What is the point of dating?
"Knowledge is a priceless treasure that you carry with you always." – Chinese Proverb.
Point of this entry, I realised money’s not worth it, and I’m up to date with my maths. Half of my work has been lifted off my chest. Now all that remains are four chem assignments, econs essay tomorrow, lit essay tm, chem test on Thursday and an Intro Calc test sooner or later. The religion test is also overdue, but nobody takes that seriously anyhoo. Oh, and I have two chapters of human biology that’s due on Monday, which I only found out about last night by asking Matsuto. My eternal gratitude.
Basically, work-trodden as I am, most of it will be done by Monday night. After Monday, I shall experience perhaps a week of freedom from homework and stress. It lifts my spirits.
I’m supposed to call the directors of Trinity and Mercedes to ask if they can unlock their music rooms for a piano lesson with Slawo tomorrow. It’s too much effort for me to organise all by myself. The festival is on Tuesday, and given that Perry and I practiced for some two-three hours consecutively yesterday, I think we might have a fair chance. Maybe I’ll play at Speech Night after all.
Just another rambling entry to empty my head- what women supposedly do. Not being sexist. *sigh* While I’m at it, I’m so sorry for every girl in this world who has to look pretty because they feel the need to. It’s not worth it, ladies. You’re all beautiful to me.
PS: Missing Bob, but ever since I found out people have pissed on him, all contact has been abolished.
For the first time in ten years, the 3rds hockey team has won a game. It was against Wesley, who were playing one man down (12:10, 11 are allowed on the field at once), and the final score was 1-0. Their coach is a legend- he was yelling at Krishnah to "Keep on that little Asian guy! He’s bloody good! He’s no pastry puff!" Hahaha we all agreed he had taken someone else’s pills by accident, because he was more of a commentator than a coach. There was not a single 5 second interval of silence throughout the game. We got some good chances, played well, and I got hit in the other knee. I say other, because at training on Thursday I took a ball to the right knee, today, another to the left. I’m going to have a bone broken sooner or later, I know it.
Well done Trinity. Well done indeed. I shall now lie down and not make a peep until I feel ready to walk again.
Is it wrong to say someone has a knack for being right? If everyone has a disagreement with my opinion on something, am I at fault, or are all of them?
I feel like sitting down with an inkpot and quill, writing by the light of a candle. Instead, here I am on this box that manages to drain an extra hour out of me every time I go on it. Go figure.
I need some reflection time. It’s necessary to developing self-identity. I sound like I’m an attention-seeker or a know-it-all poser. Despite this, I have forgotten who I am, and more importantly, who I want to be. I dearly wish that there was a meadow somewhere with a shady tree I could lean against. I would sit there with a notebook and a pen, and I would write all day long. However, lacking the meadow, tree and inspiration, I’ll just settle for not talking for a little while. Maybe I’ll learn something. Anti-talk time starts tomorrow morning. The less I talk, the more I listen. Always important when defining morals, as we learned in RE today. At least, I’m pretty sure I"m the only one in class who was working.
I’m digressing. All right. I will take a break and re-evaluate myself. I’m sure by morning I’ll have come up with answers. I need a weekend to fill with stories.
PS: I still wonder what it’s like to be blind. It sounds like something I would enjoy.
With love, always and endlessly,
Anyway, have you ever seen Dawn of the Dead? Terrible movie, what with all the shredding muscle and ripping chainsaws and super-zombies. Unless of course you’re into that sort of thing. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the basic storyline is this. Out of nowhere, a virus infects a small part of the world. Nobody knows where it came from, but they have some idea of what it does. It kills a person a few minutes after they’ve been bitten, then re-animates them to super-fast, super-strong, super-stupid zombies with only one instinct: Feed. They don’t have the brain capacity to do much more than run and bite, and the whole movie is about a band of survivors who barricade themselves in a mall, with all the supplies they’ll need for a few months, until they get help.
Last night, I had a nightmare. Exactly the same scenario as Dawn of the Dead, except Eugene and I were in a movie theatre instead, because that was the closest building we could find, and we didn’t want to run outside and look for a better alternative. It was night out, and those zombies could have been running loose.
For a few weeks, Eugene and I just spent our time watching movie after movie. My brain invented all the movies for me, but I think it got boring after a little while. I remember the entrance to the building was an automatic door, and every time you went near it, it opened. This was a bad thing, because I was never sure if there was a zombie outside because it was pitch black for everywhere but inside the cinema. I slept a few metres away from the door, for fear that it would open, and I lay awake each night with fear. Can you imagine that all of humanity has been turned into creatures that want to kill you? Because that’s what I dreamed about, and it was the most hopeless feeling in existence.
Time passed. A few zombies got in, but I cracked their necks without getting bitten. That’s one of two ways to kill them- the alternative is severe shock damage to the brain, aka bullet in the head. Eventually, and don’t ask me how this works, it was a dream, I was staring out the glass doors, praying they wouldn’t open. Glass doors are safe, btw, because the super-zombies are too stupid to open them- they just slump against the glass and groan. Anyways, Eugene had been replaced by a girl that I loved. That’s all I knew about her. Suddenly, she was a raven sitting on a lamp post, and her eyes went wide.
"It’s not the zombies," she whispered to herself in horror. "It’s that bird."
What she meant was, the bird was infected with the virus, and it was apparent she’d been attacked by it. The girl turned around and looked at me with fiery beauty- exactly like Dark Phoenix compared to Jean Grey, except this girls’ hair was an inky raven. She was changing. I ran to her as fast as I could and snapped her neck, but she was invulnerable to it for reasons unknown. As stupid as this sounds, she grew a small, sharp beak where her nose should have been, and although I twisted her cranium 720 degrees, she looked at me sadly. At that moment, I knew I had encountered a foe I couldn’t kill- my worst fear. I gave up and offered her my neck, wanting the death to be quick. With some grace, and some level of unspoken sorrow, she bit into my flesh. Surprisingly, she pulled away.
"I need bird flesh, not human," she explained. I transformed into the same raven-like creature she was, minus the beak, and I felt an unstoppable surge of power.
I woke up feeling very disturbed with what my subconscious was telling me about myself. Hm.
Question. Why is no one perfect? I bid you good day.
Once again, I have taken a depressive plunge. I don’t know where this stemmed from, but it is not pretty. Feeling sorry for yourself and unexplainable guilty are stereotypical traits of an emo. Nevertheless, I am sorry for my entries being so wretched. And I am sorry for being the nonchalant asshole. It’s not who I want to be. My negativity serves no purpose except to depress, and my tyranny reaps no rewards. I try to be dogmatic, but you each have your own lives, your own views, and your own arguments. Please don’t let me influence them, and if I disagree with you, then I beg your forgiveness, and patience in reminding me to be accepting.
Readers, I will share with you something very personal. As far as I am aware, these are the multiple faces to my person. I am not sure which is my favourite, which I am most commonly, and which one is the real me. From here on, this is all taken out of my real diary. Happy reading.
I think I know my number one reason for being masochistic. I consider it punishment for my wrongdoings. (Emo)
Let me try and define my multiple personalities.
-The emo (guilt-ridden or suicidal)
-The warrior (elite fighter)
-The optimist (smile =))
-The erudite (sophisticated learner)
-The apathetic (no one cares)
[Xin. Of course it’s not my real name, but it’s a part of me that I long to be.] So who is Xin? Some combination of all of them? Sounds about right. Xin doesn’t care; he throws himself to the wind’s embrace. He’s an acrobat, an aristocrat- guilty yet guiling. He’s just the essence of living, and he is an unstoppable, gleeful force.
Yeah… Xin’s a legend. I wish I could be like him.
[PS: Sorry for all the emo-ness! I’ll make it up to all of you and bake cookies. Seriously, next time you see me, ask for a cookie and I’ll make you a batch. If you think I’m gay, that’s your problem. More cookies for me! =D]
My three greatest fears are as follows:
1. Fighting something I can’t kill. Basically, ghosts, undead, something I can’t stop.
2. Spiders. Hairy little, eight-legged, eight-eyed, venom-fanged, silken-snaring, swolen abdomen-ness, tiny, hiding, lethal little bastards. The black widow eats her mate after conceiving a child!
3. Being rejected by loved ones. If I care about someone, I must do everything I can to make sure I don’t get on their nerves, I don’t make myself look like an idiot, and to make sure that they don’t hate me. Of course, I fail on these stands commonly.
Material, corporeal goods are all a waste of time. A single tsunami, and boom. Everything you’ve worked for in life is swept away. We’ve all heard those stories of fires that destroy lives and so forth. All God has to do is send some natural disaster, and the past 30 years of work is demolished. I’m trying my best to fully grasp the concept that tangible objects don’t matter. Friends, love, happiness… They’re among the things that count.
Indifference is a terrible crime that lets people die without sympathy. And yet, if everyone were indifferent, life would go on as any other species. Emotions are a glitch- we’re not supposed to have them. When we start caring, things get complicated. So, putting things in binary opposition (either left or right, right or wrong, black, white etc.) there are two sides.
One: Everyone cares, everyone works for a better world. Not likely.
Two: Nobody cares, and thus, nobody has a problem with anything. The world is saved.
I’m not sure which side I want to be on.
Music lesson in three hours. God help me.
I am one of two 15-year-old males that I have ever met who can genuinely say they do not want to have sex. I’m not sure why this is. Probably that lack of testosterone Patrick has made me suspicious of.
While I’m at it, I do not want to get married. Not right now, anyway. Women are too much trouble. They collude, because the bonds of sisterhood [sorority??] are often stronger than the bonds between a guy and a girl who are friends. I have, painfully, learned that you cannot tell women anything. Because they just don’t stop teasing you about it, or they don’t stop laughing, or they tell someone else, or things grow awkward or whatever. Hell, at this rate I’d make a decent priest.
Hey. I’d like to become a priest. If it weren’t for the whole getting up at the lecturn thingo (forgot its real name) and preaching about God to a mass of strangers. Maybe I can become a monk so I don’t have to do the preaching? HA! Brilliant idea! Okay, for now, my vocation in life is to become a monk.
I like Morrowind. It is an expansive game, and I am a noob.
I don’t like reading. I like action. I like getting straight down to the core of it and battling it out. Hence, Achaea is not the game for me, unless there is a room full of monsters, and I have a high-level character with armour, weapons, and enough supplies to slay them all. Morrowind is similar, except the walking/travel is easier because of the visual rather than text.
I majj "Jkofxudao". I xuko mojocv veh utmakkadw ak. Jxe suddek bden.
There are so many people I didn’t see these holidays. Why is that? And how come I didn’t do any homework? Like literally. Two days before the resumed purgatory, I haven’t started anything. In fact, why am I on the computer wasting time? I should be reading. Once I’ve finished "Shadowmancer" (not all that great. 3.5/5. Dodgy characters more capricious than Captain Jamus Blazer, but excellent religious elements/plot) in fifty pages, I can start work. And then, I might squeeze in an hour of practice before Mrs Slawomirsky continues to tear my heart to pieces.
Does anyone have a hug I can borrow?
Anyway… Here’s the deal. God creates humankind, gives us a couple of millenia to redecorate Earth and get along happily. What do we do? We fuck it up. That’s the bottom line of this entry.
Okay. So who gives a fuck if God exists or not? A lot of people do. And that’s your fucking problem, dipshits. People aren’t worth killing over God. He’d want you to live, damn you! The world is fucked over. We’ve polluted almost/entirely beyond repair, and it is plausible that there are only a few decades worth of life left on Earth. We’re killing faster than we’re healing. Creatures are going extinct, rain bears acid, innocent lifeforms and being robbed of a chance to live fully. And yet we still have the nerve to shoot each other and yell and be all pompous and high almighty while the world is dying around us.
I’m shivering. I’m lying in some rut, without food for the week, and wondering if the kindness of a stranger will help me to survive. It’s not likely. Everyone in these parts are just as poor off as I am. My neighbour’s hand was cut off by his mother so that he might have been pitied, and spared a few ruppees. Yeah that’s life in a third world country for you.
You, sitting there on your ass. You’re reading this, and you’re filthy fucking rich compared to these people. Worst of all, I’m sitting here typing this while someone is dying. Hundreds of people are dying. Thousands of people are dying, and yet I still want to waste my money on a fucking trench coat.
We’re all going to die. You’re going to die, I’m going to die, and it’s likely we’ll be paying taxes until that fateful day when suddenly God or some other force snuffs out the candle of life for us. The world is decaying. People, animals, plants, oceans, forests, hell even fucking antarctica is suffering because of humankind. You will all die, and I will be glad of that. Not you specifically, fool. You (reader) didn’t mean to screw the world over, but whoever was in charge of dumping pollution, making a few extra mill by skipping the part about biohazards in the manual, and basically anyone who’s tried to doom the world, you’re all going to hell. I might even join you, because if I had it my way, I would sit in a big, mobile mechanical vehicle of some sort armed with nuclear weapons and destroy humanity. Then I’d let what’s left of creation hopefully rebuild itself.
Fuck you, world. You’re all going to burn, one way or another.
Besides! Give it a couple of millenia, and the sun will explode. Humankind is not going to live forever, so if we don’t finish ourselves off, aliens will. Or the sun. Or God or a divine intervention. I have officially given up hope in humanity pulling its head out of its ass and saving the world.
Oh no! Turtles might be evicted if we build on this land! Yeah well? Does anyone care that in the time it took you to say that, half a dozen people just died? Are you AWARE that you are standing there while this hunk of rock is falling to pieces?
You know what? I give up. Our fate is no longer in our hands, and if enough people are ignorant to what’s happening, then we’re all doomed anyway. And unfortunately, enough people are ignorant to what is happening, or else are like myself and don’t want to change anything. Save the forests, yeah it’s a good cause. I’m not going to chain myself to a tree though. Maybe I’ll send five bucks over so someone else can do it for me. Feed the children. Yeah, cool. Nobody should be going hungry, we have enough food to feed the world three times over. You know what? Here, have 20c. I’m sure you can buy yourself a loaf of bread with it. What’s that? A comet’s going to blow up Earth? Oh rats. Here, take a buck and see if you can develop something to save our asses.
Point is, I don’t really care anymore. The world can fuck itself over for all I care. My house could burn down. Everyone I love could just burst into flames. I reckon I’d just sit here in the rubble of my life and say,
"Well… It was bound to happen sooner or later."
I say this literally. It will take, at the very least, a miracle to save us now. Either that, or everyone realising at once that unless they do something, we’re all fucked. Of course, nobody’s going to realise this, and those that do/have will have also realised that nobody else cares enough to do anything. I am now joining the side that has acknowledged we’re all doomed, but have embraced destiny.
Pee Ess: I do apologise for the amount of swearing in this entry, but hey! We’re all going to die, so it doesn’t really matter what I say, does it? Fuck you! HA!
Pee pee ess: I hope this is only temporary. I don’t recall the last time I’ve been quite so cynical and hopeless. I’m not exactly despairing, I’m just saying that we’re all doomed and nothing can be done about it.
Pee pee ess: I fucking hate Sundays. Almost as much as I hate Mondays, which is about as much as I enjoy having someone whip me with a cat-o’-nine tails. Quote Neo, from the Matrix: FUCK YOU, AND FUCK YOUR MOTHERS!
Festival in 10 days. I’m getting the hang of it now. A lot of cuts have been made- we’re skipping several pages that I worked very hard to master. Well there’s a few hours of practice down the drain. Perry hadn’t looked at half of it- he didn’t practice at all. And yet, he was still better at playing it than me, and had the authority to tell me how and what to do, and I had to listen.
I just need time to practice it with Perry, and we can pull it off. I have the song, or at least about 20 pages of it, memorised. That’s not as impressive as it sounds, trust me. It’s like, five minutes. Well, the point is, Mrs S. thinks I’m a shit pianist, Perry’s better than me without the hours I’ve put in, and I have no sense of rhythm. I wish, desperately, to stop learning the piano and just throw in the towel, but I figure why waste eight years? May as well go the whole nine yards and play on til my fingers bleed. I wish I could play the Disney classics. Does anyone know where I can find a book for all of them? I think Jupiter’s just about finished. If we don’t win the festival, it’ll have all been for nothing. How’s that for a kick in the nuts?