i am helplessly pensive...

what more can I say...

i am in no position to...
but i desire to leave my parents house...
I desire to drive...

I desire to ... sigh
but will she ever want to love me the way I once imagined she could?

...

it is raining now... which is good, my vegetables were virgins to the rain until yesterday
...

my thoughts run rampid...

I wait... in a silent solitude and dream... but what am I waiting for... who is she... what is she going to do to the thing that is me when she comes...

when will the stars fall from the sky?
when will the rain wash away my mind

curiosity prevails

I have to say, just maybe the stars are right... just maybe they ought not move-- but who am I to read the cosmos-- who am I to tell these horoscopes, who am I to think this may be some good news?

I am plagued by thoughts; good, bad, sometimes scary...

chess pawns moved into the sacrificial position; but it is not yet known whether the game has a winner...

the stars tilt... just slightly; and all could be lost... all could evaporate... like a vague memory... like the storybook day i could have lived if I had only known...

but now the star light, spatial might shall spread across the mental capacity like santa... like scoo

relief comes with a sigh of its own.

plants to plant I think, and fish to bury...
noone shall know what it is I think
noone shall under stand

I am what a willow would do in the wind
waver in passivity, but I still stand strong for that is what I know
I will not fall,

i stumble... on this thought, Im a wreck, a guilty wreck... because of fairy weaves... sweet fairy waves. You should know that sanity is temporal... so is thought... but this desire burns on and on....

what gets me is you pretend that it was nothing... you pretend that you didn't want I want... but I know you are lying to yourself... out of guilt... out of some thing you think you need to do...
I heard you tell me the truth once...

that was nice
why the lies
why the forced separation
why did you stop caring?
I used to mean something...

its hard for me to get passed it... because I dont understand it...
sigh... i know its my problem... i just dont understand... thats what i need help with

I should prolly not even pretend otherwise. I have Only seen glimpses of peace, and there has been only one connection between each... her... sigh.

It is what I imagine being on meth is like... the meth increases the chemical in the brain that is responsible for the sensation of euphoria; but when it where's off it makes the addict depressed because it experienced such a high level of bliss that the brain literally does not know how to be happy with out meth...

do you know what it is like to be awestruck every time I see her? Does anyone know what it is like to know the lady of your dreams... but to be left to your dreams, your imagination... sigh. When I watch her drive away, I can only think of what luck other guys must have to be in her arms, in her mind, amid her priorities. I would trade them the winning power ball numbers If I had it... they have the very thing I have always been addicted to...

how dare I ever think otherwise... as time meanders away, and this thought fades, I start to think in other ways until the sun rises again. I am reminded of peace, tranquility-- I am reminded of the closest thing I have ever been able to label as 'happiness'. This is where I know Logic is futile, where it becomes a wordless wonder-- awe at the very spectacle... the aura my eyes drape around her as if she was behind the church alter staring back like divinity herself.

Telling me that there is other fish in the sea is like suggesting to a devote Muslim that there are other viable religions... One does not believe through rational means; ones heart and I eyes are not rational... the premise, other fish in the sea, is irrelevant to everything.

But maybe I am too... Just irrelevant to everything.
Sigh.

What has happened is nothing
a great nothing...

Yet everyone is celebratory for nothing
a great nothing...

They get pissed when I say it was nothing...
Fuck them.

I see something more intrinsically honest about the whole process...
its dumb
its fucked up...
arbitrary...

But so many has accepted lime green as the only shade of reality, that lime green has become reality...

its not. The Universe is vacant of such nonesense, such social imperatives.
If only you could understand that it isn't sophistry...
it is the very air you breath that bleeds like wounded prey. It is the hindered oxygen in your blood, it is the tainted love you make. What a creation man has bestowed upon himself... what a story... what a think, if only the creator could see what monster has bee created-- then maybe a person could stop lieng to themselves. Once you understand you have created it, then you can see lime green for what it is... in the purest sense imaginable. It is just as much subjective rubbish as anything else you may have to offer. So fuck off.

im tired of not telling everything I want to...
I think all night long about how I am going to have the courage to face the posibility of rejection

every time it comes to the moment, the fear seeps in
I walk away.

With certitude I know I wont be rejected--
with certitude I know I wont be happy...

My history thesis is catastrophic... I worked on it for 4 days straight... about 10 hours a day it is still a mess... an explosion of unclear thinking... sigh... an hour of peer evaluations is going to be embarrassing.

the next month will be brutal...

I want to stay out in the woods where I belong... Like today for instance...
but no... I have to be hear...
At the flippeen library
doing ducking research...

sucky

I hate school
I am tired

Fuck...

I am dead...

like a log rotting-- a cadaver impaled...

my eyes gaze without capture

dead

fuck!

You'd think I could fake a breath...
You'd think I could fake a smile...
Like you, I could fake my love and believe myself...
... This fake ideal
Fuck

I can only hope I learn at my ripe age; the wiley wisdom of child.
If only my world was so naive...
back in the days when i didn't know that I was such an intolerable cud

I hate everything I am...
I miss me...
the me burried on the corner of age and santiy

i am terrible
...
if only you knew...
if you only you wanted to know what I really thought.
If I actually wanted to know what you really thought

why must even the closest of friends bite their lip-- put up a front... live under facades and egos. why must the most distant of people judge our performance

In one placce I see a girl, i think she's cute, she knows her stuff-- in another place there is another girl; she is pretty and smart-- in another place another girl. Its all an accident of place and time; it is all a matter of perception and has nothing to do with anything real.

I see her as pretty-- but pretty is not a quality she has; it is a function of my understanding not her being.

I fear that, because i think i mean it when I tell a girl she is beautiful-- but All am really saying is I think she is beautiful-- this infact does not mean she is pretty-- sorry ladies.

However, it doesn't matter to me-- i have convinced my self-- this much is irrational and emotional... When I say you are beautiful, i am being sincere towards my concept of you-- but i don't know if I am being fair to you as a person... because there is not an objective beauty that you are or are not... only this subjective idea...

So sorry, but no girl is beautiful. The fact that I think otherwise doesn't give beauty ontological grounding. The fact that I am totally awestruck with desire and lust doesn't say anything about you, rather it says something about me. Namely I am a person who finds you desirable-- but you are not in fact desirable, for desirability is not self sufficient, it requires an object and one to assess its value-- in this case value is personal. How selfish it seems, you are desirable to me-- what a crime I express

I think of there hers amid the her nots, how they are tied to a man on the base assumptions that he is nice an 'loves' them-- when honestly they are being quite selfish-- and in fact ladies, you are being selfish-- but, when people can be selfish and not resent each other than they are in a winning situation-- the selfishness is tacit, hidden. You shovel it under the rugg; it is still their flourishing, you selfish bastard-- but so long as all is peaceful you become on aware of your hideous crimes.

With this i stand in perplexity-- if in her I desire, how should I act? Should i be selfish like everyone else and attempt to claim direct dominion over her livlihood; or should i remain myself... by myself; knowing fully well that no girl acts in a way that could benifet a non-selfish me...

I've seen every girl I have ever liked in the arms of another beast because of my prudence... yes beast... all of us are quite bestial; but you like the blindness you have achieved. You don't think of him as a beast, he doesn't think of you as a beast-- but it is a matter of perception-- it is a great deception-- he is your toy, you are is idea-- niether of you are the same thing to each other. You are a means--

I never wanted the hers to be a means-- but there seams to be no other way--

Go to Google.
Type ' needs'
List the top ten things that come up

google search: Mike Needs

1.Mike needs a date
2.Mike needs a light-razoring
3.Mike needs to get a clue
4.Mike needs a Wii
5.Mike needs Sarah
6.Mike needs a new avatar
7.Mike needs to update his myspace profile and pics
8.Mike needs your help
9.Mike Needs Dave's help
10.Mike Needs a heart

google search Mr. emms needs (only 1 came up)

1.mr. emms needs some practice at sayin ur name

If I was handsome I could totally be an actor

tonight my dad kept puttin on home videos--

me when i was really young--
I was so... free spirited...
I was so... uninhibited--

I was me...

What I am now is what happens when you run a sharp object into a blunt surface too many times...

I became dull...
I became dim...

It is only with half a heart theat I get out of bed...
Being awake used to be great...
Sleep used to be a waste of time...
now sleep is salvation.

i just need someone to rant to who will listen... who wont be annoyed... who wants to hear me out.

I wonder what happened to all those who said they cared...
I knew i couldn't trust them.

Fuck them anyway...
They think there in a different globe...
they think there so big

I wonder how long it will take for their spirits to be broken...
I will laugh...
they don't know what it is like...

they have no grasp...
when they are dismissed and discarded like i have been... then they will understand...

Oh pretty girl... you lost everything but your looks...

i hope your fake life fits you you well...

what the hell am I supposed to do for Cuba Night?

... shit!!!

... I am very aware of myself... like I see myself in the third person constantly.

Anyways, I was taking the indoor route through the tunnel to get to christenson center-- mostly because i did not feel like going outside today( i do not usually take that route). But this girl in class apparently walks that way... ( i did not know)and i struck up a little discussion from class regarding hard facts and soft facts... but as the windy path through the little halls and tunnels continued I could just sense that she was... uncomfortable... like I feel like she thought I was being creepy because I was walking beside her... and I don't usually take that path...the thing is I was sincerely just trying to avoid outside, i just thought I might as well make convo since i had the question regarding soft facts readily on my mind anyways...

but after a while i was just so concious of it--- i literally said "I hope you don't think I am being creepy" her response was "i am just going back to my room"

... you know, I really don't care exactly what she thinks of me... so what a girl thinks I am creepy... I can deal with what I would consider a misconception-- a bad impression-- I can deal with not impressing everybody...

On the other hand, I wonder If I am presenting myself In a creepy way-- if thats just an accepted attribute about me--... so its not just her, but it is all people... or atleast all girls...

Some people are really sociable with me... but it seems like, a vast majority of the people here would never seek out a conversation with me out of fascination or even mere conveniance... I almost sense disdain sometimes...

... In terms of Jessica, was I supposed to just change paths to alleviate her tension? would that have been the curteous thing to do? Or am I right to continue forth on my destination even if it seems to cause anxiety in some one else...

I feel so untrusted around here...
Maybe I need a hair cut...

Of course-- do I want there trust-- am I not doomed for dissapointing people if I gain their trust--

If i am to have an image in my name... what should it be?
Ought there to be any particularity...

nonetheless... the whole situation was just odd to me...

I feel like i did something wrong-- though i didn't--
but In hindsight I probably could have done something different-- i could have simply gone outside...

How far can a boy converse with an aquaintance before idle chat becomes creepy? And is there a way to prevent that from happening if a large part of the chosen path is mutual?

... it would be most like me to say a snide remark-- like happy national hallmark appreciation day!

But truthfully-- that is even too transparent for myself this year; certainly I have thoroughly thought i believed that in other years...

But this day reminds me that I am single... perpetually-- though i know tons of beautiful girls-- though i have liked many beautiful girls-- though many of these beautiful girls at some point has admitted to liking me, I remain the perpetual single.

As of late-- there is no one special to me; there is no one who I think about every day-- there is no one I think about every week... heck, there aren't an girls that I routinely communicate with right now-- in recent times it has been silent. I really do not have a crush-- not at all-- and I haven't for almost a year. And even at that; my last crush could have never worked out; she was a creationist-- and an ultra conservative republican. She looked and acted like an young but extremely smart version of Sarah Palin-- The only two things we agreed on is that we are both pro-lifers; and that Obama recieved far too much praise leading up too his inauguration. It would of been against her extreme faith to even think about someone as unfaith driven as me... But i do admit I liked her... I liked talking with her in the coffee shop everyday.

But now-- it has been so long since my heart could open up to someone-- I am almost apathetic in regards to this bullshit concept of 'love'-- I am suffering from dispassion-- girls are just blotches of color that i can see and audibility that I can hear... she is unique-- or necessary to my emotions in any way...

On this day; i am reminded not that I am single; but worse... I am reminded that I don't know how to feel anymore.

He tried to tell me that there are things that I can do that God cannot do...
For instance i can make a boat so large I cannot lift it
God cannot make a boat so large that God cannot lift it...

But ofcourse this is non controversial to me...
I wanted to say "ofcourse there are things I can do that God cannot do-- the ability to exist is on top of the list."

However, I refrained because I have grown weary of paying homage to logic.

Che Guevara... oh Che, what kind of historical hogwash should I right about you?

Does anyone know who or what I am?

Ive been trying to think a lot about what it is I want...

I have been trying to figure out what it is I think about when i am not forced to think...

but I literally think about nothing; I used to think about girls; some of which thought of me-- I used to think of hunting in the outdoors... i still do the outdoors man thing... but its not what i think about-- i do the outdoors man thing in order to think; I antler hunt and I delight in finding antlers; i would be fine spending my life looking for antlers... but it is still not what i think about...

Some have suggested that i think about philosophy-- but its not that; maybe I think philosophically but i am not thinking about philosophy-- philosophy is my method; not my content.

I've considered that i maybe thinking egotistically; but any such burden is simply being trapped in my one perspective...

But maybe it is true that I am selfish...
for instance right now I am only thinking about myself.

I want to know who I am
I want to know what I want...

And I act as if this is my problem alone...

I am not trying to though...
i am simply trying to want something... as if to say I want desire...

A great weight of apathy is on me like the plague... i just want it pushed away...

I want to be able to look at a girl with young eyes-- I, at ripe 22, have lost my sight; beauty and ugliness are not a real distinction...

I feel so unamused-- un-attracted by those her-nots; but I recognize them as the type of thing I should want... that I always have wanted

I wonder if it is from years of watching the girls I admire fall into the flames of estranged relationships and cliche decision making-- does anyone know how bad of a beating my heart took? I half wonder if I simply don't have a 'heart' anymore...

I am excited about nothing; but vulnerable... because i have no reason to say no anymore--- just a bunch of reasons to say yes; as if I am acting deontologically (or out of duty)

the problem-- everyone I know thinks they act in purpose...
I dont have a purpose--

so i try to help them on there purpose...
but i am fully aware that there is no such thing as a purpose for them ...

but... I help them anyways, because they are naive enough to believe in love and happiness...

naive is a funny word with a stigma... it is almost a compliment in this case...
I honestly wish i could be naive again...

I have seen enough to not want to think anymore...
I have seen enough period...

but I do think

about nothing...

I would...

its all nothing; nothing here and nothing there; the great contiguous beast by which I claim something and analyze it down to its non existent parts. We for get that nothing has no parts, somethings parts are nothing and thus something is nothing. We dream of things, love, sex , ice cream... all of these great nothings which are not at all what they seem. The tingle is simply nothing, the organ, my tongue are nothing. The mind the heart are nothing. What good is love; what good is sex? what good is Ice cream?

so absorbed i am by that grandiose phenomenon that my self disappears-- when I went to a performance of Eleutheria (a play written by Samuel Beckett) or when i watch a movie... the me disappears... But now i understand that this doesn't end when the lights fade or when the credits roll... it is simply sensual capture that does this... Carrying in the groceries is like a commercial; walking in the woods is like being on a documentary; running on the beach is like being on bay watch; my everyday life is like a sitcom... not that my life fits performance cliches-- my life is a series of acts-- I act like a student; i act like an outdoors man-- but just like an actor, I am aware of my performance; I am characters-- but my inner actor is without identity; unlike the actor I am unaware of my self-- though i believe actors are unaware of themselves. They simply have a professional acting job to coincided their natural acting job. Philosophy an act... professor is an act... we use these acts to define us; but it is only out of utter lack of true definition. We are what we are-- it is false to equivocate what we are with what we do-- or what we know. We act based on what we know; maybe... but this is trivial... this is mear acting... i do and know many things (so much as know is a useful term) but habit ritual and act are something I preform, but there is an I that lies outside of this.

What i am experiencing... I am so aware of my act, that i am having trouble performing... instead of being the actor I am becoming an audience...

I just watch... but the scene is falling apart because I am not there... The images of me are there but me... I am not there... I dont know what to do

I can't figure out when this started; when did things get to be this way, everything is so... dreamed up and concocted. Nothing feels real... there was the nights i mentioned, by which everything i wanted was laying on the table like a sexy royal flush... but it was so good that i couldn't take the money... like baseball... i played college baseball... but when i was there it was just me... i wasn't a college baseball player, it was me, and I was there, but that was it... i put on the uniform... I swung the bat, I hit the ball... but it wasn't college baseball, or at least it didn't feel like it... It was a place, I was there... like college as a whole... I keep traveling to and fro but I am not in college; at least it doesn't seem like it... of course im there; i see myself doing the work... but i can't really tell that I am at college... I don't mean this epistemologically; i just don't feel like I am at college-- that is the whole problem... something in me is numbed, or fooled... My problem is this awareness... or maybe unawareness... or meta awareness... i get whats going on here, i see myself doing all these worthless trivial things... but it is as if I am not the thing I see... Like I am watching my self from the third person... my life is nothing but an act on a stage or on tv... but I don't think there is anything at the heart of the actor... there is nothing in the heart of me.... I am without feeling... but i don't get when this happened... wasn't there a time where I felt? I thought i did... but now i am so aware that i don't feel anything anymore that i don't even feel my actual presence... it is just visual capture, audibility and my omnipresent consciousness... I am starting to understand why people like pain; i still don't like it, but I understand it... I don't feel anything! without pain there is nothing here... there is a small part of me that wants to feel anything; even if it is pain... well it is a large part of me... But i am not self destructive... is this the problem? Is self destruction necessary for self construction?

I atleast used to believe I felt for people, that i felt for myself... but now im not sure... I feel like what those thinkers of the past have said; mind with extension... I get why Plotinus thought material was non-being... I am trying to live as a bodily human being and I feel like a complete non-being... I don't feel like I really exist... All I understand of this place is that I am aware of it... All these things that have happened to me... what do they amount to? I am aware that it happened through my eyes, ears and other senses...

It all makes sense... the numbness... I understand her need to masturbate... it is what is left of her feeling... I understand her need to cut her self with a knife; pleasure and pain are the same thing at this level of awareness... I don't want to be here... and yet, i often think of what it would be like to break a limb of some kind; I used to think it was because I wanted the attention, or the sympathy; but maybe i just want the sensation... this feeling is what reminds us that we are real... It brings back the mortality... where sex becomes a set of chemical reactions and catalysts, that causes unawareness and thus pleasure...

What i mean to say is; i am not me... I know I look like me, but i am aware of how vacant I have become... there is nothing substantial here... I am of fleshc and bones... I bleed... I die...
But the me I am aware of is something else... I am not what I am-physically, mentally or spirtually... I am something else completely... or, I am the amiss of something...

it is surreal; the act, i experienced it before; where i was so aware of it... the entire stigma, the hypothetic; the fear... underneath it was years of desire. No, one cannot under stand; I proceeded with some secret concern-- by which i mean secret to myself... i feel like i was hiding something; but i can't figure out what it was I was trying to hide. The private life-- I can't believe in it or against it... I had what I dream, but am I looking for a dream, or does it concern me that My dream came true again... There were moments i personally thought could have been the end of me; not in a bad way... I thought my ego could concede, just for once, i thought i could be without mind, at peace and with that of pleasure. There is no reason why I should have to tolerate the asinine usurper that underlies my skin. If I pray for anything, I pray for sin; in particular that it shall happen again. This has tought me so much; it has should me the great facets i must face. It leaves me in wonder; by which i am concerned and remain so.

it is startling, that upon the brink of utmost sensuality it all becomes surreal. It isn't what i wanted because I know it is what I wanted. What I would like is the ability to lose my self, my fears,wants, inhibitions. The act is great, a good deal of fun; but i am imprisoned by my own existential awareness... I see both my id and ego at the same time, niether yielding. It is without passion

frustration is emerging... yet it has been my underlying theme... I am not satisfied with the way things are because i understand they lead to an otherwise trivial discontent; your pain is not always a personal burden; it is very largely caused by a pain burdening system... our ethos and our politic; our strife through controversy is expected; the American dream has been about competition; only there are far fewer successes than failures; to all the failings the game is lost; the competitiveness remains only in terms of our sociality where most of us also fail... what is being realized is that the mass majority of us are perpetual losers of the American dream; and because we lose we pay a perpetual debt to society by holding a system constructed by the winners. It bugs us that shitty music is so famous; yet we consume it and give them our money... we hate that there is such wealthy people in the pressence of such poverty; but it is the poor who caters there grand events... we accept that this is somehow legal; constitutionally speaking...

but this effects my life and the way we live; now more and more loosers are born to a loosing disposition... though some make it out, we have bread a system that can only support a small hand full of winners; and usually winners have some ability to hand over there winnings to their children...

there is no american dream anymore... the greater population increases in america, the less wealth there is and the fewer percentage winners there are. The poor tend to have more babies than the rich; which results in the tightening of their own income. We have built a society where some people have to be uneducated in order for the society to work; phds can flip burgers, but they ought not too... we have created a society where a mass majority are trapped by productivity and have no sense of the word liesure. We have built a society where work and business s the only state of being; where sitting still is painful. This is a society where drugs and alcohol; besides undermining your budget, are used to numb your pain and to breed apathy. There is an unrest in us all; but we are too apathetic to concern ourselves with this fact; thpugh, this unrest is very much an existential concern; it is the begrudging demeanor we work with while others play; by which the winners can cut us at will; seizing our fair share for several more rounds of Golf. It is easy to paralyze us; we hang precariously by threads waiting to be snipped. SHit gets so bad there is nothing else to do but indulge ourselves into stupidity by means of drink and sex. We are told to believe in the success of a cul-de-sac life; and four kids; by which our sub par income is boasted about as an excellent sign the American dream is still alive. We have things and kids; but they have taken from us all our time... if we are lucky.

I sometimes envision myself metaphorically*** choking the phantoms who are responsible; the winners; I admit, i t makes me feel warm and tingly to think of these rich bastards suffering; i want them to see the other side of of economic Darwinism and social Darwinism. Maybe they will fully understand what it was like to be the last Neanderthal. But i know it is not beneficial; I would simply be trading in an informal incarceration for a formal incarceration; the day i step on any of their toes i will sure to be stomped on by an entire foot; or even the feet of a whole army of zombies marching to all the great patriotic ballads. Uncle sam will lead a chant and that shall over ride rational reason. People will have faith in their religion-- by which i certainly mean the US constitution.

The winners are only winning so long as they have us believing we lost. Befuddled; the great majority of us have accepted this premise: we have lost, we get what we have deserved; that life aint meant to be fair so deal with it. we accept this as reality... it isn't reality... WE Accept It. Life is not to be made better through this system; the system is to be made better through this system... In the end our constitution only grants us the liberty to preserve the constitution; i could give a shit about that worthless piss poor document... it is ever so poorly written that it intrinsically sets up millions to fail out of necessity for the system it inclines us to perpetuate; Instead of being oppressed by a king who shall eventually dies; we are trapped by unforgettable words that we ourselves are fooled into perpetuating.

I am no where;
If i can maintain a morale i will be graduating this spring...
but I almost don't want to...
I don't want to live a bull shit systematic life...

This i disagree with Barack Obama and most other politicians... people are not tools for perpetuating a system; rather the system is meant to be a tool used for perpetuating the people...
I can not strive to adapt to the futile life they have in store for me... We have simply taken the Christian idea of higher power and put it on politics... America is this fictitious power. I'm sorry, but America is not bigger than me; if i feel oppressed by this damned constitution i feel obliged to destroy it; our constitution and our ethos do oppress me and I cant hack it like the all of the American gerbil like advocates...

im tired of all the bureaucratic orgasms Americans have.
Its all about being a system of rules, principles, organized for some other purpose than your self
; and norms; we leave no room for variables
and thus, demand constants and stability; to the point where we press our selves to be less then the variable perfection that is in our nature.
We assume every problem needs a specialist; thus, no problem is special because each is doused with equal treatment; the methodical commitment of your bureaucratic orgasm.
We train you to create an Identity
Now you are that, but that is not you.
Your every move occurs outside for the sake of society;
meanwhile, you sit vacantly on the inside in utter disdain.

It is as if you cheated on your loved one; at first you thought of yourself as a monster, but you eventually conceded it was the best thing to do.

By which we confuse clarity with honesty, and honestly remain unclear.
We take a clear role in society that we honestly despise.

Upon a rock,
upon a shore
in a mind
for evermore

Should i dwell on certain death
and relish uncertain life
when sunset is husband
to a sunrise wife?

Their children
both dark and light
respectively illumine
in day and night

But If it were
that beauty is so simple
then we should know
that black is white.

Yet i see a beauty in that complex,
Numbers and systems; constructs and designs
a cutie to vex
but in disguise

And yet, the beauty itself;
my construct, my system, number and design
is less a noun yet a verb
to address when my eyes realign.

Oh three you are contrived,
but in you i believe,
In you I confide
And now you are Beautiful

I am, thus, the creator of three
who as one becomes three;
who makes three possible,
who is so naive.

Now I am beautiful too
for three is me
and one is you;
Silly you and my complexity.

After all, if i am so capable
as if I know and can identify one,
and one is capable of multiplicity
then there is an absurd reality.

But the gentle hail stones
thundering from the humble skies
remind me of subtle plight
and the abrupt demise

Of what it means to be
a human, boy or man
Upon a rock,
or upon a shore

In the glowing light
of darkened lore
in the unyielding strength
of whenever more.

finally got my last grade; it was good enough for me to make academic deans list again, but that ain't saying much, they must be handing those out like candy...

i just see an ech0

i speak so... indescribable, if and what, if or what...
sigh

its funny how we spend so much time wondering, what am I going to do?
but then, like a new sun rising it dawns on us; we have already done it. Our lives are completely unplanned and expected...

the decisions we make occur, it is only in self reflection we can realize ourselves; the troubled thing we have become.

The identity of me, is only an identity for my past, but i am anew, looking onward to a knew time
but i can't see the new man because i cannot yet reflect on what distinguishes one from the other until time has passed

but now, i have reflected so much I cannot even percieve the now.
Everything in my life is timeless
You are the same to me as ever before; if Ever I loved you, I still do, If ever I hate you I still due... If ever I was, I still am. By living amongst ideas and not transient materiality i have avoided getting older and changing. Sure i will grow old in the physical sense, but ideas shall surpass the grasp of christmas past. I have reeched a climax, the summit, a plateau where i can see the whole image unfolding from the enfold of my perceptual vocabulary; i translate and spew out these words... the now is just an image, simple phenomenons, but the nows are more certain.

For the last month i have lived with a christmas tree in the corner of my living room; and it hasn't occured to me yet that i am awake. In a week we shall pack all this stuff back like it never was put up in the first place...

it hasn't occured to me that this is my last year of college...
i still can't believe i am done with high school
i don't thing i ever choose a college to go to...

it all happened, whether it occurs to me or not...

I see you, a pretty girl and I want to say one of the phrases from a past where you seriously thought of me; but i am dumstruck because i realize my timeless sentiment is an individual nothingness to you... you and I are friends... never more...

it occurs to me now, more than ever why I am so willing and able to love over the piernes, across oceans; where my faith in you , the girl, trancends my direct acquaintence. I have developed an authenticity; where what i name you is what I name you. To name you an other is to against my own words. Though i will constantly disagree withmyself; it seems worth notice.

I know exactly what I want for Christmas; I want a decent grade for a miserable class... and I want that; which I have always wanted... which if anyone knew me, would see through me... not at the emptiness i cling to in cliche; rather, the fulfillment. Even if its in my mind, I want to find madame life; a her among many her-nots to be and to be with, who will prioritize me over the place i am and over the places of oppurtunity on the horizon; not that she concedes her dreams for the sake of being with me, but that where ever she is; she brings me with in good consciousness. Though I can't expect to be her every desire; i want to be her comfort, and in return she can be mine.

I wish she would tell me what she thought
by appearing to me and telling me something we both want to hear.
I wish for our embrace.

What I am doing isn't very important; I now realize it is who is with me.
So many bail ship on me; and im driving my own mission underwater; i can't blame them.

i am worried about my grade in class i was predisposed to do poorly in; i didn't realize watching movies was a prerequisite for historiography

what garbage...
Gosh i hope my grade turns out all right...
urghhh

its sole purpose is to occupy us; lack travel it distracts us from the pure sense of self actuality.

On this day,
Oh day of learned Saint Marx;
The birth of Christ
Through the birth of me,
Shared most dreaded
With that of Brittany

I sit here,
Oh place of randomicity
losing the word
of absolute teleology,
where we remain uncaused
through Humean Contiguity.

I think this,
Oh smorgus board of slain ideals,
sophists word and pointless smiles
while baptized by viscosity;
yet I cavort with words
In utter hypocrisy.

I hate history classes
only 1.2 classes left for that damn major and i just don't know if i can do it

you. that something.

Is it in the ear of a word or within the whore of ego;
that slut.

Like roundness, and plumpness, and firmness you clutch the metaphor for your own sake. you walk in the wake of perfection; ready to be splashed and dosed

but really you walk away.

............................................
So
Enigmotoly must involve contemplation; its not like a work-a-day
Xeroxing type of position where you get from it exactly what you put in.

I just don't know for sure how to unravel it in terms of contemplation.
Should i think of it as a liesureful thing; perhaps Jokingly?

Good examples may include the comic play write Aristaphanes
On the topic of love in Plato's symposium.
On that; is there really much of a
Dividing line between humor and enigmatology?

I am skeptical about the confidence we find in numbers...
reality seems to be there un-butchered by human rationality; 1 and 2 can only exist when our minds hack bits of reality into units by convention. No object has ever been distinguished as a genuine one... atoms have sub attomic particles, and those have parts themselves... One must ask if anything can be known to exist with out knowledge of its parts... this is unclear... I don't have an apple, I have atoms, electrons a barrage of redness... but then i must ask, what makes this an apple; i can never have two identical apples; so there never is a second of these arbitrary units we call apples... there is never one apple; and by standardization there is never two apples. Only a barrage of material that resembles another barrage of material we call apple and apple. Conventionally we call these things that resemble each other by the same name;so we consider them similar enough to be equal units. One apple is more red; the other one is larger and has more seeds. The qualities are quite distinguished; but by virtue of mathematics i have two apples. The problem lies in that math is an abstraction of the procedural use; it originates in the manipulation of material things where nothing is equivalent and equalizes units by conventions. After making the assumption that things are equal; it removes the objects we can debate over and creates fictitious entities we call ones, twos and threes etc...
thus, the argument that 1+2=3 doesn't really make sense unless there are units attached to these numbers. There is no 1,2 or 3 apart from the objects they wish to describe... it is a convention for identity. The convention is for identifying resemblant objects in the world around us. But these objects aren't literally ones and twos. Math becomes no more then a way to organize the world by concenventions and not a means for truth...

that there is 180 degrees in a triangle isn't a truth; for this is true only by conventional definition by which a figure is a triangle. Once our mind hacks reality into triangles and identifies the arbitrary unit (degrees) then it becomes necessary that triangles have 180 degrees... but really there are both no triangles and no degrees. This "truth" is thus, fictitious. Now, one may wonder as to how it is that math can be so useful to the sciences and for people, how math can seem to solve problems if it isn't truth. This is because math isn't truth but it is useful; its study is for utility; the students always ask "when will we use this in my life?" Which entails, math is not meant to be an end but a means. The same is true for the definitions and rules; They are used to provide us with an answer; not a true answer but a useful answer.

every day I wake up... and i don't even see the point...
I open my eyes, i see the world, it flashes by and i close them again...
In a day I can't do anything because i don't want to do anything...
anything that could get done isn't good enough...
the more i try, the harder it gets to be satisfied...
the more talents i excel at the harder it is to be impressed...

the more people i meet the more i realize we are all basically the same; but it is a puzzling contradiction because we are all completely different...
there is nothing about us that makes us the same... but we are...

Its like i'm an island surrounded by a flowing river of other islands...

We can see each other; we are in similar predictiments, but the whole world is different.

so what is the sense of being a philosopher anymore?
the easiest conclusion for me to make is that all people dissagree; which itself is often dissagreed to, only further substantiating my point...

I can tell you what i think, but that becomes autobiographical; i'm no longer writing about the world, im writing about myself and prettending im the world...

there is no such thing as love because i don't love, or i don't call that thing you call love love, or we simply don't share the same set of "emotions" or an infinite amount of other explanations...

the point is, when i say there doesn't really seem to be a thing called love, i can't possibly say it about the world; because really it is only saying something about me...

this whole journal... its all about me...
But what does it mean; what have I become?

It is horrid to think that this is what i am... I am nothing any more... I am less then a person; because i don't get the point of having persona... I have very little desire for life... but i don't have a desire for death either...

infact, its like ive been drained of desire...
like a whipping boy... and perhaps thats all i am...
i am just the whipping boy....

im tired of all the flakes... im tired you jumping around...
im tired of you... i know your not sincere...

... its just lately

lately i see this in the mirror.


Im a horrid person;
just like you

Are you happy now?

what is wrong with my left pinky?

From one to the other; the turn, and then the fall.
Between one and another, that fucking wall.
Now From below his drunken thrust.
Concious; Awake; Fuck.