Big Empty.

If anyone likes me, as a friend or otherwise, it probably means they don't know me so well. I'm really quite an un-like-a-ble person. Get that? I'm: •unsympathetic: (of characters in literature or drama) tending to evoke antipathetic feelings. I'm proud (proud of it), narcissistic, elitist, blunt, unprincipled, uncaring, Outshined! and absolutely-brillovely!
I wonder why people like me. I hardly like them. It would be nice if they'd all go away sometimes and leave me to myself. It's the way I'd like to live--just me and the world and nothing between--
to i m p l odeli.keth i s s o r t o f.
Lovely in a dark, unholy kind of way.
Interstellar overdrive.
Quasarly.
Big, colossal slave of a world beholds the immortal child-king in a Jesus Christ pose!;
an empty, godless god of an eternity
and so now, get this, world:
LEAVEMEALONE. <--and see that period?
It's the largest size they have.
FIGht.

A story idea!

The future:
!Fluorescent paint and see-through clothing are in!
Parties are life! Pink is the new black!, Ecstasy is the new pot! Don't be caught dead without your scooter modded, and shinto has washed the masses with incense and mock-shrines. Hip-hop and electronica make love to reggae and industrial music in a godly, bizarre sort of somethingorother. Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails are the gods of today.

The story:
The travels and times of a band !THE WAR ON DRUGS!, as narrated by an immortal robot Bren who is quite glad he's not human...

The characters:

A boy,
with pink hair and a scooter doodled over in sharpie, eternally bubbling over with enthusiasm, rebellion, never-seriousness! Accepting, warm, softspoken, narcissistic, impulsive; decides to tour the country with a guitar and his best friend after he gets out of high school. ENFP.

His best friend,
a girl who wears fluorescent devil horns, rides a pink scooter with Marilyn Monroe's face on it, plays a red devil sort of guitar. The world is beautiful, everyone! And she secretly likes him, but, of course, he has a girlfriend... ISFP.

The girl's childhood friend,
whom the guy invites on the trip, despite never getting along with him. Bold, raucious, chill. He drums, with a kabuki mask. Rarely, if ever, serious. Just here for the good time. ESTP.

A robot they meet in a restaurant,
who has a passion for 7/4 and 5/4 timing and synthesizers. Plays the bass, wears a nail-studded Mickey Mouse hat and WAR glasses. Silent, blunt, chill. The band's music turns into something a bit odd under his direction. Smokes when upset. Thinks the band completely blows without his own ideas. Usually right. Fragile, INTP.

A pet street guitarist they adopt,
a sort of mother-figure, counselor, amazing cook to whom the ESTP gets quite attached... They leave him in Seattle with some money college for one night. He writes great lyrics, and he cringes at the band's love for vulgarity and shock theatre. Wishes he was a ghost sometimes. A saintly sort of INFJ.

An idea is born!,
Fight for air!
Don't die so soon!

And also my writing sucks these days.
I wonder....
Terminal Man.

Terminal Man

Perhaps we're all born into this world like a hard drive with these preinstalled somethingorothers that release certain chemicals so you don't feel much of a need for change in your environment, and you think "perhaps this is the right thing to do," and so you seek more of this thing to get more of this chemical to get more of this feeling, and then perhaps the adults all come along with their rules and to get a little more of it you'll have to do what they all tell you , and then in the end you're nothing more than preinstalled programs and postinstalled programs and cells and currents and chemicals... isn't it all so gross?
And your flesh! It bleeds when you poke little holes,
and it rips, and it burns, and it bruises!
And the vegetables and the fruits
and the animals and the insects...
But machines!
Machines are so nice, aren't they?
They're cold, silent, calm...
Wouldn't it be nice to be a machine,
or maybe a ghost?
I wonder...

Premature aging? Stress?

I'm half serious, too... Just the other day, I couldn't spell therefor or rythm and I wasn't sure whether to say "skeptical of" or "skeptical to." And then it takes me forever to remember what we're learning in history or stuff...

Anyway, I should really teach a class on how to be invincible, you know? "Today, we shall learn the glories of lying down!" or "The ethics of rock-throwing!" or... just kidding. :P
But wouldn't that be nice? I think the whole world should learn to chillax a bit.

I've got a girlfriend, and then I've got mom and dad, and then I've got the rest of the world all to myself... how wonderful...

Senile dementia.

Lying down!

The ultimate act of defiance to this beautiful, stupid, empty, infinity world!

"Come and get me, world!, like I'm all over your back and enjoying every moment of it, like you can't do a thing about it!"

Resistance is futile, Planet Earth!
The loudspeaker is twice your diameter!

And also a family is a wonderful thing--
Someday, I shall be a father!

"It'sthesameoldthemesincenineteensixteen
Inyourhead,inyourheadthey'restillfighting
Withtheirtanksandtheirbombs
Andtheirbombsandtheirbombsandtheirbombsandtheirgunsandtheir gunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirguns
gunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirguns
gunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirguns
gunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirgunsandtheirguns
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie

sometimes I hate my writing.

that's too bad, me. I'll still be an author.

FIGHT THE WORLD! THE WORLD IS THE ENEMY!

The haibane came into Glie without memories, and they lived for a few years, and they left to God knows where,
and Hamlet stood alone in the end, vanquished the world and all its little mice-men, but the wound on his side--twas all for naught!,
and Macbeth, from his castle, saw the forests of the world rising up, and "Life is but a walking shadow," he cried,
and Chiyoko stared up into the black void from her hospital room rocket ship, and,
and after all, it was nothing at all!,
and after all, they knew it wasn't ever anything, except for when they were so young, shone like the sun, but now their empty, black hole eyes,
and yet they stood, and they groped-swung-stabbed at the nothingatall, the empty world, the invincible, the infinity!,
And that's exactly what I'd like to tell every person to do,
every stupid victim of the stupid world:
"FUCKING FOREVER FIGHT INFINITY!"
Though you never find out what you're looking for, you looked harder than anything!,

And so when I get enough money, I'll make a giant FIGHT, hundreds of feet high,
So people can go next to it.
( . )<--And a person will be that tall, the size of one of these periods.

Jesus Christ Pose

And Alas! the entry on the dream has already taken up 2 hours worth of blogging!, and yet so much more remains to be said tonight...

A day in an empty field, and greeting the nice birds and the nice leaf and the nice Marilyn Monroe cat,
A waste of a day spent on an old Godzilla flick which glitched like all hell,
The grand pastime known by the name The Floor is Lava, and the rules thereof,
A night at a Jazz festival, a visit to a sealed construction site and an electrical room of sorts, a million couples making out, quite a few good biker guys
A junior carnival where I sold the drinks, a container of dry ice there, a tired horse on the field that night,
The boys who started a reggae band in the ministry room, a journalism article I've yet to begin writing,
Moi, playing Santeria on the roof, late at night, the city below me!,
A halo drawn by rock on concrete, "FIGHT THE WORLD," my wonderful Jesus Christ pose that afternoon,
My wonderful girlfriend and the (almost as) wonderful new necklaces she made,
And I think I'm allowed to call her that now...
I think that's all.

Tonight, I think I'll be making up for some lost sleep...

Existentialism!

I was at Wal-Mart, I think, and these people, they were all gathered in the room around these screens, and it was showing Spirited Away that day. It was near the end, and I could probably have recited everything they said in time with them. The store was really boring, though, and it had nothing except Star Wars toys, and so, "the movie it was!"

It was at the part where she walked down the side of the building and into the water below to wait for the train. It had been a few years, I think, since she first made the deal with the tall lady, and she thought maybe she could leave now. And there were these stairs, and she walked down, and the sun was all there was in the sky that day, shining amazingly bright and white and empty existentialism.

(And behind her, Haku and the lady stepped down, watched her from a distance.)

The sun was the only thing in the sky, bleak, existential emptiness, and it cut through everything, past the trees here, and the trees by the stairs, and made a million shadows everywhere...
And there was this house to her left, exactly as she had left it, the sun pushing through like an Edward Hopper. On the right was the house with the boat.

It was really cold, so she sighed steam into the air.

She felt like she had this, this thing, this feeling of…
She wasn’t quite sure what it was—
She wasn’t so upset at it all, but it wasn’t great. And she thought it would be great, would be amazing!, dreams!, eternity!, something worth all these years of wasn’t-greatness…

But then it started to rain a bit. And she realized it was quite cold here, anyhow, and she was very tired and a bit hungry,
And she wanted to go somewhere nice, To eat a lunch over this rain…

As she thought this, she teared up a bit.

Still not sad, she thought, but it was all very lame…

Haku and a lady stepped out now, and he was horribly upset now, at the lady, for promising all this stupid stuff, and it was all so unfulfilling!, absurd!, and now...

And then it started to rain harder.

And the boy screamed to the lady twas all really stupid, pointless!, and he begged her to let the girl, Chihiro, he wanted her to stay, please!
But The rain was getting harder, she said, and they would all get quite wet if they didn't run back now. And she was a wolf, and she ran back. The boy glanced back at the infinity sky, all drenched and heavy, and the girl, and she was crying, but still he ran for the building.

And then it was pouring like the infinity-sky over the parking lot.

And then it was morning, and then it was my alarm

The Senner.

The Senner

A poem, a true story,
a work dedicated to my brilliant math teacher,
and the wonderful video of the same name:

Once upon a math class dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a dull and useless problem done the night before,
While I nodded, nearly dozing, suddenly! some thought imposing,
A God of thoughts, a celestial thought, racing ‘round my languished mind:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA

(You see, dear reader, I was eager—being shown that site before
By our teacher, Mr. Senner, just a week and days before—
To show the world this Youtube gold, this song to which my soul was sold,
This band, whose namesake from him taking, had been making
Who, with some stick fights and foot-shaking, had been making
Godlike song with saintly chords!)

And distinctly I remember: it was in the crisp November,
As each boredom-stricken student gazed with yearning at the door.
My friend was sleeping, and I, keeping watch of time so quickly fleeting.
I leaned beside, and in aside, asked if he’d seen before,
—Perchance my friend had seen that video before—
He claimed he had, and nothing more.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Ah!,' said I, `we should coerce him, pay him, bribe him, or else force him!
Make him show the class that video we were shown by him before!
And so quietly he went writing, writing on the board
“Search up Senner VII,” said the writing on the board

Quoth the Senner, ‘Nevermore.’


But this silent man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
`Though thee has said tis not the season, thou,' I said, `has not a reason.
Omnipotent and mighty teacher, why do you our pleads ignore?
Tell us why thee never gives a reason for our pleads ignored?'

Quoth the Senner, `Nevermore.'


Much I marvelled at this answer, not the one which I would chance for,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that few living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA on the net before -
A video with the name of www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA on the net before,
But twas his answer: ‘Nevermore.’


But the Senner, sitting lonely on the cluttered desk, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
No more words then did he utter – only numbers did he mutter-
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Not one friend has seen before -
In the end, I’ll make him show it, as he knows he can’t endure.'

Then the man said, `Nevermore.'


Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what he utters is his only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy class which caused unmerciful disaster,
Which followed fast and followed faster, till his cries one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat now wondering, with my mind the video pondering,
Over swordfights, moving feet, and hair grown down to ‘neath their knees
But whose swordfights, moving feet, and hair grown down to ‘neath their knees
They shall see, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
A name – a name like Senner, a name that www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA proudly bore!
Now show, oh show this www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA to us; give us joy and end this bore!'

Quoth the Senner, `Nevermore.'


`Senner!' said I, `name of evil! - Senner still, if man or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Shall thee show www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA to us, ever? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the Senner, `Nevermore.'


`Senner!' shrieked I, `name of evil! - Senner still, if man or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall see a certain www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA whom the angels so adore -
Clasp a rare and radiant www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2XCg3Gu-YA, whom the angels so adore?'

Quoth the Senner, `Nevermore.'


`Be that word our sign of parting, precalc coach!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no numbers as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the desk beside your door!
Take thy teeth from out my heart, and take thy form from out my door!'

Quoth the Senner, ‘Zeffy, I would like you to sit over here in the front.’


And so,
The Senner not permitting, I am sitting, still am sitting
On that lonely desk that lies before the Senner’s door.
The bell has rung, the kids depart, their heads held high, but oh! my heart!
Even now, the song’s unsung! The cause—is lost! Not yet! Not now!
Alas! the video, ah! the video, lies obscure now, disavowed now,
Shall be shown now—nevermore!

My faith.

When I was younger, God wasn’t so hard to believe. See, for most children, the Whats of religion don’t always require a Why; after all, life is just splendid, these matters are all so trivial, and the reason, if they ever discover it later, is probably very reasonable. And if ever any one of these questions gave me too much of a bother, I could delve into yet another book on my dad’s shelf explaining why evolution is a bunch of fairy tales and how God is so easy to believe. And it was splendid, after all, and they were trivial, and it would have been magnificent if things could have stayed like that.

But as kids grow up, they develop this skill—logic—until alas! there comes an age when doubts all grow too heavy,
when the Hammer of Empiricism smashes on through every one of their beliefs,
knocks them down,
sends away the ex-children scrambling for and clawing at whatever pieces are left huc illuc.

And I don’t think it was so bad that I was barely a teenager when I decided to let it reduce my religion to sweet neological nothings—
tis better to let it strike early, I think, when you don’t have too much to lose and still 5/6 of your life left to rediscover it.

But then, of course, I suppose many a Presbyterian preacher would have told me to neatly tuck these doubts away into the dark recesses of my mind and know that there is an answer,
but My goodness, what a horrible answer!

If God is God, what are they so afraid of? Wrestling with him, as Jacob had? And defeating him, perhaps? Some God they make him out to be!

Or maybe,
Or maybe those doubts which had the potential to sabotage our beliefs weren’t quite so important to these fundamentals, tenets, doctrines. Yet if this be the case, how seriously would I be taking faith, dismissing so lightly these doubts that undermine it so heavily!

Then, I would think the only proper response would be to let them run amok in your mind until they find themselves before the Divine Countenance, until God addresses them and you realize how completely unfounded they were.
Yet this is so hard for so many,
and for me Herculean.

Perhaps one reason for this is because God, for one reason or another, is given to frequent bouts of silence, often when you least expect them.
The late Job has experienced this, to which he cries out, “But God will answer in the end!”
But of course—a perfectly loving God would certainly not ever abandon anyone, ever!
But I wonder how much of that you can believe all at once when your head is so plagued by these worry-flies beating themselves to death against two layers of glass:

Perchance he’ll be silent for a little too long,
Perchance I’ll abandon him altogether!
and Perchance—
if I happen to die on some bleak, godless winter morning—
I’ll find myself the murderer Nietzsche before the face of that clandestine God (very much alive!) at death!

And so I hold on to my doubts,
not yet brave enough (and not exactly sure how) to hand them all over…

And…

I’m not sure what else to say.

After all the “hold ons” and the “never let gos” are all wasted, I suppose I don’t have much else useful to talk about…