H.L. Mencken was a damned genius.

I forgot to mention it, but a few weeks ago, Larkin and I came across something uncharacteristically fucked up while driving to my house. It was late at night, and as we drove by a yellow, two-story house with neatly trimmed hedges and a lot of pickup trucks parked close by, we noticed the place was absolutely studded with Confederate flags. The little ones--you know, the kind that are on little sticks so you can stick them in your yard. They were lined up alternately with the American flag around the perimeter of the house, and out in the driveway, a bunch of rednecks were unfolding a gigantic banner to tack up on the side of the house.

I don't know what the fuck that was about.

Anyway, it's a busy week for me. Between making a feeble attempt at keeping up with school, mowing lawns, worrying about next year's hospitality course, and trying to stay in shape for the interview I've got with that Neal Hamil modeling agency this Saturday, and choir, I'm having a rough time. There are, however, some nice things that've happened to keep me from falling apart. I made a new friend in history who happens to be a fabulous artist, and Julia and I hung around Starbucks for an hour after Pre-UIL, discussing the very infrastructure of adolescent life. I made dinner for Larkin on Sunday, and then cooked again for Sterling and Julia on Monday night, after chamber rehearsal. And oh, the joy that cooking meals for people gives me! I can't wait to be able to do it all day and get paid for it.

You know, I've never really talked about it before, whole Conservative vs. Liberal thing. I think it's obvious why; I think Republicans are so ridiculous that I don't really even see the need to think about them, much less make angry blog posts. But the way political views work in high school is interesting, so I'll tell you what I think.

Being a Republican or Democrat really doesn't hold any meaning in our age group, or so it seems. Not only is it really just sort of trendy to make some sort of statement, but too many people are impractical and on the real extremist ends of the political spectrum (not even being able to vote anyway is another thing). Either we carry to school what our parents say at the dinner table about those damn Japs taking over the Western world, or we look at the gory mess the media shows us of the world, and immediately jump over to the hardcore left-wing side to declare the abrupt end of fossil fuel use, all wars, and environmental pollution.

Is it just me, or is no one practical at all? Obviously, we can't lead our country as our hotheaded "Bring Em On" Texan asshole president is doing, wrecking the economy for oil wars. But it's not like someone new will take the office and instantly end strife forever, or return America to its pre-WWI isolationist state, or require the use of solar-powered cars. I wish. But it's not practical.

Those are nice ideals and all, but if you really want to get something done, you have to be a little more moderate; if we withdrew everything from the Middle East right now, the place would probably just degenerate to a worse warzone than it is, with lost hopes of some stable form of government (even if it is obnoxiously American). I get what we say we're trying to do, which is to help people, but I don't get carpet-bombing whole countries to satisfy the media and someone's re-election campaign by capturing one guy in the midst of a bazillion suicide bombers. I don't get starting the whole "reconstruction of the Middle East" with an arrogant plot for revenge. I also don't get lying to the American people (got uranium from where?), and keeping us in a constant state of fear (terrorist threat my ass, it's the other side of the world) so that we don't question the actions of the government.

You see what I'm talking about? Liberals have it right, because when I think Liberal, I think political reform, and when I think Conservative, I think war and economic depression as a result of the Conservation of old methods. It's just that, not only can we not be too radical because we won't get voted into office, but because the world is real, and full of big problems, and won't change with the instantaneous abolishment of all militaries by a lofty idealist.

Standleaders: Everyone stand up and say the junior cheer: "'05, stayin alive!"

Me: "'05, livin' a lie!"

You know, I'm a lot better off for not taking a big fancy vacation this spring break. Truth is, I needed a week of staying up until 3 A.M. and then sleeping for eleven hours. I was able to actually relax and have a nice time with Larkin and some other friends, and some nice oppurtunities have really opened up for me. The model search yesterday went amazingly well--the gay Neal Hamil employee who took my picture and application loved me and said that this will "probably be a short-term thing for me, because my career will probably be more centered in New York and Europe" (oh fucking well, right?). Damn, what fun!

I'm not really terrified about going back to school, either--I actually feel pretty well rested for once in my life, like I could get back into the swing of things and not fail any classes. I think I'll make an appearance and wear some of the really sexy formal clothing items I got at Salvation Army the other day. Honestly, who buys hand-sewn, designer imported silk ties for 75 dollars when you can rummage through the bin at the thrift store and find stuff like that for quarters?

No one ever comments on my blog...

Tomorrow, I've got my first shot at this whole modeling thing. I'm going to some model search at the willowbrook mall in my full, sexy, formal regalia to see if I can sell myself to Neil Hamil. It's worth a shot, no? Even if it doesn't pull through, I get to walk around the mall in nice clothing with Larkin.

I am afraid I've simply lost my ability to tolerate the mainstream Christian doctrine. There is a part of my mind that filters out the shit I consider immoral, or just plain retarded, and honestly, I can't let that Jesus guy slide on that anymore. Flame me if you will, but:

What the hell is with the Christian martyrdom fetish? Has anybody ever questioned this whole thing about Jesus? Like, how one guy's suicide (or persecution, whichever; getting killed by people you make angry deliberately is sort of a suicide if you ask me, and besides, he said he died for our sins and all that) is supposed to redeem the sins of the whole human race? Or why God thought it'd work really well to instate a reign of peace and goodwill by getting his kid tacked up on a stick? Our Lord is obviously a really violent and sadistic character if he thinks that crucifiction is a good way to end hate or show forgiveness. Kind of like our president, in fact, who thinks that bombings can create democracy.

It's like Christians just LOVE violence; everyone praises this Passion of the Christ deal when it's just two and a half hours of a guy getting flogged with various gnarly instruments of pain infliction (or so I've heard, I really don't want to go see the damn thing myself). "He died for you" really doesn't do it for me. Don't people ever wonder if death isn't a good thing, that it's not quite so romantic or epic? I mean, if I went out on the street and tried to become a saint by killing myself in the name of some deity, people would think me nuts! It sounds ridiculous. Nobody should have to die just so I can eat pork on fridays or have premarital sex (if I confess afterwards, that is). The whole thing seems really convenient, kind of like how the Mormons can baptize you after you're dead, you know? Sort of American in that if you push the magic prayer button, you can go and have a pleasant afterlife.

1. If you could build a house anywhere, where would it be? I dunno if I'd want to be a homeowner so much as living in a big city in some penthouse apartment, to tell you the truth.

2. Favorite article of clothing: Canvas trenchcoat that's about as tall as I am.

3. Favorite physical feature of the opposite sex: Face and/or short hair.

4. Last movie seen at a theater: The Last Samurai. And boy, was it badass. I wouldn't think it with Tom Cruise, too...

5. Favorite place to be: With people.

6. Least favorite place to be: Staked to the ground in an African jungle.

7. Place where you like to be massaged: Scalp. Most people don't realize that long hair can be PAINFUL.

8. Strong in mind or body: Mind. I'm a twig by genetic composition, but I kill myself every once in awhile to look good at the swimming pool.

9. What time do you wake up? School days? 6 A.M. Weekends? 1 P.M.

10. Favorite kitchen appliance: Gas stove, since chefs' knives aren't really appliances.

11. What makes you angry? Being abandoned, and occasionally, religion, but even things that I oppose morally don't truly infuriate me, they just inspire me to satirize.

12.What instrument do you play? The bass voice, and the recording software studio.

13. Favorite colors: Cobalt blue and scarlet red. The first should be the color of a tie, and the second a shirt.

14. Sports car or SUV? Sports car. Although it's nice to be able to see over the other cars on the road, gasoline is expensive and won't be around for much longer.

15.Do you believe in the afterlife? No. Not really. So imma kick some ass while I'm here~

16. Favorite children's book: I don't know, but it's certainly not Hop on Pop.

17. Favorite household chore: Cooking. Co-Goddamn-oking.

18. What superpower would you like to have? The ability to fly around. Or maybe laser eyes. Fuck.

19. If you had to spend 30 minutes talking to a famous person, who would it be? You might think I'd say Edgar Allen Poe, but he was always drunk, fucked up on opium, or depressed, so I think there would be a lot of awkward silence. I think I'd talk to Jesus and be all, hey, man, you should run away, because they make a movie about you in the future, and you die in the end.

20. Favorite person in your past: This one time, I kept a crawdad as a pet. And he PINCHED me. That definitely wasn't my favorite person.

21. Favorite day: Saturday, because if I want, I can just sit and stare at stuff for a day, or I can get out and do stuff, but either way I get to stay up until 4 AM.

22. What do you have in the trunk of your car? If I had a car, Todd's body would be in there.

23. Sushi or hamburger: Sushi. I like hamburgers and all, but you can get one for 99 cents at any McShittles or someplace like that, and not only that, the Japanese have it figured out--they don't even cook the stuff before they eat it.

24. Of all the people that you emailed this to, who is most likely to respond? I don't really send emails to people.

25. Least likely to respond? Shut your pie orifice~

26. What career would you like to pursue if you had the chance? If not executive chef at some nice restaurant, with a fishtank, then I'd probably just mow lawns my whole life. I have a strange fascination with the simplicity of manual labor, and killing myself in the hot sun. I dunno what's wrong with me.

You know, I hope that some day, even if it's right before the bombs hit, people will realize that white guys can be assholes just like black guys, or Jews, or Muslims.

At Starbucks tonight, my talkative buddy Stan came and told Larkin and I stories of violence, racism, rape, and all that gritty real-world stuff. It seemed he would never stop; his topics ranged from the paranormal to the neo-Nazi movement to Aztec cigarettes to corrupt Christianity to dream interpretation. I actually didn't mind too much. It seems that every time I get a little out of touch with reality, you know, reality--what's really out there, not peaceful idealistic movements, but mass slaughter and religious crusade--Stan comes and puts me back on Earth, and yet, a little farther away from it, in a healthy sense, so that I can still watch from a safe vantage point. It somehow helps me to hear the opinions of someone who's completely on the opposite side of everything I stand for (and he's not really offensive at all, which makes it pleasant). It's like he's one of those strange, wandering wise men (and he is smart, despite his way of seeing things) who's brought along by fate occasionally to set me in the right direction, because every time I see him, he's had at least five new life-changing experiences to tell me about, and he's always got lots of time to tell them.

Today I had the rare oppurtunity of reading that piece about the decayed turtle in front of some peers. Who would think I'd do writers' showcase? I get nervous as hell reading things in front of people, and especially when I know the people aren't complete dumbasses--there were actually some of my more artistic and intelligent buddies in the crowd. To my amazement, the piece went over well. After all the angsty poetry, a humorous little page or two of grotesquery struck the kids as hilarious, and I was told of my success for the rest of the day. God, what a good mood that put me in! I've never really sought fame too much before; only a sense of accomplishment or self-respect, and actually having other people praise me was really a different feeling.

You know, conspiracies and murder plots can interest me. I was intrigued by all the different evidence in the Kennedy assasination that Mr.Turks showed the class in history, since I know something about the way bullets expand in water/air/flesh and I know that an exit wound is supposed to be bigger than an entry wound. But creeping Christ, not for two hours of an unpleasant documentary on the stuff! I mean, besides, even if the government finds out how it all happened and why, who's it going to affect? Ultimately, the whole deal is just a waste of time and money, now that it holds no political value whatsoever.

Rob and I are going to make shirts that say, on the front, "Prompt: Write an essay about something RETARDED." and on the back, "TAKS is stupid." We'll wear them during the next tests and be the kings of wit.

Well, I'm almost there. I've got to get through a physics test tomorrow and then I have the full relief of spring break. At least I get to read my work about the decayed box turtle tomorrow at the writers' showcase, which gets me out of the english classroom and into something halfway interesting.

So Saturday, I went on an expedition with Sterling's church (frightening as it may sound) to shoot guns at some middle-of-nowhere state park/shooting range. At least I think it was legal--the leader of the whole shooting activity, "Brother" Davison, casually picked up his kevlar-stocked AK-47 and unloaded 30 rounds full auto into a murky pond several times. I think he bribed the park ranger. In any case, I had sickening amounts of fun unloading 7.62mm cartridges into old computer monitors (entirely safe?), and shooting at grapefruit with a .45 caliber revolver. I've scanned a few pictures, but I'm too lazy to get a decent webhosting service (50megs sucks and won't let you upload anything over, like, a megabyte), so if you want to see them, just IM me (JohnH778). I've got a couple nice shots of myself and Sterling firing the AK, as well as some various handguns. Call me a hillbilly, but I Goddamned love firearms.

You know, I don't mind school. I enjoy the prospect of going (or even being forced to go) to school every day, where I'm taught things that will be crucial to my development as a human being. Even obscure subjects like history--a class where we study the reasons not to be a totalitarian dictator--have become enjoyable to me, because cool teachers like Mr.Turks reveal those little-known facts that the propagatorial U.S. History books leave out, like the massacre of 6,000 Canadians sent to probe European defenses in WWII.

Unfortunately, this is not the case. I go to KHS every day to learn how to calculate magnetic flux, the muzzle velocity of a cannon, and how far away you need to be to hear a 2,000W explosion at 50 dB. I march in every day to classes that focus completely on passing a standardized test (which I have to pay for, those AP assholes) that will never benefit me. I'm going to CULINARY SCHOOL, so what good is the AP English test going to do me? Especially when I have a bad habit of hating the "Classics" that I'll have to answer questions regarding? On the other hand, learning to produce some creative writing might be useful in the future, if I care to publish a memoir, but the greatest extent of my junior year's newly acquired skills so far is to analyze other peoples' work. And I don't do that very well, which is, granted, my fault, but that's because I don't care for it.

Sadly, all my ranting and raving about this whole system isn't really going to get me anywhere. Being a lofty idealist isn't usually terribly productive, and it hasn't been for me; my resentment of my education is just failing me classes, so I truly need to just bullshit my way through it all. It's fortunate that I've got Larkin here to help me understand spectral emissions and polynomials. But who knows, someday I may need to calculate yield for a veal stock using imaginary numbers. Or maybe I'll be doing prep work as a sous-chef one day, and I'll want to determine the chemical composition of a star 13,000,000 light years away from me. Perhaps I'll shout at a brick wall and wonder furiously at how long it will take for the sound waves to bounce off and hit my eardrums.

Aphrodite/Eros


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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Book by its Cover

As my carefree companion and I skipped carelessly down the street, home from another elementary day at a school where conduct grades matter more than academics, we saw--much to our boyish delight--a box turtle, shimmering in the sliver of afternoon sunlight that my street’s looming cindero of pine trees allows. The creature seemed to be in a struggle of dire consequences from the distance we glimpsed him; he must claw his way over the cement curb, or admit defeat and bake in the sun to become a crispy tortoise tart.

Yet somehow, despite all its struggling, the creature seemed to be getting nowhere at all, but appeared to simply wriggle with agony, as if it were collapsing upon itself. It must be saved! My partner in crime and I exchanged the slang of the nineties and dashed to the unfortunate reptile’s aid, its situation focusing more and more into detail as we neared and began to doubt the turtle’s existence completely. Was this a pile of glass, or sand? It glimmered in the golden sun like a pirate’s treasure!

What I saw with my friend remains one of the most horrifying experiences of my life: a turtle it was, indeed, but of no recent movement at all—at least not of its own accord. It had dissolved into a pulpy mush on the pavement, rotted nearly beyond recognition, but wait, was it breathing? No—it throbbed with more life than it ever had, filled with the sinister, merciless minions of decay: the gossamer maggots that would later sprout wings to consume the rest of the greenish-black flesh. To keep track of an individual was impossible. The great white hoard functioned as a whole organism, squirming through the turtle’s body cavities endlessly as if its goal was to bring the turtle back to some mutilated form of undead existence. Much to my disgust, the combined force of the maggots was great enough to move the turtle’s now skeletal claw up and down, scratching at the curbside as if pleading for mercy. I could hear the clicking grind of the nails on the concrete.

This was not what I’d wanted to see. I fled for my life—even my childish instinct to kick the jellied organism or poke it with a stick had left me, hid behind the rush of adrenaline I felt at the sight of the sparkling shell’s repeated scratching. This, like a frog one shouldn’t pick up, was the worst form of childhood’s cruel propaganda, luring me into simple pleasure and nearly killing me with the rumbling of digestive juices that ensued. I made a note to be more careful, and to this day I possess a skepticism of anything that has a promising appearance: the media, politics, moral doctrines, advertised products, and whatever else I judge to have a false cover or an unlikely virtue. Never trust anything or anyone based on appearance. You may end up dealing with a rotten turtle.