Saturday, February 27, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Could not find any of my friends on Facebook.
It's disappointing how so many people can share a name on Facebook.
Total Killer Sexiness
Mind the vent: My visual novels are all downloaded, so I'm pretty excited.
Kanon was translated by two teenage girls (most likely teenage, by their excessive emoting and their numerous photoshopped fanart)--can't say I'm too excited about that. Otherwise, Tsukihime, Ever17, sexy to the nth.
Kanon was translated by two teenage girls (most likely teenage, by their excessive emoting and their numerous photoshopped fanart)--can't say I'm too excited about that. Otherwise, Tsukihime, Ever17, sexy to the nth.
Text analyzers, and Virgin Killer is impressive
They're a blast.
This one here analyzes the age and gender and mood of the sites you give it, but it only works for RSS feeds.
This one here analyzes the age and gender and mood of the sites you give it, but it only works for RSS feeds.
Quite sadly, it guessed me as a 13-17 year old male who is frequently upset.
This one tries to guess your MBTI type.
This one tries to guess your MBTI type.
It guessed most of my stuff as either INFP or ISFP, oddly enough,
It guessed my blog front page as male, but most often guesses me as female.
My more technical stuff (most of my posts under "weird ideas") are listed as "18-20something."
Everything else is, quite sadly, "13-17."
And this is one of my favorites. It matches you up with a great writer.
And this is one of my favorites. It matches you up with a great writer.
My poems are ultra-Shakespearean, apparently, but everything else exemplifies Oscar-Wilde-writing.
I'm trying to get my hands on some other ones, but they're quite hard to find.
And Scorpions, Virgin Killer... really, guys, you try...
I'm trying to get my hands on some other ones, but they're quite hard to find.
And Scorpions, Virgin Killer... really, guys, you try...
Perhaps I'll look them all up on Facebook at the next opportunity...
On the bus back to my dorm last night, I started thinking of all my grade school friends.
I was curious about how they were all doing today,
and whether the boy from third grade still believed in those silly conspiracy theories we formulated about the turtle rock at Recess,
and where that computer whiz boy had gotten himself with his impressive programming skills,
and I really wondered if we could still all get along today, seven or eight years after.
I was curious about how they were all doing today,
and whether the boy from third grade still believed in those silly conspiracy theories we formulated about the turtle rock at Recess,
and where that computer whiz boy had gotten himself with his impressive programming skills,
and I really wondered if we could still all get along today, seven or eight years after.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friends and personality
It's funny, I think, how different friends bring out so many different parts of you.
Since moving here and spending time with this ENTP friend, I notice I've been gradually less concerned about my lack of adherence to social norms (a trait I was constantly trying to better around my former S friends)--stuff like "guys can't sit with their legs crossed at the knees."
Around Mr. ENTP, my focus is on being original and avoiding corniness at all costs.
As a result, I've lost a bit of my innocence: I can't remember the last time I pulled up that My Chemical Romance album on Lala--I'm opting for a bit of Radiohead and Velvet Underground these days. I'll avoid mahou shoujo shows if at all possible. And, quite unfortunately, my paper-star and friendship bracelet production has gone down drastically.
It's a small price to pay, I suppose.
Rarely do I find someone who loves humor, authenticity, and originality quite as much as I do.
Since moving here and spending time with this ENTP friend, I notice I've been gradually less concerned about my lack of adherence to social norms (a trait I was constantly trying to better around my former S friends)--stuff like "guys can't sit with their legs crossed at the knees."
Around Mr. ENTP, my focus is on being original and avoiding corniness at all costs.
As a result, I've lost a bit of my innocence: I can't remember the last time I pulled up that My Chemical Romance album on Lala--I'm opting for a bit of Radiohead and Velvet Underground these days. I'll avoid mahou shoujo shows if at all possible. And, quite unfortunately, my paper-star and friendship bracelet production has gone down drastically.
It's a small price to pay, I suppose.
Rarely do I find someone who loves humor, authenticity, and originality quite as much as I do.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I hate watching the news.
The world is beautiful--or at least every bit I've been to so far--this country!, passing every empty store lit by lamplight late at night with mosquitoes and moths and frenzied flies, every empty window beaming white into the black world all around, onto the below sordid bit of sidewalk and street every empty evening!, and the rainclouds that rain and ruin our beach sunsets and sun that shines through glass in the silent afternoons alone on the stationary stores, and the sharp-angled shade corners to which you flee, and the smells of openair streets of sewage and cigarettes and gasoline,
--this world is a good and beautiful place--don't let anybody tell you otherwise!
Chinese New Year's Break
Not a whole lot to talk about.
I took the train home just last Friday.
Somebody stole my seat, and I didn't bother telling him it was my seat. Thankfully, he got off at the second station.
I spent the rest of the ride reading Francis Schaeffer's The God Who is There.
I took the train home just last Friday.
Somebody stole my seat, and I didn't bother telling him it was my seat. Thankfully, he got off at the second station.
I spent the rest of the ride reading Francis Schaeffer's The God Who is There.
(Idea-pooping:
Dada is really amazing, isn't it? "Art is dead; long live Dada!"
Punk rock, as well--I don't believe many people quite understood the implications of punk. Punk wasn't about the music or the fashion. Punk was to people what Dada was to art. Punk was heroin needles and razor blades and anarchy. Punk wasn't stupid--and they knew perfectly well anarchy would never work and heroin would never heal. But they didn't care; if it existed, it could be destroyed--and it, the punk subculture, the ideology, was a fine catalyst.
And hippies, perhaps--they believed in a society in which rules and commitments and expectations are naught, believed in the goodness of human nature, believed in the benevolence of the world. And it was so stupid, so naive, and thank God I wasn't born then, because I sure as hell would have been the first to join it...
And I shall try making the boy from Rise and Fall a little more hotheaded--it's quite odd: when we grow to love a character with some of the same flaws we have, we love ourselves a little more.
Done! And alas!--not even a few ideas worthy of musetime in this post.)
Ah!, I should be finishing up on my late research paper, but I don't have quite the motivation to start...
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Fitzgeraldian
I'll be writing down some story ideas sometime soon, about a girl who commits suicide in a tunnel somewhere on the Chuo Rapid Line in Japan.
Her world will be very beautiful when she wakes up from the dead, with irresponsible people and ghosts on motorcycles and robots at bookstores and satellites in the night,
quite like a world should be--
only nobody has an anchor in this world at all.
only nobody has an anchor in this world at all.
(on a side note: My style, I've noticed, is an odd mix between mock-aristocratic Nabokovian prose and Salingerian speech, with perhaps a dash of Fitzgerald's detached-and-descriptive.
Of course, my talent arrives nowhere near any of these men as of now, but I'll get somewhere someday, I swear...)
Of course, my talent arrives nowhere near any of these men as of now, but I'll get somewhere someday, I swear...)
Farewell to Sancon.
I had a talk with Mr. Computer Monitor Guy today after lunch, over the whole Sancon incident.
See, I get the impression he got the impression I was accusing him for accusing me.
I apologized for that--I'm feeling quite sorry right now. He was really just telling me to be careful around that sort of site.
He asked me if I'd want that site linked to my name if I ever got famous and people started reading my blog for entertainment (which really leaves me wondering if he might have read my blog), and I told him I wouldn't.
That's a lie, of course. I wouldn't mind at all.
But I suppose he proved his point--I shouldn't have been so volatile in my response letter, and I shouldn't have had connections with that site in the first place (sheepish, at this point in our talk, because I had, in fact, gone to Sancon on numerous occassions).
So I guess it's all fine now. But Alas!, I'll be taking Sancon off my reader.
Sancon, you did your job just fine.
And now--Goodbye, forever!
I wonder how I'll get all my visual novel and doujinshi updates, anyhow...
See, I get the impression he got the impression I was accusing him for accusing me.
I apologized for that--I'm feeling quite sorry right now. He was really just telling me to be careful around that sort of site.
He asked me if I'd want that site linked to my name if I ever got famous and people started reading my blog for entertainment (which really leaves me wondering if he might have read my blog), and I told him I wouldn't.
That's a lie, of course. I wouldn't mind at all.
But I suppose he proved his point--I shouldn't have been so volatile in my response letter, and I shouldn't have had connections with that site in the first place (sheepish, at this point in our talk, because I had, in fact, gone to Sancon on numerous occassions).
So I guess it's all fine now. But Alas!, I'll be taking Sancon off my reader.
Sancon, you did your job just fine.
And now--Goodbye, forever!
I wonder how I'll get all my visual novel and doujinshi updates, anyhow...
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I AM A PORNO ADDICT!
So apparently they think I'm going on Sancon for porn...
I've been accused twice of doing this already, both times being false accusations. This third time, I thought it was because I had searched up Sancon at school for my project. I told them it was for a project. They emailed me a list of 27 visits to the site within the last month.
It turns out my blogroll (see those links on the side of my blog?) is subscribed to Sancon. By now, though, I doubt they'd believe me.
My goodness, they must think I'm some porno addict.
It's making me nervous as hell to return to the dorms. I don't ever want to go back.
I want to sleep out at that playground like I said I would last night, and never go back.
I wish someone was here right now. I feel so filthy.
I wish someone was here.
Hey, God, you know,
and you friends out there,
you probably all know I'm innocent.
I'm sure my girlfriend knows I'm innocent.
How can I show I'm innocent?
I've been accused twice of doing this already, both times being false accusations. This third time, I thought it was because I had searched up Sancon at school for my project. I told them it was for a project. They emailed me a list of 27 visits to the site within the last month.
It turns out my blogroll (see those links on the side of my blog?) is subscribed to Sancon. By now, though, I doubt they'd believe me.
My goodness, they must think I'm some porno addict.
It's making me nervous as hell to return to the dorms. I don't ever want to go back.
I want to sleep out at that playground like I said I would last night, and never go back.
I wish someone was here right now. I feel so filthy.
I wish someone was here.
Hey, God, you know,
and you friends out there,
you probably all know I'm innocent.
I'm sure my girlfriend knows I'm innocent.
How can I show I'm innocent?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Infidelity
I hate how it makes front page news these days.
Of course, I'd probably not do it out of my love for my wife, but I wouldn't make a huge deal out of it if she did it. I'm me, she's her.
That's all I wanted to say tonight. Pretty boring, right?
Oh, I hope you internet administrator guys are reading this, too.
You that anime blog that you got all worked up about for its "adult content"? I happened to be doing a paper on the necessity of abridging First Amendment rights and censoring stuff.
I'd like to say I respect your role in keeping our school internet school-appropriate, while still giving us the freedom to write letters and journals and shit. Props to you guys.
If you're reading this journal, though, it would be nice if you could stop.
See, when I get rich and famous one day, I'll be glad to show the whole world my amazing childhood.
But, see...
If you read everything I post about how I'm a lolicon, how I wanna try ecstasy, how I wanna be a nudist and shit now, as I post it, you might be upset--
Because by the time it comes out, this story about this spokesman for a generation was all spoiled to you several decades ago.
Now, you wouldn't want that to happen, would you?
I understand that I'm an interesting guy with an amazing life.
But if you're that interested in every single little detail of my hella awesome existence, please, for your own sakes: wait 20 years or so.
Thanks.
Yeah. Nothing more.
Oh, did you know Jonathan Swift had multiple affairs?
"What is the ultimate source of light?"
The answer my physics teacher was looking for was "God."
God is light. He's also infinitely large. Therefore, he is infinitely many photons. You see the logic there?
"And what are we, as Christians?"
The answer, said he, could either be "transparent" to his glory like glass, or "opaque" like a mirror.
I told him that was silly and he was totally wrong.
I think we should be phosphorescent, like phosphorescent balls.
Then we could absorb his photon glories and emit them in our hour of darkness.
God is light. He's also infinitely large. Therefore, he is infinitely many photons. You see the logic there?
"And what are we, as Christians?"
The answer, said he, could either be "transparent" to his glory like glass, or "opaque" like a mirror.
I told him that was silly and he was totally wrong.
I think we should be phosphorescent, like phosphorescent balls.
Then we could absorb his photon glories and emit them in our hour of darkness.
Chain mail
Math class yesterday:
"Do you believe in magic? In a young girl's heart?
or
Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart?"
wrote my friend.
"It sounds like the opening sentence to a sweet chainmail,"
said I.
He laughed.
"Scroll down,"
he wrote.
"It's funny how stupid these people are,"
I told him. "My dorm dad with that chainmail about the Muslim girl getting beaten by her parents--someone in the world must think he's really funny."
"I think I'll write a chain letter with 99 true facts and one ridiculous, outrageous fact that nobody will ever have heard of before."
I laughed.
"No. Nu-uh. What I want to do, I want to write a letter about some poor Christian boy getting ritually tortured by Satanists. I'll send it to my dorm dad."
"No. Don't do that. You'll feel super guilty when he reads it aloud to the dorm..."
"I guess so... Darnit..."
"My God, you know what I just realized? It's people like us. We're making fun of all the people who actually believe this crap, but it starts with people like us!"
Me and my friend--kings of the universe!
"Do you believe in magic? In a young girl's heart?
or
Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart?"
wrote my friend.
"It sounds like the opening sentence to a sweet chainmail,"
said I.
He laughed.
"Scroll down,"
he wrote.
"It's funny how stupid these people are,"
I told him. "My dorm dad with that chainmail about the Muslim girl getting beaten by her parents--someone in the world must think he's really funny."
"I think I'll write a chain letter with 99 true facts and one ridiculous, outrageous fact that nobody will ever have heard of before."
I laughed.
"No. Nu-uh. What I want to do, I want to write a letter about some poor Christian boy getting ritually tortured by Satanists. I'll send it to my dorm dad."
"No. Don't do that. You'll feel super guilty when he reads it aloud to the dorm..."
"I guess so... Darnit..."
"My God, you know what I just realized? It's people like us. We're making fun of all the people who actually believe this crap, but it starts with people like us!"
Me and my friend--kings of the universe!
Pipe dreams
They stuff your heads with cotton-fluff-brainwash,
dreams of pens and ink and paper.
But why does it really matter at all?,
if I don't do my homework? or Why does it matter,
if I don't write my research paper?
Why does it matter if I haven't showered in three days,
if I'm not dressed "smart-casual", and all my clothes stink,
if I skip breakfasts, and
if I skip lunches?
A success (singular noun):
is to be able to read at a bookstore, or write a day away,
or laugh steam in the winter air, marching defiant, punching sky,
or lie down in the sordid, car-exhausted snow when you are tired of walking
when you are waiting for buses at bus stops on spring mornings,
and wish on contrails drifting, falling across in the empty blue afternoons,
and hear the whir of fans and dehumidifiers alone late, late at night,
to hang out with friends, and play music at clubs, for the rest of your life
And everyone and the world tries to make it so hard!,
and a bird with clipped wings and a missing toe!,
and I worry my day away
--how much really matters at all?
dreams of pens and ink and paper.
But why does it really matter at all?,
if I don't do my homework? or Why does it matter,
if I don't write my research paper?
Why does it matter if I haven't showered in three days,
if I'm not dressed "smart-casual", and all my clothes stink,
if I skip breakfasts, and
if I skip lunches?
A success (singular noun):
is to be able to read at a bookstore, or write a day away,
or laugh steam in the winter air, marching defiant, punching sky,
or lie down in the sordid, car-exhausted snow when you are tired of walking
when you are waiting for buses at bus stops on spring mornings,
and wish on contrails drifting, falling across in the empty blue afternoons,
and hear the whir of fans and dehumidifiers alone late, late at night,
to hang out with friends, and play music at clubs, for the rest of your life
And everyone and the world tries to make it so hard!,
and a bird with clipped wings and a missing toe!,
and I worry my day away
--how much really matters at all?
Escape stuff
I often lay in bed at night thinking about escape.
The school is surrounded by walls--barbed wire along the back and embedded glass shards along the right. I'm not too sure about the left side. The front, from where I'm, typing, is a safe way to go, but the iron fence, I presume, is protected by the man in the booth to the very far right. On the very far left, I could climb over a gate because a metal bar running across the middle would make a good foothold, but I suppose he would see me. There is an alarm light on top of a pole attached to this gate.
The doors to my dorm are rigged to trigger alarms after lights out, so if I were to escape, the best time would be during the day.
However, if I were just to escape for the sheer fun of it, that would be far too easy.
I would consider the barbed wire the greater (and more satisfying) challenge. The barbed wire is attached to poles that slant in, so if I were to have a ladder, I could easily make it over. Finding the ladder, of course, would prove far too difficult.
The glass shards present another opportunity. I suppose with rubber soles, I could climb on there. From there, I could climb on to the wall directly in front of it and jump over. Of course, this risks going past the front gate, where the security guard watches.
I believe that was about all I got last night before I began considering other things.
I know how to get past the wall dividing the dorm and the school by means of the food disposal containers. I could climb over there at night should I ever want to go ghost-hunting on this campus.
And the roofs of the high school are another possibility--I could climb on from the stairs leading to the ministry room...
Ah, I think it's about dinner time... perhaps I'll write a bit more when I return.
The school is surrounded by walls--barbed wire along the back and embedded glass shards along the right. I'm not too sure about the left side. The front, from where I'm, typing, is a safe way to go, but the iron fence, I presume, is protected by the man in the booth to the very far right. On the very far left, I could climb over a gate because a metal bar running across the middle would make a good foothold, but I suppose he would see me. There is an alarm light on top of a pole attached to this gate.
The doors to my dorm are rigged to trigger alarms after lights out, so if I were to escape, the best time would be during the day.
However, if I were just to escape for the sheer fun of it, that would be far too easy.
I would consider the barbed wire the greater (and more satisfying) challenge. The barbed wire is attached to poles that slant in, so if I were to have a ladder, I could easily make it over. Finding the ladder, of course, would prove far too difficult.
The glass shards present another opportunity. I suppose with rubber soles, I could climb on there. From there, I could climb on to the wall directly in front of it and jump over. Of course, this risks going past the front gate, where the security guard watches.
I believe that was about all I got last night before I began considering other things.
I know how to get past the wall dividing the dorm and the school by means of the food disposal containers. I could climb over there at night should I ever want to go ghost-hunting on this campus.
And the roofs of the high school are another possibility--I could climb on from the stairs leading to the ministry room...
Ah, I think it's about dinner time... perhaps I'll write a bit more when I return.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
No kidding my clothes smell bad.
Shirts, both pairs of jeans, boxers--all has been contaminated by my socks that night.
Deodoranticized my pink Hollister shirt and jeans this morning, but the trail of stink persists.
Shall have to rewash them this afternoon.
Deodoranticized my pink Hollister shirt and jeans this morning, but the trail of stink persists.
Shall have to rewash them this afternoon.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The gig, the afterparty, and paradise engineering
cThat band with all the nice people held their first concert last night,
at this arts contest. They served dry-ice drinks.
The guys who ran the gig wanted us to dress "smart-casual." I really didn't like that, so I decided to walk in with my thinnest tee and tight jeans. Unfortunately, I left all my just-washed clothes on my bed the night before, and I put my feet on them as I slept, and in the morning, they were all stinky and sock-smelly, but I guess it was worth my sticking-it-to-the-man. My friend then arrived in shorts and a super-thin tee as well, and he said they had to let him in, because his I.Q. was quite a bit above average. He said he'd donate all 50 NT of change to Haiti. They let us in.
Then the performances that night were pretty good, I thought, especially the first band (they had to censor a line in their song where they mention suicide, but the awesome vocalist decided to sing it anyway, repeating it maybe 7 o 8 times).
But then my friend thought most of them were pretty horrible.
I sort of agreed with him to make him happy, but I always feel so bad about criticizing anything, especially good things that I like.
(My friend, he was there was because he and his friend had submitted a film about a rock who was hired to do cool stuff.
His friend also created one about a cube who falls into a hole which sets off a switch for a disco party.
Right up until the end, it looked like they would win, because most of the other films were pretty horrible. One was about some guys doing stupid stuff like snorting cinnamon and burning themselves with hot water and pulling their flesh with clips and stuff. But then that one guy with a dying, cancerous brother created an absolutely astounding music video where a guy on a chair travels all around the city, and he took around 200 shots for this. )
The cool band was last.
They played Marley's "Stir It Up," in honor of his birthday, but they hadn't prepared any other songs, so they did an improvised guitar solo for like five minutes.
As they walked off the stage, the audience wanted them to play a third song. They thought for a while and played "Blitzkrieg Bop," only they didn't know the words (except the "Hey, ho! Let's go!), so the guitarist pretended to sing really quietly, but really he was just singing nonsense.
Then the judges stepped up and unanimously decided the music video would be the best in its category.
That band, of course, was the best musical performance.
Some random video about a sleepover and a horror movie won first place and best overall.
Each got a cash prize of 1000 NT.
We left the gig at around 9 to go to McDonald's.
My friend complained to all the people leaving about how low the frame rate was for his video, but they all told him it wasn't that bad.
His friend, he told us how nobody in the audience really understood the artistic merit of his disco cube film.
On the way to McD's, we met up with the band again. They were also going to McDonald's.
When we got there, they spent their prize money all in a night, on several trays of fries and ice cream.
After we got back at 10, we wasted some time in the billiards room. One guy joked about stuff like how girls always think you're looking at their boobs, even when you're not. (Quite odd: I hadn't actually ever noticed them acting like that, even in the many instances where I am).
And then my friend got into an argument about economics with two other guys. One was really just upset at the unfairness of it all, but the other wouldn't admit defeat and said the reason those poor people were so poor was because they wanted to have so many fucking children. I joined in on my friend's side, but my logic wasn't nearly as good, so I didn't add a whole lot.
I don't like conflict, anyway.
At around 11, they all left and my friend and this other cool guy and I were left all alone in the pool room. The cool guy, I really like him.
He's an ISFP.
He's wonderful.
I told him if everyone were like us three guys in the room, I was sure we wouldn't need any rules. In a world of just us three guys, nobody would give a damn about stupid stuff like taxes and poor people and other people taking credit for your works and showing your boobs and best friends forever and stuff. We'd just do what we all wanted, and we all had good intentions, and nobody would hurt anybody else. I thought covering up your body with clothes, especially, was pretty pointless.
My friend said he wasn't so sure. He would sometimes push other people out of his way to get what he wanted.
So I told him then we could kill everyone like him, and it would just be people like me and that other guy.
My friend told me I sounded like a cult leader.
at this arts contest. They served dry-ice drinks.
The guys who ran the gig wanted us to dress "smart-casual." I really didn't like that, so I decided to walk in with my thinnest tee and tight jeans. Unfortunately, I left all my just-washed clothes on my bed the night before, and I put my feet on them as I slept, and in the morning, they were all stinky and sock-smelly, but I guess it was worth my sticking-it-to-the-man. My friend then arrived in shorts and a super-thin tee as well, and he said they had to let him in, because his I.Q. was quite a bit above average. He said he'd donate all 50 NT of change to Haiti. They let us in.
Then the performances that night were pretty good, I thought, especially the first band (they had to censor a line in their song where they mention suicide, but the awesome vocalist decided to sing it anyway, repeating it maybe 7 o 8 times).
But then my friend thought most of them were pretty horrible.
I sort of agreed with him to make him happy, but I always feel so bad about criticizing anything, especially good things that I like.
(My friend, he was there was because he and his friend had submitted a film about a rock who was hired to do cool stuff.
His friend also created one about a cube who falls into a hole which sets off a switch for a disco party.
Right up until the end, it looked like they would win, because most of the other films were pretty horrible. One was about some guys doing stupid stuff like snorting cinnamon and burning themselves with hot water and pulling their flesh with clips and stuff. But then that one guy with a dying, cancerous brother created an absolutely astounding music video where a guy on a chair travels all around the city, and he took around 200 shots for this. )
The cool band was last.
They played Marley's "Stir It Up," in honor of his birthday, but they hadn't prepared any other songs, so they did an improvised guitar solo for like five minutes.
As they walked off the stage, the audience wanted them to play a third song. They thought for a while and played "Blitzkrieg Bop," only they didn't know the words (except the "Hey, ho! Let's go!), so the guitarist pretended to sing really quietly, but really he was just singing nonsense.
Then the judges stepped up and unanimously decided the music video would be the best in its category.
That band, of course, was the best musical performance.
Some random video about a sleepover and a horror movie won first place and best overall.
Each got a cash prize of 1000 NT.
We left the gig at around 9 to go to McDonald's.
My friend complained to all the people leaving about how low the frame rate was for his video, but they all told him it wasn't that bad.
His friend, he told us how nobody in the audience really understood the artistic merit of his disco cube film.
On the way to McD's, we met up with the band again. They were also going to McDonald's.
When we got there, they spent their prize money all in a night, on several trays of fries and ice cream.
After we got back at 10, we wasted some time in the billiards room. One guy joked about stuff like how girls always think you're looking at their boobs, even when you're not. (Quite odd: I hadn't actually ever noticed them acting like that, even in the many instances where I am).
And then my friend got into an argument about economics with two other guys. One was really just upset at the unfairness of it all, but the other wouldn't admit defeat and said the reason those poor people were so poor was because they wanted to have so many fucking children. I joined in on my friend's side, but my logic wasn't nearly as good, so I didn't add a whole lot.
I don't like conflict, anyway.
At around 11, they all left and my friend and this other cool guy and I were left all alone in the pool room. The cool guy, I really like him.
He's an ISFP.
He's wonderful.
I told him if everyone were like us three guys in the room, I was sure we wouldn't need any rules. In a world of just us three guys, nobody would give a damn about stupid stuff like taxes and poor people and other people taking credit for your works and showing your boobs and best friends forever and stuff. We'd just do what we all wanted, and we all had good intentions, and nobody would hurt anybody else. I thought covering up your body with clothes, especially, was pretty pointless.
My friend said he wasn't so sure. He would sometimes push other people out of his way to get what he wanted.
So I told him then we could kill everyone like him, and it would just be people like me and that other guy.
My friend told me I sounded like a cult leader.
Sheets of empty canvas
Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did
All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn
Ooh and all I taught her was everything
Ooh I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands
Chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by
Some kids at play
I can feel their laughter
So why do I sear
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin
Round my head
I'm spinning
Oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can drop away...
Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did
All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn
Ooh and all I taught her was everything
Ooh I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands
Chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by
Some kids at play
I can feel their laughter
So why do I sear
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin
Round my head
I'm spinning
Oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can drop away...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Absalom!
And Absalom answered Joab, Behold, I sent unto thee, saying, Come
hither, that I may send thee to the king, to say, Wherefore am I come from
Geshur? it had been good for me to have been there still: now therefore let me
see the king's face; and if there be any iniquity in me, let him kill me.
So Joab came to the king, and told him: and when he had called for
Absalom, he came to the king, and bowed himself on his face to the ground before
the king: and the king kissed Absalom.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Burning Incense to the Big Empty
In the small groups, the guys are asking us what we worship. They'd like to think most people in the world worship themselves. I don't think it's true.
I love myself, and I think I'm quite amazing, but I rarely give a damn if it doesn't go my way. The whole world kind of just happens, see? Not a whole lot I can do to change stuff.
I like my girlfriend. Some guy likes her. I think it's pretty cool. I think it would be interesting if she started liking him. I'm not one to get jealous, anyway. There was that girl back in 7th grade--I found out she liked some guy who looked cool. I was pretty happy for her.
And interesting ideas, perhaps I worship those. Saving my ideas on blog or paper or wherever. I care a bit about that. I care when my friend ignores my ideas--I care enough to stop hanging out with him for that.
And maybe I like other things. Like I cry sometimes, when my mom talks to me on the phone, and she thinks it's because I miss her. But maybe not. Sometimes you just want to cry for no reason at all, you know?
I have a justification for the guys in Rise and Fall and why they keep sticks of incense in their mouths now:
An absurdist, self-worshipping culture. The neo-Dada.
Monday, February 1, 2010
"On reasons for religion," a paper for my Bible class
God talked to me when I was little.
He was this kind of guy who would tell you not to do bad stuff and make you miserable when you did bad stuff.
I remember this one time when my sister followed me to the bathroom because she thought I wanted to play a game when really I just wanted to use the bathroom. I didn’t believe she had her reasons for going to the bathroom, so I told her “you can lie to me, but you can’t lie to God.” She confessed. God talked. God praised her guts.
By the way, I got that line, the “you can’t lie to God”, from my dad, who once scolded me for saying what he heard to be “shut up.” I’m not a bad kid. I was actually just saying “shhhhhhhhuuuuhhh” because I wanted my sister to quit whining, to shut up, and, of course, I claimed my innocence up to the very tragic end, at which point he said “you can lie to me, but you can’t lie to God!” God told me he knew my dad was falsely accusing me. I was satisfied.
There was also the devil. The devil was just as real to me as God. The devil was the one to blame for anything bad that I did. If I got caught doing anything wrong, I’d just tell my mom the devil had been telling me not to listen to God. I wasn’t completely lying, either. I heard voices, or I thought I heard voices, coming from everything—God, the devil, stuffed animals, aliens. They spoke to me through other means, too—the number of spots on a banana, the tiles I stepped on next, all sorts of signs. If you step on that ant, this famous person will die in this year, for example. When I got old enough, of course, I kind of got the impression that I was actually just talking to myself. I stopped looking so hard. The devil hasn’t spoken to me since.
I was sort of schizophrenic back then.
There was this one time when I convinced one of my friends once of a secret portal to another world that lay just behind a huge rock at my school. We spent all summer trying to dig up that rock. When he left for another school that autumn, the project was suspended until we were older and could fight the monsters in that world a bit better. That was in third grade.
In fourth grade, it was the Bermuda Triangle, and the theory that monkeys and aliens were distantly related.
In fifth grade, the kid from third grade found my number somewhere and gave me a call. He told me he had found a few other friends who had known of that world’s existence. I told him that was very nice, and he should go with them instead. I wanted to shoot myself.
In sixth grade, it was the aliens. My friend’s uncle had been abducted.
And now…
I’d like to think I’m pretty normal now. To be honest, I’m still obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster and palmistry and astrology and tarot. Of course, these days, I’m convinced most of it’s just nonsense (ghosts and aliens, I’m still undecided about them). The guys who are absolutely sure, the former me’s, who pore over those Nessie photos or build camps around Area 51, I think many are just complete nutcases.
I’m embarrassed I was among their ranks at one time.
See, religion’s not like that, though. God’s got good arguments on his side. The apologetics books haven’t been wasted:
“There’s evidence in science: The Big Bang, which could not have come from nothing at all, testifies to the existence of something before the birth of our universe. The natural laws, which sustain our universe, would not have been able to do so had they been slightly off. We trust them to regulate our world to act in predictable ways, though we have no reason for believing why they will continue to do so tomorrow.
And there’s historical evidence: Eleven out of the twelve of Jesus’ disciples were executed for their beliefs—Peter was crucified upside-down because he saw himself unworthy to die in the same manner as his Lord. Had they not seen him alive after his crucifixion, they would have no reason at all for believing in his claim as the Son of God.
What’s more, we believe in such a thing as value: Our morality, our willingness to make others happy at great cost to ourselves, seems out of place in the natural world, where the strong dominate the weak. Our belief that there exists a set standard for right and wrong, that serial killers and rapists have violated this standard, rather than just our own set of values, persists despite all lack of evidence that there is anything of the sort. We believe it’s good to tell the truth and to love others. We believe there’s some transcendent meaning in doing so. “
See what I’ve done there? We can now safely take Christianity into consideration. We’ve established it as a logically consistent and scientifically valid belief—that is, it can explain most things without contradicting itself or scientific evidence.
But, you ask, does that make it true?
Because consider: The disciples could have just as well been horribly deluded, like followers of the Heaven’s Gate Cult. Your morals could just as well have been conditioned, and ultimately meaningless. And really, the lack of evidence for the propagation of natural laws and their existence could be explained by the Judeo-Christian God’s existence, but it could hardly prove his existence.
Ah, fine, you win. I concede: I don’t think proving Christianity through science can be done. I would think any religious nut who claims to be able to prove Christianity and refute every other worldview is a bad liar, or else badly mistaken—
because here’s the bottom line:
Christianity isn’t overwhelmingly obvious.
We don’t all “know in our hearts that God exists.”
We don’t all hear him telepathically talking to us.
In fact, if it was so obvious, if God ever appeared on radar, I’m sure most people would believe.
Most people aren’t stupid. They don’t ignore overwhelmingly obvious facts.
But you know that.
Religion, you might have realized, is the belief in the supernatural; it’s the belief that there’s something out there that influences it all that can’t be explained away with science at all—
But here we have a problem: if a religion can’t ever be proven, why believe it at all?
Because the only reason anyone should ever believe anything is because they’ve got evidence, right?
But of course. Religion isn’t negating that statement.
See, religion isn’t blind—I think many seem to think religion is about falling back into a (possibly nonexistent) guy’s arms and trusting he’ll catch you, about not seeing any evidence but deciding to believe anyway. Believing in something despite it contradicting everything you know to be true, that’s called denial. Religion isn’t denial. It’s just as much about the evidence as anything else.
The evidence of the supernatural, however, obviously isn’t of the nature where you could ever lay it out on a table and make a case for it. Rather, I think religion is evidenced through experience—
Oh, I see what you’re thinking.
That was a statement far too radical, I’m afraid.
(Quoth the naturalist, at this point: )
“What is experience? Your thoughts, your feelings, your values, your awareness of self, even that feeling you get when you’re singing a great hymn and feeling spiritual, they’re all caused by synapses firing up in different parts of your brain. Your reality is created by neurochemicals, is a big Sargasso-tangle of synapse-firings. That’s a fact. You may feel like you’ve found God, but it will be just synapses firing in your brain.”
You are correct. So it is, I’m afraid.
But so is your sight. So is your smell. So is your logic. You, even if you believe in souls, are stuck in a physical body. You absolutely cannot have an experience not caused by the firing of synapses. But what about it? You trust your sight, don’t you? And why should you trust your experiencing sight and doubt your experiencing God? Why should you believe this experience is invalid when all your other experiences are perfectly valid?
And so I continue: I believe it’s absolutely essential that anyone making any sort of judgment on a religious view try it for himself before evaluating its claims at truth, because the facts will get him nowhere, because this religion is evidenced to him through experience:
It’s his offering a few prayers to God before bed and looking for change in his life.
It’s his reading the Bible for a few months to see if God reveals himself sometime in those months.
It’s his feeling those chemicals and synapses shooting in all directions because of a spiritual something in those few words spoken by that man in the pulpit.
And after all this, it’s his decision to dedicate his life to the faith—but it won’t be blind. It’ll be because everything he’s experienced about the faith has proven reason enough for him to believe.
So that’s my view on faith. And now, you…
How can I convince you to believe?
You know, screw this. Let’s put it bluntly:
God is real because of thermodynamics, and Jesus is his son because of his apostles’ testimony, and we’re all sinners, and you know it because of your conscience, and we’ll all go to Hell, and—and you’re afraid to come to God because of sin, but you’ll experience Him someday—here, lemme pray for you:
God, let this guy not be afraid of you, and let him realize how wonderful you are and that living a Christian life is full of the truth of your love and grace and peace and joy and eternity with his brothers and sisters in your kingdom of heaven Amen!
Oh dear, I got ahead of myself.
I’m sorry.
See what I did there? That’s precisely what I can’t do: I can’t give you any reasons for belief.
The only reason anyone should ever believe anything is because they’ve got evidence, right? And in religion’s case, the evidence comes in the form of a sort of experience I can’t describe. And I can’t give that to you. Only you can try it out and see if that evidence is there.
So here’s what you could do: you pray for some time and ask God to show himself:
If God’s there and he loves you, he’ll answer in a convincing way.
If you try and you don’t get a convincing answer, God’s not there. You are free to give up.
If you try and you don’t get an answer and you give up, and sometime at the end of seventy years God asks you why you didn’t believe back then, you could tell him you’ve tried it and you’ve experienced nothing. So you’ve got an excuse, at least.
See, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain!
Oh, my, what a pretentious statement.
There are quite a few religions claiming the same thing. I apologize (again).
In that case, I shall suggest you go try every one of those religions.
I know I’ve found something in Christianity that’s kept me holding on, despite all my doubts, since my conversion so many years ago. You, though, shouldn’t trust another person’s experience. Give all the religions a fair chance. If the Judeo-Christian God’s there, I trust you’ll also find something in Christianity you won’t find in all the other religions.
But wait—you’ve still got one question: what makes experiences so trustworthy? I never really answered that, did I?
I mean, let’s think—people from all sorts of religions have claimed to have experienced God—what if they’ve all felt the same thing? What about that serial rapist who believed he had a deep calling from God to enslave women? What about the Heaven’s Gate Cult?
Well, you see…
That is, they’re very good questions, I think.
(A sigh of exasperation at this point!)
I’ll be honest.
I can’t answer all those questions.
When I started writing, I wanted to present all the questions that had come to my mind about the topics I discussed—
I didn’t want to give you only one side of the story, the Christian side, and then try to convince you into faith with biased propaganda—that would be horribly dishonest. Yet ultimately, I still believed I would be able to show you how it makes sense to try Christianity out.
I can’t do it. I can’t argue for science or experience.
There’s always going to be a counterargument.
I suppose my efforts were wasted—how disappointing, I think, to have it all come crashing down so suddenly in the conclusion.
You mustn’t read any more.
I have no more good reasons for religion.
You may as well stop reading.
Oh, but wait, please—before you leave—I’ve got a suggestion:
Lemme offer one more, one last argument:
Here’s a third, final, and perhaps only:
Try the religions precisely on account of these hard questions, precisely because you don’t have the answers, precisely because you probably never will—because you probably will never know anything significant enough to disclose to you just what happens after your death, or where you came from, or why you’re conscious—Try religions because now, in this body, you can’t even fully trust your own experiences—Try the religions because you don’t want to die an ignorant, uncertain man.
Try them all, or as many as you can—I hope this isn’t too much to ask—and try hard science, too, and all sorts of experiences—increase both your scientific knowledge and your breadth of experience.
And then try until you’ve found the answer, but even then, question its validity. You must never be certain. If you are ever certain, if you are ever without a doubt, worry for yourself, and then doubt your own certainty.
He was this kind of guy who would tell you not to do bad stuff and make you miserable when you did bad stuff.
I remember this one time when my sister followed me to the bathroom because she thought I wanted to play a game when really I just wanted to use the bathroom. I didn’t believe she had her reasons for going to the bathroom, so I told her “you can lie to me, but you can’t lie to God.” She confessed. God talked. God praised her guts.
By the way, I got that line, the “you can’t lie to God”, from my dad, who once scolded me for saying what he heard to be “shut up.” I’m not a bad kid. I was actually just saying “shhhhhhhhuuuuhhh” because I wanted my sister to quit whining, to shut up, and, of course, I claimed my innocence up to the very tragic end, at which point he said “you can lie to me, but you can’t lie to God!” God told me he knew my dad was falsely accusing me. I was satisfied.
There was also the devil. The devil was just as real to me as God. The devil was the one to blame for anything bad that I did. If I got caught doing anything wrong, I’d just tell my mom the devil had been telling me not to listen to God. I wasn’t completely lying, either. I heard voices, or I thought I heard voices, coming from everything—God, the devil, stuffed animals, aliens. They spoke to me through other means, too—the number of spots on a banana, the tiles I stepped on next, all sorts of signs. If you step on that ant, this famous person will die in this year, for example. When I got old enough, of course, I kind of got the impression that I was actually just talking to myself. I stopped looking so hard. The devil hasn’t spoken to me since.
I was sort of schizophrenic back then.
There was this one time when I convinced one of my friends once of a secret portal to another world that lay just behind a huge rock at my school. We spent all summer trying to dig up that rock. When he left for another school that autumn, the project was suspended until we were older and could fight the monsters in that world a bit better. That was in third grade.
In fourth grade, it was the Bermuda Triangle, and the theory that monkeys and aliens were distantly related.
In fifth grade, the kid from third grade found my number somewhere and gave me a call. He told me he had found a few other friends who had known of that world’s existence. I told him that was very nice, and he should go with them instead. I wanted to shoot myself.
In sixth grade, it was the aliens. My friend’s uncle had been abducted.
And now…
I’d like to think I’m pretty normal now. To be honest, I’m still obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster and palmistry and astrology and tarot. Of course, these days, I’m convinced most of it’s just nonsense (ghosts and aliens, I’m still undecided about them). The guys who are absolutely sure, the former me’s, who pore over those Nessie photos or build camps around Area 51, I think many are just complete nutcases.
I’m embarrassed I was among their ranks at one time.
See, religion’s not like that, though. God’s got good arguments on his side. The apologetics books haven’t been wasted:
“There’s evidence in science: The Big Bang, which could not have come from nothing at all, testifies to the existence of something before the birth of our universe. The natural laws, which sustain our universe, would not have been able to do so had they been slightly off. We trust them to regulate our world to act in predictable ways, though we have no reason for believing why they will continue to do so tomorrow.
And there’s historical evidence: Eleven out of the twelve of Jesus’ disciples were executed for their beliefs—Peter was crucified upside-down because he saw himself unworthy to die in the same manner as his Lord. Had they not seen him alive after his crucifixion, they would have no reason at all for believing in his claim as the Son of God.
What’s more, we believe in such a thing as value: Our morality, our willingness to make others happy at great cost to ourselves, seems out of place in the natural world, where the strong dominate the weak. Our belief that there exists a set standard for right and wrong, that serial killers and rapists have violated this standard, rather than just our own set of values, persists despite all lack of evidence that there is anything of the sort. We believe it’s good to tell the truth and to love others. We believe there’s some transcendent meaning in doing so. “
See what I’ve done there? We can now safely take Christianity into consideration. We’ve established it as a logically consistent and scientifically valid belief—that is, it can explain most things without contradicting itself or scientific evidence.
But, you ask, does that make it true?
Because consider: The disciples could have just as well been horribly deluded, like followers of the Heaven’s Gate Cult. Your morals could just as well have been conditioned, and ultimately meaningless. And really, the lack of evidence for the propagation of natural laws and their existence could be explained by the Judeo-Christian God’s existence, but it could hardly prove his existence.
Ah, fine, you win. I concede: I don’t think proving Christianity through science can be done. I would think any religious nut who claims to be able to prove Christianity and refute every other worldview is a bad liar, or else badly mistaken—
because here’s the bottom line:
Christianity isn’t overwhelmingly obvious.
We don’t all “know in our hearts that God exists.”
We don’t all hear him telepathically talking to us.
In fact, if it was so obvious, if God ever appeared on radar, I’m sure most people would believe.
Most people aren’t stupid. They don’t ignore overwhelmingly obvious facts.
But you know that.
Religion, you might have realized, is the belief in the supernatural; it’s the belief that there’s something out there that influences it all that can’t be explained away with science at all—
But here we have a problem: if a religion can’t ever be proven, why believe it at all?
Because the only reason anyone should ever believe anything is because they’ve got evidence, right?
But of course. Religion isn’t negating that statement.
See, religion isn’t blind—I think many seem to think religion is about falling back into a (possibly nonexistent) guy’s arms and trusting he’ll catch you, about not seeing any evidence but deciding to believe anyway. Believing in something despite it contradicting everything you know to be true, that’s called denial. Religion isn’t denial. It’s just as much about the evidence as anything else.
The evidence of the supernatural, however, obviously isn’t of the nature where you could ever lay it out on a table and make a case for it. Rather, I think religion is evidenced through experience—
Oh, I see what you’re thinking.
That was a statement far too radical, I’m afraid.
(Quoth the naturalist, at this point: )
“What is experience? Your thoughts, your feelings, your values, your awareness of self, even that feeling you get when you’re singing a great hymn and feeling spiritual, they’re all caused by synapses firing up in different parts of your brain. Your reality is created by neurochemicals, is a big Sargasso-tangle of synapse-firings. That’s a fact. You may feel like you’ve found God, but it will be just synapses firing in your brain.”
You are correct. So it is, I’m afraid.
But so is your sight. So is your smell. So is your logic. You, even if you believe in souls, are stuck in a physical body. You absolutely cannot have an experience not caused by the firing of synapses. But what about it? You trust your sight, don’t you? And why should you trust your experiencing sight and doubt your experiencing God? Why should you believe this experience is invalid when all your other experiences are perfectly valid?
And so I continue: I believe it’s absolutely essential that anyone making any sort of judgment on a religious view try it for himself before evaluating its claims at truth, because the facts will get him nowhere, because this religion is evidenced to him through experience:
It’s his offering a few prayers to God before bed and looking for change in his life.
It’s his reading the Bible for a few months to see if God reveals himself sometime in those months.
It’s his feeling those chemicals and synapses shooting in all directions because of a spiritual something in those few words spoken by that man in the pulpit.
And after all this, it’s his decision to dedicate his life to the faith—but it won’t be blind. It’ll be because everything he’s experienced about the faith has proven reason enough for him to believe.
So that’s my view on faith. And now, you…
How can I convince you to believe?
You know, screw this. Let’s put it bluntly:
God is real because of thermodynamics, and Jesus is his son because of his apostles’ testimony, and we’re all sinners, and you know it because of your conscience, and we’ll all go to Hell, and—and you’re afraid to come to God because of sin, but you’ll experience Him someday—here, lemme pray for you:
God, let this guy not be afraid of you, and let him realize how wonderful you are and that living a Christian life is full of the truth of your love and grace and peace and joy and eternity with his brothers and sisters in your kingdom of heaven Amen!
Oh dear, I got ahead of myself.
I’m sorry.
See what I did there? That’s precisely what I can’t do: I can’t give you any reasons for belief.
The only reason anyone should ever believe anything is because they’ve got evidence, right? And in religion’s case, the evidence comes in the form of a sort of experience I can’t describe. And I can’t give that to you. Only you can try it out and see if that evidence is there.
So here’s what you could do: you pray for some time and ask God to show himself:
If God’s there and he loves you, he’ll answer in a convincing way.
If you try and you don’t get a convincing answer, God’s not there. You are free to give up.
If you try and you don’t get an answer and you give up, and sometime at the end of seventy years God asks you why you didn’t believe back then, you could tell him you’ve tried it and you’ve experienced nothing. So you’ve got an excuse, at least.
See, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain!
Oh, my, what a pretentious statement.
There are quite a few religions claiming the same thing. I apologize (again).
In that case, I shall suggest you go try every one of those religions.
I know I’ve found something in Christianity that’s kept me holding on, despite all my doubts, since my conversion so many years ago. You, though, shouldn’t trust another person’s experience. Give all the religions a fair chance. If the Judeo-Christian God’s there, I trust you’ll also find something in Christianity you won’t find in all the other religions.
But wait—you’ve still got one question: what makes experiences so trustworthy? I never really answered that, did I?
I mean, let’s think—people from all sorts of religions have claimed to have experienced God—what if they’ve all felt the same thing? What about that serial rapist who believed he had a deep calling from God to enslave women? What about the Heaven’s Gate Cult?
Well, you see…
That is, they’re very good questions, I think.
(A sigh of exasperation at this point!)
I’ll be honest.
I can’t answer all those questions.
When I started writing, I wanted to present all the questions that had come to my mind about the topics I discussed—
I didn’t want to give you only one side of the story, the Christian side, and then try to convince you into faith with biased propaganda—that would be horribly dishonest. Yet ultimately, I still believed I would be able to show you how it makes sense to try Christianity out.
I can’t do it. I can’t argue for science or experience.
There’s always going to be a counterargument.
I suppose my efforts were wasted—how disappointing, I think, to have it all come crashing down so suddenly in the conclusion.
You mustn’t read any more.
I have no more good reasons for religion.
You may as well stop reading.
Oh, but wait, please—before you leave—I’ve got a suggestion:
Lemme offer one more, one last argument:
Here’s a third, final, and perhaps only:
Try the religions precisely on account of these hard questions, precisely because you don’t have the answers, precisely because you probably never will—because you probably will never know anything significant enough to disclose to you just what happens after your death, or where you came from, or why you’re conscious—Try religions because now, in this body, you can’t even fully trust your own experiences—Try the religions because you don’t want to die an ignorant, uncertain man.
Try them all, or as many as you can—I hope this isn’t too much to ask—and try hard science, too, and all sorts of experiences—increase both your scientific knowledge and your breadth of experience.
And then try until you’ve found the answer, but even then, question its validity. You must never be certain. If you are ever certain, if you are ever without a doubt, worry for yourself, and then doubt your own certainty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
