Saturday, January 31, 2004
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Ah, the utter gloom of standardized testing. Today I suffered a "field test" given to us in our two hour-long English class. TAKS. What we've been doing for the past several fucking weeks. Why don't they just collect the practice tests we take?
Even less sensible, they actually told us it was going to be a field test, making the testing atmosphere about as informal as a frat party. I drew stick figures in my test booklet, one of which said something like "I hate standardized tests--a bureaucratic conquest to eradicate my precious individuality and convert me into a number to determine my worth to society", and then I drew his head turning into sand. Sterling wrote a third grader's essay. I wrote about Boy Scouts and hating people, not necessarily in that order, and mentioned the redundancy of testing a standardized test and letting the kids know about it. But hell, it related to the prompt, making that essay one of the best I've ever written. It's a shame it will NEVER COUNT AGAINST US! Not only that, we don't get our scores back. The school just gets money.
It wasn't really a great day, at least as far as school went. Between the TAKS (Texas Asshats and Kitten Stompers) testing and the two hours of rhythmic syllables/solfege bullshit in choir (really, it's bullshit--I leaned over and told Sterling, "I am getting a bullshit headache. The veins and arteries in my brain are clogged with bullshit."), the only comforts of the day were Larkin's prescence in physics, and the insignificant comfort of getting a 73 on the test.
The both of us were weary of this Dante's Academia, but managed to get nearly perfect percent error on our calculations for some silly electronics lab. I found that the knowledge I'd gained in Mr.T's class over the course of half a year was summed up in 30 seconds by Mrs.Durio. Predictably enough, the superintendent never returned my letter about that excuse for a learning experience. We students apparently have no right to complain, only comply--submit not, but submiss--we toil only to become more tractable. Could anyone tell me to whom I could write to complain about the dress code? The administrators will likely answer Santa Claus.
I don't really think I like Carl Sagan. While he's got some good points when arguing against such "pseudosciences" such as the study of UFOs, I dislike his stern skepticism of some other concepts, such as dowsing, psychic attributes of certain rocks and minerals (I mean in the way of witholding memories, amplifying one's libido, confidence, or something of the bodily sort, not in the way of summoning Azazel and the like), and even astrology. While some age-old divinatory rituals seem hard to believe, it only depends on which way you look at it, and of course, on whatever innate prejudices you may have on the subject. Aren't matter and energy interchangable? Everything has its own energy, its own vibrations. My little quartz crystal (before I lost the damn thing) reminded me to buy The Great Gatsby whenever I touched it, even after I'd gotten the book. I fondled a milky quartz during an algebra test--for clarity of mind--and I got an 80 on it, despite my knowing little of the subject matter; I was able to interpret for myself most of the methods for solving certain problems. A cable guy once found the water main in our front yard with his dousing rods. When my dad blinked in disbelief, the Time Warner employee handed him the revolving sticks, and the same results were produced. We found underground petroleum lines and fiber optics using the same method. And, as someone will vouch for, my fortune cookies are usually very accurate. Maybe it just varies with the person's objectivity--in other words, the person's willingness to receive or detect such energies. I dunno.
Anyway, what I mean is that Sagan seems to think that Science has figured out the whole of the universe, and is now just working on little details like neutrinos, photons, and gravitons. Come on. We don't even know if our model of the universe, of its creation is even remotely accurate. The "Big Bang" isn't necessarily what clashed together our atoms in a uniquely complex pattern, but neither is the idea that God swirled us together, and only six thousand years ago, for that matter. Did I mention that Christian Scientists (not Christians who happen to be scientists, mind you, but that sect of Jeebusism called Christian Science that believes prayer is the only way to melt off your tumors and cure AIDS) scare me to death?
Even less sensible, they actually told us it was going to be a field test, making the testing atmosphere about as informal as a frat party. I drew stick figures in my test booklet, one of which said something like "I hate standardized tests--a bureaucratic conquest to eradicate my precious individuality and convert me into a number to determine my worth to society", and then I drew his head turning into sand. Sterling wrote a third grader's essay. I wrote about Boy Scouts and hating people, not necessarily in that order, and mentioned the redundancy of testing a standardized test and letting the kids know about it. But hell, it related to the prompt, making that essay one of the best I've ever written. It's a shame it will NEVER COUNT AGAINST US! Not only that, we don't get our scores back. The school just gets money.
It wasn't really a great day, at least as far as school went. Between the TAKS (Texas Asshats and Kitten Stompers) testing and the two hours of rhythmic syllables/solfege bullshit in choir (really, it's bullshit--I leaned over and told Sterling, "I am getting a bullshit headache. The veins and arteries in my brain are clogged with bullshit."), the only comforts of the day were Larkin's prescence in physics, and the insignificant comfort of getting a 73 on the test.
The both of us were weary of this Dante's Academia, but managed to get nearly perfect percent error on our calculations for some silly electronics lab. I found that the knowledge I'd gained in Mr.T's class over the course of half a year was summed up in 30 seconds by Mrs.Durio. Predictably enough, the superintendent never returned my letter about that excuse for a learning experience. We students apparently have no right to complain, only comply--submit not, but submiss--we toil only to become more tractable. Could anyone tell me to whom I could write to complain about the dress code? The administrators will likely answer Santa Claus.
I don't really think I like Carl Sagan. While he's got some good points when arguing against such "pseudosciences" such as the study of UFOs, I dislike his stern skepticism of some other concepts, such as dowsing, psychic attributes of certain rocks and minerals (I mean in the way of witholding memories, amplifying one's libido, confidence, or something of the bodily sort, not in the way of summoning Azazel and the like), and even astrology. While some age-old divinatory rituals seem hard to believe, it only depends on which way you look at it, and of course, on whatever innate prejudices you may have on the subject. Aren't matter and energy interchangable? Everything has its own energy, its own vibrations. My little quartz crystal (before I lost the damn thing) reminded me to buy The Great Gatsby whenever I touched it, even after I'd gotten the book. I fondled a milky quartz during an algebra test--for clarity of mind--and I got an 80 on it, despite my knowing little of the subject matter; I was able to interpret for myself most of the methods for solving certain problems. A cable guy once found the water main in our front yard with his dousing rods. When my dad blinked in disbelief, the Time Warner employee handed him the revolving sticks, and the same results were produced. We found underground petroleum lines and fiber optics using the same method. And, as someone will vouch for, my fortune cookies are usually very accurate. Maybe it just varies with the person's objectivity--in other words, the person's willingness to receive or detect such energies. I dunno.
Anyway, what I mean is that Sagan seems to think that Science has figured out the whole of the universe, and is now just working on little details like neutrinos, photons, and gravitons. Come on. We don't even know if our model of the universe, of its creation is even remotely accurate. The "Big Bang" isn't necessarily what clashed together our atoms in a uniquely complex pattern, but neither is the idea that God swirled us together, and only six thousand years ago, for that matter. Did I mention that Christian Scientists (not Christians who happen to be scientists, mind you, but that sect of Jeebusism called Christian Science that believes prayer is the only way to melt off your tumors and cure AIDS) scare me to death?
Monday, January 26, 2004
Walking to Larkin's from the school today, I realized that I've become something of an optimist. I think that these days, having matured a little from my flaming atheist/prejudiced views (which I still have, but more objectively so), I consider life "almost meaningless" rather than an ultimately disappointing cycle of birth, boring stuff, and death. Sure, we're born to ultimately die and perhaps float away and disperse in a mess of electromagnetic residue, but what's in between--despite being ultimately pointless--is an awful lot of fun.
It's really not quite that gloomy. While I don't have any faith in deities, and often doubt the greatly anticipated afterlife, that doesn't mean I'm willing to give up and die. In fact, through my often callous views of the world and its ethics and theology, I've become much more content. I can enjoy my own purpose, rather than that given to me by a being of light that I'll probably never see. To me, there's no path laid out for me, no divine task to fulfill, and nothing to look forward to, so I give myself the challenge of enjoying life in this cruel, mortal dirtball. It's really quite nice--I don't have to be burdened with guilt for the silliest things, and I can enjoy without internal conflict the thing that no god has given me, but something greater: nature. That thing is the flesh. My own body. I can have a decent time with tangible pleasures (I'm not necessarily talking about sex, maybe just little "unnecessary" pleasures like a sushi buffet, a box of chocolates, and a professional back massage that some guilty people refrain from enjoying for fear of committing a great sin) while I'm on earth and not worry about flaming, pointy sticks being shoved through my torso afterwards. The only sin I know is to deny myself of the earthly pleasures I hold so dear to my heart because of some invisible fear. People say atheists are grumpy, ignorant bastards, but this is not true.
Besides, even if there is a God, an Almighty, En Sof, Allah, or what have you, if he's even remotely as generous as people say he is, he wouldn't give us these lives if they weren't meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. If He means us to refrain from temptation, then He more resembles the proverbial Satan, throwing temptations at us so we might be punished. Don'tcha think?
It's really not quite that gloomy. While I don't have any faith in deities, and often doubt the greatly anticipated afterlife, that doesn't mean I'm willing to give up and die. In fact, through my often callous views of the world and its ethics and theology, I've become much more content. I can enjoy my own purpose, rather than that given to me by a being of light that I'll probably never see. To me, there's no path laid out for me, no divine task to fulfill, and nothing to look forward to, so I give myself the challenge of enjoying life in this cruel, mortal dirtball. It's really quite nice--I don't have to be burdened with guilt for the silliest things, and I can enjoy without internal conflict the thing that no god has given me, but something greater: nature. That thing is the flesh. My own body. I can have a decent time with tangible pleasures (I'm not necessarily talking about sex, maybe just little "unnecessary" pleasures like a sushi buffet, a box of chocolates, and a professional back massage that some guilty people refrain from enjoying for fear of committing a great sin) while I'm on earth and not worry about flaming, pointy sticks being shoved through my torso afterwards. The only sin I know is to deny myself of the earthly pleasures I hold so dear to my heart because of some invisible fear. People say atheists are grumpy, ignorant bastards, but this is not true.
Besides, even if there is a God, an Almighty, En Sof, Allah, or what have you, if he's even remotely as generous as people say he is, he wouldn't give us these lives if they weren't meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. If He means us to refrain from temptation, then He more resembles the proverbial Satan, throwing temptations at us so we might be punished. Don'tcha think?
Sunday, January 25, 2004
If there is one genre of music I listen to anymore, it's techno. That hot reso, the reverb and chorus, the crescendo of different tones and the delightfully electronic synthesized melodies and voices put into that adrenaline-pumping tempo of 140 beats per minute--it's rhythmic euphoria, a veritable paradise of stimulation to a sensual sybarite like myself. The sexy, mellow bass harmonies vibrate and permeate my very thoughts, bringing me into such a primal ecstasy as words cannot describe. Driving through the thunderstorm with Larkin completes the effect. The stoplights cast spires of light onto the rippling asphalt, and I don't mind the window open--the cold mist and the intangible electricity, the raw, thunderous power in the air excites me. I love the rain.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
ANGRY TURTLE ATTACK~
Walking by the television on my way upstairs, I caught an address by a representative from the Democratic party, right after the state of the union. She said that the Democratic party wanted to keep the nation's military "best equipped for peace". Now, this is one of an infinity of statements that makes me really wonder what's behind politicians' reasoning, because frankly, I don't see how the words "military" and "peace" even go together at all.
I suppose I understand what she's talking about, as paradoxical as that sentence is. Probably something along the lines of "peacekeeping forces" which is one of those neoteric euphemisms we've invented to abbreviate the much clumsier "big, husky, armed men that shoot suspicious civilians and run over children with tanks". Sure, order needs to be kept--there's always at least one wacko in a city willing to strap TNT to his chest and run screaming into a toy store--but it's gone to painfully expensive (I think the Democratic representative said 200 something billion dollars) ends just because we have a bad habit of interfering. Police force? Sure. Stealth bombers and napalm? Maybe we shouldn't get involved if we're just going to end up rendering a couple hundred square miles of land arid and inhospitable for the next 20 years.
You know, Americans used to be cool, according to my History textbook (which contains so many newly wrought Americanisms which I mistake for typos, such as "advisers", "blond", or "refrigerator"), like, around after WW1. After inhaling all that mustard gas and having their ribs repeatedly splintered by leaden projectiles, a lot of Americans realized a really blatantly obvious fact: war sucks ass. People die, economies get fucked up, and angry Germans try to stab you. So these Isolationists, as they were called, thought it was a great idea to keep the hell out of foreign wars that have nothing to do with America. Unfortunately, president Roosevelt took office, and despite the ban on selling arms to foreign warring nations, he decided to take China's side when Japan started invading Manchuria, and magically repealed the act that he passed, somehow authorizing the sale of guns and knives and flashy, explosive objects to the Chinese, so their country could grow up to be just like America: murderous and warlike, kind of like the Vikings, or those Romans, who loved those gladiators so much. I think that my idea here is that it only takes one asshole to be elected to propagandistically change a country's stance (or the majority of the country's stance, which is enough for an election) in world affairs. People will follow anyone with an American flag pen and a good speech writer (George Bush is not one of these people, but is followed anyway--I guess--because he's such a cute good ol' boy). Think Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
And while I'm tirading on about the world I can't change, I ought to mention choir. For the past week or so, we've been reviewing such simple concepts as the fucking names and values of notes. It pisses me off. I'm forced to sit there and move my hand around like a down syndrome child (Mr.Raddin's teaching us to conduct, for some unfathomable reason) and count to four over and over again. How many beats is a whole note? As many beats as it takes to render you unconscious. I'm sorry. I'm usually faithfully on Mr.Raddin's side on matters like this, but I blame this whole atrocious affair on him.
Pathetically, a lot of the guys in the choir--you know the ones I'm talking about, the jerkoffs that stand around for their fine arts credit and care little about music--can not identify an eigth note, which seems to make these constant rhythmic chants almost necessary, until you realize that since those people suck and will never change in the first place, teaching them to count will not benefit our choir as a whole at all. In fact, it will help to destroy it. Mr.Raddin said we'd start rehearsing our new song a week ago. Instead, he had this infernal epiphany that we should review what he's taught us all for the past TWO YEARS, and not only that, what I've been taught for the past SIX. More than that. We did this in elementary school.
I suppose I understand what she's talking about, as paradoxical as that sentence is. Probably something along the lines of "peacekeeping forces" which is one of those neoteric euphemisms we've invented to abbreviate the much clumsier "big, husky, armed men that shoot suspicious civilians and run over children with tanks". Sure, order needs to be kept--there's always at least one wacko in a city willing to strap TNT to his chest and run screaming into a toy store--but it's gone to painfully expensive (I think the Democratic representative said 200 something billion dollars) ends just because we have a bad habit of interfering. Police force? Sure. Stealth bombers and napalm? Maybe we shouldn't get involved if we're just going to end up rendering a couple hundred square miles of land arid and inhospitable for the next 20 years.
You know, Americans used to be cool, according to my History textbook (which contains so many newly wrought Americanisms which I mistake for typos, such as "advisers", "blond", or "refrigerator"), like, around after WW1. After inhaling all that mustard gas and having their ribs repeatedly splintered by leaden projectiles, a lot of Americans realized a really blatantly obvious fact: war sucks ass. People die, economies get fucked up, and angry Germans try to stab you. So these Isolationists, as they were called, thought it was a great idea to keep the hell out of foreign wars that have nothing to do with America. Unfortunately, president Roosevelt took office, and despite the ban on selling arms to foreign warring nations, he decided to take China's side when Japan started invading Manchuria, and magically repealed the act that he passed, somehow authorizing the sale of guns and knives and flashy, explosive objects to the Chinese, so their country could grow up to be just like America: murderous and warlike, kind of like the Vikings, or those Romans, who loved those gladiators so much. I think that my idea here is that it only takes one asshole to be elected to propagandistically change a country's stance (or the majority of the country's stance, which is enough for an election) in world affairs. People will follow anyone with an American flag pen and a good speech writer (George Bush is not one of these people, but is followed anyway--I guess--because he's such a cute good ol' boy). Think Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
And while I'm tirading on about the world I can't change, I ought to mention choir. For the past week or so, we've been reviewing such simple concepts as the fucking names and values of notes. It pisses me off. I'm forced to sit there and move my hand around like a down syndrome child (Mr.Raddin's teaching us to conduct, for some unfathomable reason) and count to four over and over again. How many beats is a whole note? As many beats as it takes to render you unconscious. I'm sorry. I'm usually faithfully on Mr.Raddin's side on matters like this, but I blame this whole atrocious affair on him.
Pathetically, a lot of the guys in the choir--you know the ones I'm talking about, the jerkoffs that stand around for their fine arts credit and care little about music--can not identify an eigth note, which seems to make these constant rhythmic chants almost necessary, until you realize that since those people suck and will never change in the first place, teaching them to count will not benefit our choir as a whole at all. In fact, it will help to destroy it. Mr.Raddin said we'd start rehearsing our new song a week ago. Instead, he had this infernal epiphany that we should review what he's taught us all for the past TWO YEARS, and not only that, what I've been taught for the past SIX. More than that. We did this in elementary school.
Monday, January 19, 2004
QUIZ VOMITATION
BLArGHLE
Dark magician. You love the dark because of it's
beauty and just the life that no-one else sees.
Mysterious, calm, quiet... But that doesn't
mean you're not friendly!
BLArGHLE
Dark magician. You love the dark because of it's
beauty and just the life that no-one else sees.
Mysterious, calm, quiet... But that doesn't
mean you're not friendly!
Please rate ^^
What kind of dark person are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Ghost or spirit: You are a lost soul. Very calm and
sweet, you are often the one who asks: What if?
With a clever mind, you want to explore the
world on a different level. Without the
answers, you aren't ready to move on. You are
most likely very creative and find yourself
thinking things through on a different level.
(please rate my quiz)
**Where will you go when you die?**(now with pics)
brought to you by Quizilla
Sunday, January 18, 2004
Fucking awesome:
I'll bet you expected this answer. You already knew
you were a DARK ANGELIC, didn't you? You
are similar to a demon but slightly different
in that you don't revel in evil...you revel in
pleasure. Your wings resemble an angel's but if
that's so then you are a Fallen Angel - your
love of sin caused you to be cast from the
Heavens. They are black as raven wings and are
nearly as dark as your desires. You are
faithless and love it - you believe there is no
Judgement Day to fear and so you can do what
you want! You have a refined concept of what is
sexy and a slightly chaotic sense of 'fun.' In
fact, you love chaos and view much of what you
do as a game. You are typically attracted to
those that will challenge your mind, power, and
wit...and are 'dangerous' people like you. It's
not unlikely that you are bisexual or at least
open to the concept, because you seek
excitement and passion everywhere and in
everyone. Chances are you have a special talent
for magick - you're a powerful being and you
know what you want. Like a Serpent of Eden you
like to try your powers of seduction and
manipulation, though your intent is rarely to
cause harm. You have a deep, dark sense of art
and/or poetry, because your mind is a deep,
dark place. While typically smirking, amused,
and sarcastic, you are capable of severe
revenge and a passion and intensity unrivaled
by any other. In your eyes life is for
enjoyment and pleasure - nothing else. If
you're not having fun in your own twisted way,
you're not happy. You are easily bored with the
vast majority of people. You are most likely
drawn towards the Gothic subculture and
probably adore Goth music, art, and style. Many
people look down on your seemingly careless
lifestyle and may even consider you 'slutty'.
Not true. You just know you're sexy and you're
damn proud of it. Dark Angels have an outlook
most like Satanists - loving sin and looking to
none but themselves for power. Congratulations!
You're my kindred spirit. As far as I'm
concerned - you know what life is REALLY about.
Have fun...Muahaha.
*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla
I'll bet you expected this answer. You already knew
you were a DARK ANGELIC, didn't you? You
are similar to a demon but slightly different
in that you don't revel in evil...you revel in
pleasure. Your wings resemble an angel's but if
that's so then you are a Fallen Angel - your
love of sin caused you to be cast from the
Heavens. They are black as raven wings and are
nearly as dark as your desires. You are
faithless and love it - you believe there is no
Judgement Day to fear and so you can do what
you want! You have a refined concept of what is
sexy and a slightly chaotic sense of 'fun.' In
fact, you love chaos and view much of what you
do as a game. You are typically attracted to
those that will challenge your mind, power, and
wit...and are 'dangerous' people like you. It's
not unlikely that you are bisexual or at least
open to the concept, because you seek
excitement and passion everywhere and in
everyone. Chances are you have a special talent
for magick - you're a powerful being and you
know what you want. Like a Serpent of Eden you
like to try your powers of seduction and
manipulation, though your intent is rarely to
cause harm. You have a deep, dark sense of art
and/or poetry, because your mind is a deep,
dark place. While typically smirking, amused,
and sarcastic, you are capable of severe
revenge and a passion and intensity unrivaled
by any other. In your eyes life is for
enjoyment and pleasure - nothing else. If
you're not having fun in your own twisted way,
you're not happy. You are easily bored with the
vast majority of people. You are most likely
drawn towards the Gothic subculture and
probably adore Goth music, art, and style. Many
people look down on your seemingly careless
lifestyle and may even consider you 'slutty'.
Not true. You just know you're sexy and you're
damn proud of it. Dark Angels have an outlook
most like Satanists - loving sin and looking to
none but themselves for power. Congratulations!
You're my kindred spirit. As far as I'm
concerned - you know what life is REALLY about.
Have fun...Muahaha.
*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla
Saturday, January 17, 2004
What a treasure chest Salvation Army is! For eight bucks, I got a gray silk shirt, and a 100% wool Valentino blazer. Nothing's wrong with either item. For all the ridiculous extravagance of rich people, I must say that I love them, because the second a thread comes loose on their custom-tailored Italian suits, they give them to the needy.
And so, posing as an Armani model, I went with Larkin to Julia's birthday party today. The event turned out to be a great success, Julia waving her flail and dagger around everywhere at the end, while Todd drank iced tea with soy sauce in it. The Mongolian Cafe is not that bad, either, for a buffet-style restaurant. Of course, I'd always rather go to Pepper Chino for the sushi buffet, but a bunch of stir-fried noodles is nice if you've got the right company.
And so, posing as an Armani model, I went with Larkin to Julia's birthday party today. The event turned out to be a great success, Julia waving her flail and dagger around everywhere at the end, while Todd drank iced tea with soy sauce in it. The Mongolian Cafe is not that bad, either, for a buffet-style restaurant. Of course, I'd always rather go to Pepper Chino for the sushi buffet, but a bunch of stir-fried noodles is nice if you've got the right company.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
My intense longing to be in Larkin's prescence astounds me. Somehow, this clever, brightly-colored female evokes such emotion in me that causes me to miss her ferociously even when we've only been apart for a few hours. I realized this tonight, drinking tea that Larkin gave me, unbearably lonely in my poorly-lit room with pictures of her all around me, bottles of water she's left here, no companions but those miles of copper wiring away. Nothing I do to preoccupy myself works. Techno music only reminds me of her, as does painting my nails and other various hobbies I've taken up during my time with her. I suppose I'm also thinking about this a lot because tomorrow is the 14th, which means Larkin and I will have been together ten months. I've grown so very attached to her, the kindest friend I've known who showered me with compliments when I got to know her to make me feel confident about myself, the short, dark-haired fairy woman who still seduces me every time I lay my eyes upon her, and the muscular, strong willed, and independant goth chick who I often look up to like a big sister.
On a less mushy note, Klein High School becomes a lower level of hell with every six weeks period. I cannot muster up the energy to stay very sociable at school anymore, a fact my parents love to pester me about. Somehow they are unable to understand that watching "Orange County Choppers" at full volume at 11 PM is very unpleasant--especially for a guy that is waking up in seven hours to go listen to incessant, unhelpful, post-menopausal teachers talk about things he will never apply in his real life. They can't figure out why, after working out and being at school all day, I am tired, and enjoy making fun of my groggy complaints of hallucinations and semiconscious hobbling around the kitchen.
I had an unnatural thought last night for someone my age. I think that, if I had the option of skipping summer vacation and entering my senior year directly after my junior year, I'd do it. I considered things in the grand scheme of my life last night, and honestly, I wish nothing more than to get out of this adolescent hellhole called education and get on with my life. These are some of the best years of my life, and I'm spending them trying to get more sleep. The only personal gain that school makes me feel is that every day, when I get home, I can acknowledge another day I have gotten rid of. The sooner I'm out of here and pursuing something I actually enjoy, the better.
I want to become a chef, Mrs.Durio. Not a quantum physicist. I don't want to be the president, or a mathematician who will end up as a disgruntled high school teacher, or a journalist. Just a fucking cook. I'd like to serve food to people, spend time with people I love, and sleep more than I do now. Does such a simple life require an entire youth full of bullshit? And that's all it is. Not learning concepts for the TAKS test, but learning how to bullshit your way past test-writers. Not learning about history, but copying down sentences out of your textbook to bullshit your way past your football coach/teacher. Not learning to write, but learning to copy the methods of other writers who've been praised by a million critics. And only learning algebra long enough to bullshit your way through the test with a graphing calculator, so you can forget it afterwards.
On a less mushy note, Klein High School becomes a lower level of hell with every six weeks period. I cannot muster up the energy to stay very sociable at school anymore, a fact my parents love to pester me about. Somehow they are unable to understand that watching "Orange County Choppers" at full volume at 11 PM is very unpleasant--especially for a guy that is waking up in seven hours to go listen to incessant, unhelpful, post-menopausal teachers talk about things he will never apply in his real life. They can't figure out why, after working out and being at school all day, I am tired, and enjoy making fun of my groggy complaints of hallucinations and semiconscious hobbling around the kitchen.
I had an unnatural thought last night for someone my age. I think that, if I had the option of skipping summer vacation and entering my senior year directly after my junior year, I'd do it. I considered things in the grand scheme of my life last night, and honestly, I wish nothing more than to get out of this adolescent hellhole called education and get on with my life. These are some of the best years of my life, and I'm spending them trying to get more sleep. The only personal gain that school makes me feel is that every day, when I get home, I can acknowledge another day I have gotten rid of. The sooner I'm out of here and pursuing something I actually enjoy, the better.
I want to become a chef, Mrs.Durio. Not a quantum physicist. I don't want to be the president, or a mathematician who will end up as a disgruntled high school teacher, or a journalist. Just a fucking cook. I'd like to serve food to people, spend time with people I love, and sleep more than I do now. Does such a simple life require an entire youth full of bullshit? And that's all it is. Not learning concepts for the TAKS test, but learning how to bullshit your way past test-writers. Not learning about history, but copying down sentences out of your textbook to bullshit your way past your football coach/teacher. Not learning to write, but learning to copy the methods of other writers who've been praised by a million critics. And only learning algebra long enough to bullshit your way through the test with a graphing calculator, so you can forget it afterwards.
Monday, January 12, 2004
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Today is the end of the first week back to school after the unpleasantly short Christmas holidays. It was a short week for me, as Larkin is now in my physics class, making the passage of time during Mrs.Durio's demonstrations much easier (her cars look like fucking nipples), and we did nothing in choir for four days besides sit around and listen to Mr.Raddin talk; though I wasn't terribly bored during the abscence of singing, since Mary charitably pranced around, singing her French solo as I napped on the carpet. Her opera-like voice is peaceful, and helps put me to sleep.
When not napping, however, I read a fascinating book I picked up at Half Price with Larkin: The Urban Primitive. It's a book on modern Paganism in the city, and describes how urban Pagans perform their sacred rituals without the luxury of an open field and gigantic bonfire to channel energy from. It also outlines the uses of herbs, or "weeds" found in the city that have age-old magical properties, characteristic energies of certain stones, symbolism and beneficial attributes attached to specific body piercings, tattoos, and the like.
I like Paganism. Obviously more than Christianity, as I've developed a stern disapproval of in the past, well, half my life or so. More than Satanism, also--it's not as fanatical, and doesn't attempt to be outrageous, only discreet, peaceful, and respectful. I would even prefer to associate myself with a society of Druids than with the American Association of Atheists or whatnot; most organizations are made up of white, pseudo-intellectual assholes bent on the destruction of spirituality, and granted, I generally am not fond of theist beliefs, but I'm not looking to erase freedom of religion from the constitution. It will never happen, and being involved with a group seeking to do so will not earn a guy a friendly reputation in a world where 95% of the population believes in some kind of higher power. Common sense.
So I'll continue studying other minority religions, and give Paganism a shot. I'm extremely fond of it because I don't necessarily have to believe in a Goddess or Mother Gaea; one might associate those names with powerful forces which control some aspects of the universe, but there are Pagan sects full of atheistic nutcases like me who believe that the many gods are not actually people in the sky with helmets and spears, but strong ideas. As far as I'm concerned, Athena doesn't have to be a warrior-woman with a passion for blood and wisdom, but she may be a powerful cosmic force, strengthened over thousands of years by prayer, belief, and pure thought. Believing that Zeus is a big bearded guy in the clouds with lightning bolts is a bit farfetched for me, but believing in the existence of energy is not.
I must say that The Holographic Universe has given me a relatively objective, if a bit scientific, perspective on all this, as well as providing a little evidence that the followers of Paganism aren't crazy. A lot of the experimentally-tested things mentioned in Talbot's work are already pagan concepts with varying terminology differences: the human energy field is the aura, the centers of electromagnetic power are the chakras (which is a Yogic or Hindu thing or somesuch I believe, but modern Paganism borrows it), and the idea that there is a collective human subconscious is universal, as well as the theory that consciousness is very relative, and everything may possess a certain awareness of its own.
So anyway, I'm intrigued. I also really, really like strong, herbal tea, candles, plants, and pretty rocks.
When not napping, however, I read a fascinating book I picked up at Half Price with Larkin: The Urban Primitive. It's a book on modern Paganism in the city, and describes how urban Pagans perform their sacred rituals without the luxury of an open field and gigantic bonfire to channel energy from. It also outlines the uses of herbs, or "weeds" found in the city that have age-old magical properties, characteristic energies of certain stones, symbolism and beneficial attributes attached to specific body piercings, tattoos, and the like.
I like Paganism. Obviously more than Christianity, as I've developed a stern disapproval of in the past, well, half my life or so. More than Satanism, also--it's not as fanatical, and doesn't attempt to be outrageous, only discreet, peaceful, and respectful. I would even prefer to associate myself with a society of Druids than with the American Association of Atheists or whatnot; most organizations are made up of white, pseudo-intellectual assholes bent on the destruction of spirituality, and granted, I generally am not fond of theist beliefs, but I'm not looking to erase freedom of religion from the constitution. It will never happen, and being involved with a group seeking to do so will not earn a guy a friendly reputation in a world where 95% of the population believes in some kind of higher power. Common sense.
So I'll continue studying other minority religions, and give Paganism a shot. I'm extremely fond of it because I don't necessarily have to believe in a Goddess or Mother Gaea; one might associate those names with powerful forces which control some aspects of the universe, but there are Pagan sects full of atheistic nutcases like me who believe that the many gods are not actually people in the sky with helmets and spears, but strong ideas. As far as I'm concerned, Athena doesn't have to be a warrior-woman with a passion for blood and wisdom, but she may be a powerful cosmic force, strengthened over thousands of years by prayer, belief, and pure thought. Believing that Zeus is a big bearded guy in the clouds with lightning bolts is a bit farfetched for me, but believing in the existence of energy is not.
I must say that The Holographic Universe has given me a relatively objective, if a bit scientific, perspective on all this, as well as providing a little evidence that the followers of Paganism aren't crazy. A lot of the experimentally-tested things mentioned in Talbot's work are already pagan concepts with varying terminology differences: the human energy field is the aura, the centers of electromagnetic power are the chakras (which is a Yogic or Hindu thing or somesuch I believe, but modern Paganism borrows it), and the idea that there is a collective human subconscious is universal, as well as the theory that consciousness is very relative, and everything may possess a certain awareness of its own.
So anyway, I'm intrigued. I also really, really like strong, herbal tea, candles, plants, and pretty rocks.