shit. Shouldn’t have had so many kids anyway. Stop complaining. No, just stop talking. I’m going to kill you with a broken flower pot.
Jim planned to release all that anger at that store owner one day, leave the little rundown town of Centerville with its population of 2,638, its ancient supermarkets with names such as Gerland’s Food Fair or Gunny’s Liquor Shack. Gunny died a long time ago from a burnt out liver. It was really Ralph’s Liquor Shack, but no one ever had the money to change the sign. Jim would move to a bigger city, like Houston or Dallas; scratch that, too many annoying relatives lived in Dallas. He’d go to Houston and open up his own flower shop.
But until then, he was satisfied enough ignoring the woman whenever possible to sit down and make flower bouquets, and occasionally ring up a dozen roses for a single customer late for a lovers’ tryst.
And there was always Jim’s martial arts pastime. His two buddies Joe and Joe-Bob kept him company there well enough, though the two of them had long ago given up the idea of challenging Jim to a sparring session. Which, of course, traditionally, sparring is non-contact in a Shotokan dojo- but while Jim chose not to follow the way of the karate-do master, Joe and Joe-Bob just didn’t understand the inner philosophy at all. Again, no one within a 30-mile radius did. They couldn’t even take the time to understand what country the art form originated from.
“Just a bunch of Chinese bullshit,” Joe would say. “I just like to kick shit.”
I do apologize, but indentation is somewhat difficult in blogger. Meh.
Karate Florist (working title…)
Jim Butler worked at a flower shop. He’d always had an infatuation with floral arrangements, engrossed by the vivid colors and the miniscule detail of the bouquets he picked for his relatives at his hometown in Centerville, Texas. Jim was also one of three students who took all four years of the Floral Design class in high school. The other two were, as one might expect, of the opposite sex.
But despite his specific fancy for pansies, Jim did not happen to be one. When not practicing the deep art of his plants, he could be found with the few male friends he had at his local Shotokan Karate dojo.
His secondary pastime was all that kept him from being flogged by the hick community that resided in Centerville. Jim’s intellect and love for the finer things didn’t make him too many friends in Texas; most graduates were more obsessed with driving around ranches in their pickup trucks than the idea of actually adding up the amount of money the vehicles cost their parents. The philosophy of a true country bumpkin can be condensed into three four-letter words: truk, meat, and beer.
And so, Jim was a smart man. Especially in comparison to, well, just about anyone within a 30-mile radius. But with the ridicule that comes with being a florist, also spawns much stress buildup. Jim didn’t embrace the “way of life” that karate generally stands for. The word karate comes from the combination of two Japanese characters: kara, meaning “empty”, and te, meaning “hand”. The suffix do is usually added to the combined word, which means “way of life”. In essence, the traditional art of Shotokan karate-do goes far beyond simple self-defense, but encompasses a larger philosophy: that polishing the physical technique will polish one’s own mind, and vice versa.
Jim didn’t care much for all this. In his mind, he was polished just fine, and simply wanted to beat the stuffing out of a punching bag to rid himself of his inner torments. Number one was being made fun of, and number two was being forced to work with those middle-aged women in the flower shop. Better to say “bossed around by” than “forced to work with”. The bouncy old Margaret in her blue sweater-vest, telling Jim where to put this and that, how to do that and this, when deep inside, his mind filling with hatred for the old hag. The only other thing she ever did was talk about her three little children; subtly beg for his sympathy for her financial situation and the agony of having to put them through college. Jim was her silent pet rat terrier in the sense he’d pretend to listen to everything she said; all the more convenient he was strong enough to lift giant crates of fresh roses.
Jim’s mind was always full of such scathing vituperations saved up for his boss. Like an incalculable number of atoms in a balloon struggling to escape, the evil thoughts bounced off his skull and soaked back into his brain, a bitter acid he would save up until he quit his job. Damnit you old whore, stop telling me what to do! I know more about this art than you ever figured out by being a hippie before I was even born! Tough shit. Shouldn’t have had so many kids anyway. Stop complaining. No, just stop talking. I’m going to kill you with a broken flower pot.
Jim planned to release all that anger at that store owner one day, leave the little rundown town of Centerville with its population of 2,638, its ancient supermarkets with names such as Gerland’s Food Fair or Gunny’s Liquor Shack. Gunny died a long time ago from a burnt out liver. It was really Ralph’s Liquor Shack, but no one ever had the money to change the sign. Jim would move to a bigger city, like Houston or Dallas; scratch that, too many annoying relatives lived in Dallas. He’d go to Houston and open up his own flower shop.
But until then, he was satisfied enough ignoring the woman whenever possible to sit down and make flower bouquets, and occasionally ring up a dozen roses for a single customer late for a lovers’ tryst.
And there was always Jim’s martial arts pastime. His two buddies Joe and Joe-Bob kept him company there well enough, though the two of them had long ago given up the idea of challenging Jim to a sparring session. Which, of course, traditionally, sparring is non-contact in a Shotokan dojo- but while Jim chose not to follow the way of the karate-do master, Joe and Joe-Bob just didn’t understand the inner philosophy at all. Again, no one within a 30-mile radius did. They couldn’t even take the time to understand what country the art form originated from.
“Just a bunch of Chinese bullshit,” Joe would say. “I just like to kick shit.”
I do apologize, but indentation is somewhat difficult in blogger. Meh.
That globe of happiness in my carefree life has once again tossed me into a pool of euphoria. Larkin and I went on a few excursions today, one being to Left-Handed Monkey, that used clothes shop near H&H Music, and, with earned store credit, she bought me a snazzy new pair of pants. So very... khaki. It was the only thing in there that even fit me. I swear, my freshman English teacher, Mrs.Hallmark has sold her wardrobe (thank god) to that place. There are several pairs of very stretched leather hotpants, some really tacky belts, and some artificial-looking rattlesnake skin boots on their shelves. English teachers should definitely not be allowed to wear anything made of pleather. That applies to any middle-aged woman. It is, after all, one of the Seven Rules of If You Break Them I Kill You.
And so, new pants in hand, we spent a few hours back at the Dennis household. In fact, I donned the new pants, in order to look a sufficient amount of awesome for our next outing to Little Japon. As if Larkin's purchasing my own pants wasn't generous enough, she then bought me sushi! I LOVE SUSHI! I also LOVE LARKIN!
And so, I just got back from her house about twenty minutes ago. Tomorrow we have planned a trip downtown or whereabouts to see this modern danceish play Alice in Wonderland. I can't wait. Larkin and her mom expose me to such cool little artsy things. It is enlightening to have a girlfriend I can actually talk to about things on a higher intellectual level than shoelace-tying. Not only that, she appreciates art and good food. An endangered species, this one is- I do believe I'll keep her around for awhile.
Hmm. I want to write a story. I want so much to write a story, and make up some characters, and make up some little plot for them to follow. But, um, I can't think of anything. My inspiration level is, as of now, zero, which surprises me, considering how uncharacteristically happy I am. I dare somebody to provoke my literate side and give me an idea. Please?
Edgar Allen Porn-
"Jupiter! Put down that insect and rub my nipples, or I shall have to flog you again!"
"Yessuh, massa suh!"
If I'm ever a doctor, this is what I'll say to my first patient when he comes in with a headache-
"They probably laid eggs in your brain. Nothing to worry about, though. First all your hair falls out, then they fly out of your nose."
And so, new pants in hand, we spent a few hours back at the Dennis household. In fact, I donned the new pants, in order to look a sufficient amount of awesome for our next outing to Little Japon. As if Larkin's purchasing my own pants wasn't generous enough, she then bought me sushi! I LOVE SUSHI! I also LOVE LARKIN!
And so, I just got back from her house about twenty minutes ago. Tomorrow we have planned a trip downtown or whereabouts to see this modern danceish play Alice in Wonderland. I can't wait. Larkin and her mom expose me to such cool little artsy things. It is enlightening to have a girlfriend I can actually talk to about things on a higher intellectual level than shoelace-tying. Not only that, she appreciates art and good food. An endangered species, this one is- I do believe I'll keep her around for awhile.
Hmm. I want to write a story. I want so much to write a story, and make up some characters, and make up some little plot for them to follow. But, um, I can't think of anything. My inspiration level is, as of now, zero, which surprises me, considering how uncharacteristically happy I am. I dare somebody to provoke my literate side and give me an idea. Please?
Edgar Allen Porn-
"Jupiter! Put down that insect and rub my nipples, or I shall have to flog you again!"
"Yessuh, massa suh!"
If I'm ever a doctor, this is what I'll say to my first patient when he comes in with a headache-
"They probably laid eggs in your brain. Nothing to worry about, though. First all your hair falls out, then they fly out of your nose."
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Lucifer: Angel of the starlight, you are often
confused with being evil in your quiet
contemplations... Underneath it all you are
actually the most beautiful angel of all, and
God likes u more... the others are just
jealous. What do they know anyways.
Which Angel Lays Within You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Whee. I wrote a few new poems recently. Not doing it as often as when school was in session, but meh. If you haven't seen my writing.com portfolio, it's here.
Monday, June 16, 2003
A good day. A good Sunday indeed. Larkin and I retreated to the mall today, shopping for clothes (Left-Handed Monkey was closed, the bastards) and birthday presents. I think Larkin is my best friend. I can do anything with her! Shit, I can shop for clothes with her and still have fun! Got me a snazzy new pair of sunglasses too for driving, as I will be learning soon to acquire my driver's license. Glee.
Following our romp around the mall, the two of us ran over to Sweet Tomatoes, this nice little salad bar place, for dinner. I really enjoyed it. It reminded me faintly of a Luby's Cafeteria- though don't get me wrong. The chief difference in both those restaurants is that one sucks ass, and the other kicks it. I had much fun mixing together all the sodas at the fountain and eating all their interesting bread. Mmm. Foccacia.
Once filled with salad, my blue-haired companion and I drove back to the Dennis household, now absent of her wrathful father, which makes me quite glad. The looney drove me home the other night, coming home suspecting some great atrocity to his household! Just because we were in the dark! I mean, the power was out! I'm not fond of the old Pillsbury doughboy-like man. Nice as he is to me, I know all too well of his underlying hatred for Larkin and all she finds holy. Oh well. I suppose I'm still on good relations with him, good as I am at being mature with adults. He's gone now, so it's a subject I need not touch. At least Larkin's mom is awesome. Now we're once again free to stretch our time together until midnight all the time, hang out with each other and improve one another's mood. And I'm in a great mood.
Hell, we've been going our for three months. Three months and two days. I know that doesn't sound like a terribly long time, especially to people who are in relationships of years and years, but I find it really quite extraordinary. Not only because I've never really been in such a wonderful, emotionally involved lasting relationship like this, but because we spend almost every waking moment possible together! I feel as though Larkin and I have been seeing each other for, well, more like eight or nine months. More. I feel so close to her after this relatively short lifetime of togetherness, I place all my trust in her, can tell her all my secrets. It's, like, cool, and stuff.
Todd wrote a story.
So did Larkin. Everyone's going all literati on my ass, so maybe I should stop learning to play the guitar long enough to relieve my hands of metal string-induced pain, and write a short story of my own. I mean, I get good feedback on my poetry, so I suppose I should do something else. What else have I got to do while waiting for Larkin to come home from HLA? Like a Jack Russel fucking terrier, right Todd?
I kinda need an idea, though. Being quite deficient at thinking up decent plots, I could use some inspiration. I don't care. It could be romance, or it could be the next Jackie Chan script. Meh. I'm bored.
Wait a minute, it's 1:30. Goodnight!
Following our romp around the mall, the two of us ran over to Sweet Tomatoes, this nice little salad bar place, for dinner. I really enjoyed it. It reminded me faintly of a Luby's Cafeteria- though don't get me wrong. The chief difference in both those restaurants is that one sucks ass, and the other kicks it. I had much fun mixing together all the sodas at the fountain and eating all their interesting bread. Mmm. Foccacia.
Once filled with salad, my blue-haired companion and I drove back to the Dennis household, now absent of her wrathful father, which makes me quite glad. The looney drove me home the other night, coming home suspecting some great atrocity to his household! Just because we were in the dark! I mean, the power was out! I'm not fond of the old Pillsbury doughboy-like man. Nice as he is to me, I know all too well of his underlying hatred for Larkin and all she finds holy. Oh well. I suppose I'm still on good relations with him, good as I am at being mature with adults. He's gone now, so it's a subject I need not touch. At least Larkin's mom is awesome. Now we're once again free to stretch our time together until midnight all the time, hang out with each other and improve one another's mood. And I'm in a great mood.
Hell, we've been going our for three months. Three months and two days. I know that doesn't sound like a terribly long time, especially to people who are in relationships of years and years, but I find it really quite extraordinary. Not only because I've never really been in such a wonderful, emotionally involved lasting relationship like this, but because we spend almost every waking moment possible together! I feel as though Larkin and I have been seeing each other for, well, more like eight or nine months. More. I feel so close to her after this relatively short lifetime of togetherness, I place all my trust in her, can tell her all my secrets. It's, like, cool, and stuff.
Todd wrote a story.
So did Larkin. Everyone's going all literati on my ass, so maybe I should stop learning to play the guitar long enough to relieve my hands of metal string-induced pain, and write a short story of my own. I mean, I get good feedback on my poetry, so I suppose I should do something else. What else have I got to do while waiting for Larkin to come home from HLA? Like a Jack Russel fucking terrier, right Todd?
I kinda need an idea, though. Being quite deficient at thinking up decent plots, I could use some inspiration. I don't care. It could be romance, or it could be the next Jackie Chan script. Meh. I'm bored.
Wait a minute, it's 1:30. Goodnight!
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Sitting around now waiting for Larkin to get back to the gym. I can't wait to see her tonight. I just want to lie around with her in my arms. It sounds boring, but we have so much fun just falling asleep near each other.
It's so hard to even explain the bond between us. I love her on so many different levels. On the one side, she's brilliant, my best friend, and she's so interesting; she has so many neat interests, which makes her a great conversationalist. It's her personality I first adored when I met her. But she's also very attractive to me. It's a rare thing to see in someone these days- brains and beauty. I consider myself the luckiest person in the world. Things are going so well for me...
On a less tired and sentimental note, I printed out the forms for the parent-taught driver's education program. I'll be 16 on the 23rd of August, so getting my license is something I actually needed to start worrying about. Amazing! I actually did something, rather than lazily think about it for a few months. Maybe I won't fail AP English and honors physics next year after all.
Did I mention that? I don't think so. After a battle over lost forms with my tramp of a school counselor, I finally got securely into AP-Honors English next year. Thank all that is good! Out of regulars! I really hope it's not too challenging for me. I'm sure it won't be that, but I really must get myself into a more responsible mindset for the next school year. I guess I'm doing allright so far. Hell, I'm even actually emailing places looking for a job. Fuck the dentist. Fuck him in the ear with an olive fork! My life is something splendid and full of love!
It's so hard to even explain the bond between us. I love her on so many different levels. On the one side, she's brilliant, my best friend, and she's so interesting; she has so many neat interests, which makes her a great conversationalist. It's her personality I first adored when I met her. But she's also very attractive to me. It's a rare thing to see in someone these days- brains and beauty. I consider myself the luckiest person in the world. Things are going so well for me...
On a less tired and sentimental note, I printed out the forms for the parent-taught driver's education program. I'll be 16 on the 23rd of August, so getting my license is something I actually needed to start worrying about. Amazing! I actually did something, rather than lazily think about it for a few months. Maybe I won't fail AP English and honors physics next year after all.
Did I mention that? I don't think so. After a battle over lost forms with my tramp of a school counselor, I finally got securely into AP-Honors English next year. Thank all that is good! Out of regulars! I really hope it's not too challenging for me. I'm sure it won't be that, but I really must get myself into a more responsible mindset for the next school year. I guess I'm doing allright so far. Hell, I'm even actually emailing places looking for a job. Fuck the dentist. Fuck him in the ear with an olive fork! My life is something splendid and full of love!
Ugh. Dentist's office. I can't stand that aftertaste of latex gloves and stainless steel instruments. What's worse, I haven't been in to see a dentist in two fucking years, thanks to my father's irresponsibility regarding making appointments. Also due to my lack of care, I've got to have a lot of work done in the next few months. Probably a root canal and shit. How depressing...
Monday, June 09, 2003
I hate babies.
I also hate people that have a lot of babies. You just know, by looking at the huge amount of children they have, that they cannot possibly be happy with their life. They'll be raising kids until they're 60, and then living in some one-story two-room Florida house because they paid their kids' tuition with their retirement fund. Babies suck. Why do people still have 13 of them when the world is becoming overpopulated already? Besides that, they're so noisy, and smelly, and obnoxious, and expensive!
This brings me to another common sight these days: mothers bringing their babies to the movies. What the fuck is this? How is a six-month old sausage link supposed to comprehend any of the X-Men sequel? Somehow, you mothers out there can't seem to understand a very, very rudimentary fact: BABIES CAN'T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH, DIPSHIT! Quit taking your babies to the movies! All they do is make that horrid squealing noise or puke all over the person in the adjacent seat. And scream when there's some loud noise in the film, like thunder. So yeah, it annoys the hell out of me.
Another subject on my mind the other day: mentally retarded people. I hate to be viewed as "incompassionate", but why are these utter vegetables allowed to live? I don't mean the ones that can serve simple tasks in society, such as flipping burgers or working in construction, but the lot of them that either run around with no pants, or sit in a wheelchair staring at the ceiling all day! There's absolutely no point to their lives! I say, if a baby is diagnosed with mental retardation at birth, we just need to put them out of their misery. Think about it! It's more humane than it seems! Saves 'em 80 years of sitting around meaninglessly, and save the rest of the taxpayers a lot of money. Schools have to use so much funding to keep these living birth defects occupied, when the state could be using the money to do away with this shitty standardized testing. It's pathetic.
So, yeah. Larkin and I spent a lot of time together this weekend, as the weekends are our only retreat from the 12 hours of HLA she's forced to take these days. Oh well. We did see X2, and it did kick ass. It was, in fact, so good, that I was with Larkin and actually watched all of it. She had a movie night at her house Friday, and so Larkin, her friends Kat and Kim, Rob and I watched Requiem for a Dream, or I think that was the name of it. It was an allright movie, or at least until the end, where the director took pleasure in showing tortuous detail in such pleasant experiences as: electroshock therapy, being a crackwhore, and jumping off a four-story building in drugged delirium. Drugs are bad, mmkay?
I also hate people that have a lot of babies. You just know, by looking at the huge amount of children they have, that they cannot possibly be happy with their life. They'll be raising kids until they're 60, and then living in some one-story two-room Florida house because they paid their kids' tuition with their retirement fund. Babies suck. Why do people still have 13 of them when the world is becoming overpopulated already? Besides that, they're so noisy, and smelly, and obnoxious, and expensive!
This brings me to another common sight these days: mothers bringing their babies to the movies. What the fuck is this? How is a six-month old sausage link supposed to comprehend any of the X-Men sequel? Somehow, you mothers out there can't seem to understand a very, very rudimentary fact: BABIES CAN'T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH, DIPSHIT! Quit taking your babies to the movies! All they do is make that horrid squealing noise or puke all over the person in the adjacent seat. And scream when there's some loud noise in the film, like thunder. So yeah, it annoys the hell out of me.
Another subject on my mind the other day: mentally retarded people. I hate to be viewed as "incompassionate", but why are these utter vegetables allowed to live? I don't mean the ones that can serve simple tasks in society, such as flipping burgers or working in construction, but the lot of them that either run around with no pants, or sit in a wheelchair staring at the ceiling all day! There's absolutely no point to their lives! I say, if a baby is diagnosed with mental retardation at birth, we just need to put them out of their misery. Think about it! It's more humane than it seems! Saves 'em 80 years of sitting around meaninglessly, and save the rest of the taxpayers a lot of money. Schools have to use so much funding to keep these living birth defects occupied, when the state could be using the money to do away with this shitty standardized testing. It's pathetic.
So, yeah. Larkin and I spent a lot of time together this weekend, as the weekends are our only retreat from the 12 hours of HLA she's forced to take these days. Oh well. We did see X2, and it did kick ass. It was, in fact, so good, that I was with Larkin and actually watched all of it. She had a movie night at her house Friday, and so Larkin, her friends Kat and Kim, Rob and I watched Requiem for a Dream, or I think that was the name of it. It was an allright movie, or at least until the end, where the director took pleasure in showing tortuous detail in such pleasant experiences as: electroshock therapy, being a crackwhore, and jumping off a four-story building in drugged delirium. Drugs are bad, mmkay?
Sunday, June 08, 2003
You're the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that's a
little bit cocky and usually associated with
evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You
probably just don't give a damn,but it's
everyone else's fault if you don't because
you're too awesome to have any real faults.
What Kind of Smile are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Sweet Milk Pocky! You're an elitist, since you're
not really suited to the American taste. You're
sweet, as your name implies, but sometimes you
do get a little haughty.
What Kind of Pocky are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Saturday, June 07, 2003
Jesus. My mom bought me a book from Half Price today entitled "SEX: A Man's Guide". What the fuck? I'm not enjoying any of it. At best, it's a bunch of old men co-authoring a 500-page sexual bible that tells you how fun sex can be. Ugh. What's worse is that she put little bookmarks in certain places for me to read...
Book goes in teh bonfire.
Book goes in teh bonfire.
Friday, June 06, 2003
You are "brave" Sir Robin's minstrel.
You spend your days singing of the valiant
deeds of your hero. You have the gift of song
and the ability to tell things like they are.
There is a slight disadvantage to being Sir
Robin's minstrel because you are quite edible.
What character in Monty Python and the Holy Grail are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Thursday, June 05, 2003
Quote from KleinForums -
"why the heck would u want religion to NOT exist??? what keeps u living every day... knowing that this life has NO point?! i don't get it! religion, especially the right one (CHRISTIANITY), offers hope where there is none... without this hope... life (for lack of a better word) SUCKS! why would u WILLINGLY subject yourself to that??? some guy who was TOTALLY innocent was willing to die on the cross so that all HORRIBLE sinners could go to Heaven rather than face the eternal wrath of Hell if ONLY they would trust in Him... people just hurt themselves... God gave all people free will, but it comes with RESPONSIBILITY!!! use some common sense and take the F*** Relgion off... everyone NEEDS religion, especially someone blaspheming God... i'd get to doing some serious repenting if i were u!!! "
I need to melt the polar ice caps. Right fucking now.
And then I need to fly to the moon in my giant rocketship and live happily ever after, without any highschoolers trying to tell me they know the meaning of life. All this arrogance is making me sick to my stomach. Why does 90 percent of the world have to believe in some invisible father figure? Are they too stupid to figure out existence for themselves? Are they really that pathetic to live without some guidance, the false sense of security in an afterlife that is, in essence, religion? It pisses me off! In the thousands of years of our existence, you'd think we would've evolved beyond this "mystical man in the sky" concept. We really are just brainy apes. Somehow, the whole lot of humanity is still just a bunch of monkeys worshipping what they don't care to understand.
And yet, the atheists piss me off too. There are so many agnostics that are on some great crusade against religion, like they'll actually do something. Places like KleinForums are just big cockfight arenas. Most people that argue against religion don't even research it at all in the first place, and end up making false claims and poking fun at things that never happened. Although, I'll agree with them, at least partially, by declaring the need for the brilliant mind who wrote that paragraph at the top to be set on fire. Set on fire and thrown in a bathtub of gasoline.
Anyhow, summer is finally here. That wonderful sophomore year I had is in the recent past. All those great memories pelting my conscience like hailstones as I sit in solitude, listening contently to the raindrops pattering my roof. It's over. So many experiences I'll never forget, evenings that will continue to touch me until the day of my death. And really, the best is yet to come. It's hard for me to believe I'll actually be a junior in high school next year. Seems to me yesterday that I left elementary school, still a goofy class clown, never putting any effort towards actual work.
I actually walked back to the elementary school a few weeks ago, on one of my usual nighttime walks around the neighborhood. Looking around the kindergarten playground (there's a playground at the front entrance to the school, and in the back), and at the long sidewalk, sloping down slightly at the end onto the little dirt hill, I felt dizzy. I had to sit down. I could sort of see myself playing soccer (whatever the hell happened to recess?) with all my old friends, who have faded away from me now. It was an odd feeling. I think maybe I just had too much cactus wine. But still, I guess my mind was just bombarding itself with images of walking home along that same sidewalk for five years. I don't know.
I guess my point is, summer is the messenger of nostalgia. It's a time for us to relax and think of all the shit we've done, act like old men and recall wonderful experiences, or sit around with friends and talk about the "good old days". Only 15 years of existence, and yet, I've got so many great memories that I can replay in my mind. My life is going well.
On a less sentimental note, today's kinda boring. Just sitting around, listening to music, remembering the great evening Larkin and I had last night. She's at summer school right now, which is the only reason I'm even at home to write all this. Seven hours a day on weekdays! Seven to seven! It's torture! I bought the poor girl a cup of coffee yesterday so she wouldn't pass out and kill us while driving. It takes a lot out of her, and I know how it is, having attended the hellhole that is summer school last year. Sitting in the same seat for seven hours nearly rent the sanity from my soul, so I can only imagine how terrible 12 hours of HLA must be.
"why the heck would u want religion to NOT exist??? what keeps u living every day... knowing that this life has NO point?! i don't get it! religion, especially the right one (CHRISTIANITY), offers hope where there is none... without this hope... life (for lack of a better word) SUCKS! why would u WILLINGLY subject yourself to that??? some guy who was TOTALLY innocent was willing to die on the cross so that all HORRIBLE sinners could go to Heaven rather than face the eternal wrath of Hell if ONLY they would trust in Him... people just hurt themselves... God gave all people free will, but it comes with RESPONSIBILITY!!! use some common sense and take the F*** Relgion off... everyone NEEDS religion, especially someone blaspheming God... i'd get to doing some serious repenting if i were u!!! "
I need to melt the polar ice caps. Right fucking now.
And then I need to fly to the moon in my giant rocketship and live happily ever after, without any highschoolers trying to tell me they know the meaning of life. All this arrogance is making me sick to my stomach. Why does 90 percent of the world have to believe in some invisible father figure? Are they too stupid to figure out existence for themselves? Are they really that pathetic to live without some guidance, the false sense of security in an afterlife that is, in essence, religion? It pisses me off! In the thousands of years of our existence, you'd think we would've evolved beyond this "mystical man in the sky" concept. We really are just brainy apes. Somehow, the whole lot of humanity is still just a bunch of monkeys worshipping what they don't care to understand.
And yet, the atheists piss me off too. There are so many agnostics that are on some great crusade against religion, like they'll actually do something. Places like KleinForums are just big cockfight arenas. Most people that argue against religion don't even research it at all in the first place, and end up making false claims and poking fun at things that never happened. Although, I'll agree with them, at least partially, by declaring the need for the brilliant mind who wrote that paragraph at the top to be set on fire. Set on fire and thrown in a bathtub of gasoline.
Anyhow, summer is finally here. That wonderful sophomore year I had is in the recent past. All those great memories pelting my conscience like hailstones as I sit in solitude, listening contently to the raindrops pattering my roof. It's over. So many experiences I'll never forget, evenings that will continue to touch me until the day of my death. And really, the best is yet to come. It's hard for me to believe I'll actually be a junior in high school next year. Seems to me yesterday that I left elementary school, still a goofy class clown, never putting any effort towards actual work.
I actually walked back to the elementary school a few weeks ago, on one of my usual nighttime walks around the neighborhood. Looking around the kindergarten playground (there's a playground at the front entrance to the school, and in the back), and at the long sidewalk, sloping down slightly at the end onto the little dirt hill, I felt dizzy. I had to sit down. I could sort of see myself playing soccer (whatever the hell happened to recess?) with all my old friends, who have faded away from me now. It was an odd feeling. I think maybe I just had too much cactus wine. But still, I guess my mind was just bombarding itself with images of walking home along that same sidewalk for five years. I don't know.
I guess my point is, summer is the messenger of nostalgia. It's a time for us to relax and think of all the shit we've done, act like old men and recall wonderful experiences, or sit around with friends and talk about the "good old days". Only 15 years of existence, and yet, I've got so many great memories that I can replay in my mind. My life is going well.
On a less sentimental note, today's kinda boring. Just sitting around, listening to music, remembering the great evening Larkin and I had last night. She's at summer school right now, which is the only reason I'm even at home to write all this. Seven hours a day on weekdays! Seven to seven! It's torture! I bought the poor girl a cup of coffee yesterday so she wouldn't pass out and kill us while driving. It takes a lot out of her, and I know how it is, having attended the hellhole that is summer school last year. Sitting in the same seat for seven hours nearly rent the sanity from my soul, so I can only imagine how terrible 12 hours of HLA must be.
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
You come from the Ocean. You've always been drawn
to the sea, the sound of the waves, the crystal
blue water, near the sea is where you belong.
Where Did Your Soul Originate?
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Back from another visit to Larkin's house. Obviously we stretched out our precious minutes until the very end, that damnable iron wall that is the city curfew. We always do. Though, I can't just say it's "another visit". It's never routine, seeing her. Every minute I spend with her is an experience, it infuses my life with something to be content with and even proud of. We can't spend enough time together. And hell, it's been almost three months since we started seeing each other! I'm happier than I've ever been before in my short existence! I'm finally with someone who didn't have some physical infatuation with me that lasted a few weeks! I think I've figured out when love is the most wonderful- when the other person loves you back.
What am I babbling on about? No one understands, because I'm too happy! Goodnight!
What am I babbling on about? No one understands, because I'm too happy! Goodnight!