Ramblings of a lost mind

Why hello and good evenin’ to ya!
Waaah, another Saturday gone to waste. I woke up at 5am to watch "Castle of Cagliostro" before hockey, because I feared my family would return it before I got the chance. We rented it, it’s due back and whatnot. I later discovered they had decided to hang onto them for another day, so yeah, that’s all fine and dandy. I got some homework done too, and I made a start on The Grapes of Wrath- the novel we’re studying for Lit. Unfortuantely enough, my attention wavered innumerably, and I soon changed to Harry Potter (Book 5) for several hours.
Nevertheless, I just felt like making an entry. My laptop is really screwed up- takes a minimum of 10 minutes to work, but up to 40 minutes to run an application (MSN for example). This computer is fairing no better, freezing at random intervals and then not restarting. Instead of loading the start screen, the monitor stays black, and I have to basically pull the plug out of the hard drive and give it a few minutes. It really quite sucks, you know.
I apologise if my time on MSN is hereforth limited- I’ll work on getting a new computer somehow, though it’s unlikely, and in comparison to the relics some other people are forced to use, I suppose I’m quite fortunate.
As a side note, Dad also wants me to grow up, but hey, I argue that there’s an inner child just pleading to be heard in each of us. I couldn’t help myself. It’s become something of a habit to draw imaginary pistols in my hands and fire invisible bullets into the windscreens of cars- driver side. It’s not a very nice thing to do, but for some reason, I like to pretend I’ve got a weapon of some sort and I’m being chased. I suppose it was sparked from the dream I had a while back. Basically, I was on a car chase, riding shotgun. I had a sniper rifle and two 45’s at my hips, as well as a weaker, C130 type pistol with 7 bullets that Dad eventually used to shoot himself in the back with, as a makeshift back scratcher. Anyhoo, cutting a long story short, I nailed all my persuers between the eyes, and eventually found Trinity from the Matrix chasing me. As regretful as I was, nothing could be done to help her; she was my adversary, and I had to put her out of action. Believe it or not, whilst she was doing one of her focus, bullet-dodging moves and firing at me simultaneously, I too went into bullet-time and timed the shot to bring her to a sudden and bloody demise. I woke up shortly after. Quite a lovely dream, isn’t it?
Neverthless, I’ve had something of a game develop from it, as I did once before, a few (I’d guess at least 3 or 4) years back. Dad noticed, and remembered my old way, flipping pistols and blasting rifles.
"John, it’s about time you grow up!"
"Because shotguns are for babies! Buy a cannon!"
"Aye aye sir!"
Xin out.


I miss you Ivy.
The movie Eugene is watching (Cold Mountain) depresses me, just listening to it. I’m going to bed…
*sigh* It ain’t worth it.

Catching up

Woo, 4 days without an entry. Time for a catchup session methinks.
 I heard my alarm ringing, so I threw an arm around to press "Sleep", disabling it for 10 more minutes. After doing this three times, my second alarm clock (on my desk) forced me out of bed. I then attempted to wash my face and get a drink, but returning to my room to get changed, I crawled back in bed and cuddled my pillow to sleep again. Then my alarm went off, and it was 6:30- time for school. I was confused for some time, but I think I just dreamed about waking up.
I’m also still very upset about not being privelidged enough to go on the India Pilgrimage. It’s my dream for goodness sake, what I really want to accomplish in life. I don’t want to become a doctor or pass school, I just want to make sure that other people have the right at least to live, and it’s places like India that I can do that, I can actually make a difference. If only brother Rob knew how determined I was to go, but alas, I won’t press. 35 ruppees = $1 Australian. You can buy 35 meals for just $1, and you really have to wonder why people are selfish enough to spend 21 million dollars on a dog house, etc.
We’ve got the funrun coming up. Though I want to try, and risk my heart exploding, it’s healthy. I always like pushing my limits physically, it’s a good excuse. Unfortuantely, Eddie Rice Outridge (the Christian service part of the school that help out with all the activities), the group I’m part of, may be organising the Funrun aka Frog Jog this year, so I’ll miss out. Regardless, I’m raising as much money as I can meanwhile, getting a tonne of sponsors whatnot. Anyhoo, it’s all for India, so Amen to that.
Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking a lot about humanity, and to summarise, I’ll leave you this statement to think about:
We are the only species capable of hating ourselves.
To cut it short, I figured that it was because we evolved from primates in different areas. It was when humanity first encountered the same species, though looking slightly different and speaking different languages, prejudice and hatred arose. Some cultures got along all right as they mingled, some didn’t. Though we’re all the same species, the reason we’re not entirely alike is because of our differences in genes, how we’re raised slightly different from each other to be individuals and have a sense of identity amongst each person and within each family/community. And so it was, some of them became powerful, some of them became happy. Nevertheless, I’ve gone on quite enough for now. Guess I’d better start mugging (Singlish for doing all homework at the last minute- not stealing someone’s wallet) now. English test tomorrow. Ciaoies.

Evangelion- the meaning of Death.

I officially vote that "Neon Genesis Evangelion Death & Rebirth" is the most disturbing movie I have ever known to exist.
Happy Tree Friends was okay- it was the mindless and disgusting slaughter of innocent and adorable creatures. Mindlessness I can handle.
The Animatrix was depressing, because in every segment, someone died or was forgotten, or the ending was basically "You are all doomed."
Evangelion… Oh, this isn’t mindless, oh no. It delves into the human psyche and challenges what it means to be human, to live, to be happy. It creates characters that are barely any of the aforementioned three. Neglect, hatred, selfishness… Introverted people, and others who know nothing more than to exist and obey. It is disturbing to think of just how weak humanity really is, and what’s truly important in life.
Sexuality, a big thing for most teenagers. All want to get laid, all think seeing someone naked is hot. Well in the grand scheme of things, no, it’s not. It’s reproduction. One, two hours of pleasure is not worth the misery that may follow for prioritising it over "what is truly important".
But what is? Love, as anyone would say. But would they? What if they had never known love, or simply turned away from it? Love is no reason to live.
But then, what is the meaning of life? God, I’ll be thinking about this for years, I can tell…

Just stuff.

Well… knowing Brother Rob, I shouldn’t be surprised. History repeats itself, as the saying goes.
I missed out on reading for a mass one time because I couldn’t find him. By the time I discovered he was in the Campus Ministry after going on a wild goose chase, he had chosen everyone and I was excluded.
This time, when I asked about the India Pilgrimage, it was to my knowledge that I was a month past the RSVP date. I can’t go. Despite the fact that I’m disappointed, it means that I can go on the chorale tour instead next year. Stephen Dale is going to join, so that should make things more bearable. I should stop being a dick to him, because he’s a good guy, and I’d be his friend if I had the chance. Nevertheless, I’ll just have to go to India some time in my life. It doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, I’m going.
In other news, I took a hockeyball to the chest yesterday. Heart-side, too, and to those of you who don’t know, I have a mild heart disorder. I’m currently surviving, haven’t simultaneously combusted or anything. However, I have been, once again, left with a rather crude, target-shaped bruise. It also cracked my wrist, which I partially raised in defence. Why is it always me who gets hit by the hockeyballs? Pete wasn’t too helpful either, pointing out I finally had a breast because I was using my shirt to hold the ice in place. Pfft, don’t diss my manboobs :P
Guess that’s it from me. For once, I’m up before 7. Hooray to an early start, and Amen to Fridays. I’m hungry. =( Well, fill an empty stomach, empty and upset mind, in the words of Darunia.


My time is short. They are watching me.


I discovered earlier today that some of the year 12’s used a program they found on google to zoom into our house via a satellite. They’ve seen everything. The sniping equipment on the roof, the launghpad (both for our jet and helicoptor) in the back yard, and possibly my extensive artillery hidden under the clothesline. I must tell the team to pack up immediately and find new residence; this place is no longer a safe hideout. It’s only a matter of time until my enemies come for me.


Pfft, who am I kidding. *sigh* Well as far as I know, they are spying on me, so it’s no longer safe to go outside in the buff in the early hours of the morning to… have time to myself in the moonlight. Not that I do, but just saying… AAAAAAAH THEY’RE ATTACKING! I must go.




PS: They say that if a baby is given everything they need to survive, but are not loved, they will perish. Doesn’t that mean all children are loved to start with?

Like a river…

As I sit here and write I know that my words bear little meaning. Moods only last so long before they are changed by another, some sequences of events that result in a different pattern of brainwaves and reactions to them. It’s trivial. I don’t know why I feel the need to express myself because, but I thought I would, because I don’t quite feel like playing Tactics Core- the only virtual game I have accessible. Of course, there’s the matter of playing any of the more… real? Is that the word? What’s so fake about the internet?


People create alias’. They pretend they’re other people- I do it all the time, signing with Link or Xin over John. I don’t like my name very much, but Ivy does. I don’t see why, exactly, but I guess it’s because who I am. John Marshall of Perth.


Nevermind, such matters will not be the death of me in the long run. They’re just moodswings, but the reasons behind them should be mended at least. Oh Lordy Lordy Lordy. What ever shall your beloved clan say if, somehow, they got a video of you singing to yourself, or doing something otherwise demeaning? You’d be a laughing stock. Even if you don’t know it Eugene, I do love you somehow- it’s how I’ve been able to put up with everything, but it works in reverse too. I’m annoying in my own intelligible way (as I’m sure Jess will back up, but Pete would argue the meaning of ‘intelligible’) and I’m grateful for your tolerance in return.


To cut it short, let’s just say that hormones are, at present, evil. They do have their benefits- growth for example, but alas, I’m short. What’s worse is my labcoat is tiny on poor Ivy, I really do need to do something about that.


Anyway, tomorrow school begins. I’ve been having nightmares of late, but it’s only 6:08PM, I have plenty of time left in the night- three hours should be all right. What am I going to do in that time? Pack, possibly do my science, write that story I promised myself, maybe a bit of background of Arabian princes (ever played Prince of Persia? Wicked game) or something of the sort. I did manage to spend some of today being productive. I’ve wasted the rest of my holidays though, save yesterday.


Though Ivy may not approve, the only real outing I had was to see Lee at her nan’s house. I really do care for her, ever so dearly, but alas, I have no real way of telling if she’s even reading, or if she could ever know how much. I’m also worried that I may have offended Ivy, but unless she tells me so, I’ll never know. *sigh* Love. Don’t even start me. Ah stuff it, I’ll start myself. What does it mean to love? Why is love different between people? Do homosexuals really know what it means to have a soul mate? What is a soul mate? Why do we love sisters different to girlfriends, and mothers? I suppose it’s because of suitability. How your mother cares for you as her child is different to how your wife would care for you as her husband- the different roles in a nuclear family, and in society etcetera etcetera. I guess I’m digessing. Whilst it’s tempting to erase everything I’ve written, I’ll just go under the assumption that you can be bothered reading it, and otherwise scroll down.


I doubt Pete will read this for some time, for it’s apparent that he’s blocked and deleted me. I’ll do my best to find out, if there’s any chance he talks to me again, for otherwise I’m oblivious to how I can make amends. I really am an insensitive, absent-minded dimwad, aren’t I? Well hey. That’s me. A lot of people don’t like it, but it’s me.


If I were an artist, would I ‘repair’ a painting?


It loses its authenticity, but perhaps it’s better. Bring out the best of the original and let the mistakes be covered over with new coats, you know. I’m not much of a painter, but I do admire my early efforts. Heh heh, it looked nothing like a river. My brushwork really needs painting up.


As something of a post script, I also need to learn Mandarin, and how to cook. As much as I hate to admit it, they will become later skills that picking up relatively early in my life will give me some sort of an advantage of. Nevermind. It’s 6:17 now, I’d better hurry a long. Mm… *sigh*


I’ve remembered one last thing I need to write about. I’m going to try and get on the India pilgrimage. 5, 6 weeks away from home, and possibly away from Ivy. It’s going to be terrible, but we’ll be stopping in Singapore on the way back- hopefully we’ll get to mingle with the public rather than being stowed away in the private section of the airport. It’s a dream of mine. I put myself 70 years forward in time, when I’m lying in a hospital bed, the visiting hours are over and I have no interest in whatever form of television the world’s come up with. I would lie there, breathing through a respirator, looking back on my life, and I would say to myself,

“What would I have done if I had the chance?”


I really want to go to India, or some third world country. People tell me to love others, not to hurt people’s feelings, to be sensitive and to make sure people are always feeling happy. It’s generally what society wants. But while we’re concerned about the inner troubles of our own world, (what clothes to wear to a party, being grounded so we can’t see our friends, having to pay a hefty phone bill for talking to your partner for hours on end), we forget something I have always remembered. Before every meal I eat, I thank God for the food I have, and not to forget those who don’t have such a luxury. I thank him for always providing some form of a living, and a happy one at that, but my mind often returns to the malnourishment and starvation in other countries. The sickness, the death. I think of while my Mum stresses over her money, my brother’s complaining about what career he should have, and my Dad bitching about the people at work, do any of them remember that there are millions, if not billions of people who would give everything they could to switch places?


I want to go where my help is really needed. I don’t want to become a doctor and cure people with colds and fractured bones. I want to fly overseas and help people who are dying and can’t afford medicine. I want to do something, God, to help them. The India Pilgrimage is a journey there, both spiritually and physically (or so I’m told) where every day we’ll be helping people. We won’t need any sort of expertise. Just doing what we can; playing with unwanted children, cleaning up the forms of hospitals they have there, things like that. If I don’t go on this, I know that I will have to go there myself later in life, or else I will forever regret the opportunity I let go to waste.


What else do I want from my life? Just to make a difference, and hopefully remembered long enough for people to know what that difference stands for. Maybe then I will find some sort of meaning in life, through death, but until then, I’m going to talk to Brother Rob and see what I can do. It’s nice to dream, and people have always told us to go for our dreams, no matter what it takes. God help me, but one day, just one day, I may be able to do what I should for once. Ivy…


Music is so influential, no? Eugene’s playing a song  he wrote inspired by a poem about a man reflecting suicide- “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. It’s really not helping me. *sigh* Well, guess I’m off to make do with the two and a half hours of consciousness I have. Meep.