Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to know.
EDIT: Correct. I was feeling emo. Very emo. I’d also like to note that I am the leader of the followers.
Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to know.
EDIT: Correct. I was feeling emo. Very emo. I’d also like to note that I am the leader of the followers.
If a man has been taught that fighting is for people who can’t use their heads to solve problems, who is to say he’s wrong? This shall be "y".
Culture x wages war against culture y. A man from culture x is captured as a prisoner, but they do not beat him, and gradually, he learns to love them and their unwillingness to cause pain on others. He gives up fighting forever. Back at base in culture x, he is deemed a blood traitor and is eventually assassinated for giving up his glory, honour and dignity.
Which culture is right? Is there really an answer to that? Where are the limits? If it becomes acceptable in culture "z" to rip someone’s teeth out because you want to, is that wrong? Well the good people of culture z don’t think it is. x and y might, but to z, that’s life for you. Where are the lines? How do we know what is really considered "right" in terms of moral and culture?
I don’t know.
What good is physical prowess if someone can convince you not to use it? Mind over matter, my friend. What good is a gun if firing it will condemn you? What good is doing anything heroic if the world will think you a villain, regardless? Are you in the wrong?
Whoever controls the present controls the past etc. etc.
The extremeties of physical endurance border insanity. You will never be as tough as someone who can willingly sit down and have the crap beaten out of him. Or her, for that matter.
In a dog eat dog world, you have to learn to become a cannibal to survive. [EDIT: By this I mean, you’re going to have to learn to eat dog. ie. everyone else. Metaphorically, not literally Ellie.] The alternative is dying. Let’s face it. You don’t want to die. If you did, you probably would have killed yourself by now. That means to survive, you’re going to have to eat everyone else who’s weaker than you.
What is justice if corruption has more power?
What if the system is out to get you? You’re hated, shunned, and shot at by everyone in the world. You band together with everyone else who is hated, shunned and shot at. That’s all you can do if you want to survive. And let’s say you decide to fight the system. How do you do it? You can’t just walk in and kill everyone. You wouldn’t pull it off, there are too many, too powerful. So what do you do? I honest to God don’t know. You live in fear, you hope they don’t find you, and you try not to love anyone, because loved ones get hurt by people who want to hurt you.
When it all comes down to it, there are three types of people.
1. Those who hate and fight the system.
2. Those who control the system.
3. Those who pretend that they are not controlled by the system.
4. Those who support and follow the system. Thanks Georgie.
1984 is the most relevant book to our current society that I have ever read. I hope I remember this post and think back to the world that exists in the slums, when you’re not safe from anyone. No one can protect you except the system you’re against (which won’t, because they want to crush you) and the rejected (who you shouldn’t, because people will get hurt). If you don’t care about hurting people, then sure, band with the rejects and let them take bullets for you.
My thoughts are fragmented, as might be indicated by the numerous paragraphs. Paragraphs are supposed to contain one key idea. How many ideas are sprouting off from the simple question, "Have you watched Sin City?"
He was warning us of the effects of a high deathrate and low birthrate. The girl in the shop was 23, and had a seven-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter. That’s a pretty precarious circumstance.
"It’s my city mate!"
Here we go. Another Aborigine that’s been offended. I looked around for the source of the voice, and my eyes passed over the man several times before I recognised he was the speaker. He certainly looked Aboriginal, but his voice was European. Then again, I’m dismal at recognising accents and almost as bad at realising people aren’t from the country. I just never notice. People are people, humans are humans, we’re all one species with mildly different characteristics. And yet, it is these differences that drive us so thoroughly apart. The man stood and held his arms open, to say, "Come on, bring it!"
‘Alot of them seem to be saying that,’ I noted grimly. He stood up, off the stairs on which he was sitting (and partially blocking) and began to walk after the man who had offended him. The lights turned green, and cars started moving. Nonplussed, he stepped out onto the road and slowed down his walk, glaring at the cars as he passed.
"I hope he gets hit," I heard someone say behind me.
I saw him, once everyone had crossed the road, heading for the lift and yelling. I don’t know why, but I laughed. I laughed at this injustice, and everything that had prevented that man from being treated like an Australian, even though the chances were, his heritage was far more deep rooted than the Europeans’.
Will this continue forever? Why didn’t I nod at him, sympathetically, or even say "Don’t mind him"? What stopped me from talking to him? I confess. I was scared he would reject me. Yell at me, swear at me, maybe even push me. So I let him walk across the road and hoped he wouldn’t get hit.
They’re all human to me.
Another unkind ramble about my brother.
He was exceptionally starved for attention today, and so
danced around the house making peculiar noises for a while, until he settled
for watching Serenity (good movie). Consequentially, I was asked to watch with
him. Normally after he’s expended said two hours of my time, he goes off to
play RuneScape or something else to distract himself from the life he hates.
Instead, he hung around and wanted me to play Uno with him. After winning five
times in a row, he reversed the last few moves that led up to my imminent victory and grabbed a handful of cards
until he found a draw-four, and we played on. I won again, and once more, but
of course in the end it was futile. He beat me, after I had won seven games, and declared himself the winner of “I win”- the game
we were playing, where it’s against the rules for me to succeed. If I win, it’s
cheating, and I lose anyway.
So yeah after that I pretty much kicked him out of my room,
because it was 11 and I needed sleep. He didn’t want me to sleep and told me
scary stories so I might keep awake in fear. Why couldn’t he just leave me
alone to rest? School in the morning, after all. I locked my door, and he
clawed at it from the outside to make noises to keep me awake. I flicked on the
light, unsheathed my katana and forced him into his room. He clawed at his own
door, so I rammed it and it jarred his foot. He threw shoes at me, incensed,
but they were harmless and poorly aimed. He then swore I would not sleep until
his foot had stopped hurting, and though I lay on my bed, katana in hand, he
did not give up. It was only after he threatened to pour water under my door
(bad for the floorboards, makes them expand and things get messy) that I
unlocked my door. He forced me out, wielding a metal ruler, and forbade me from
sleeping or remaining in my room. After feeding me chocolate to keep me
energetic, he left me, and here I am.
EDIT: Unfortunately, I was mistaken, and the chocolate kept me awake for half an hour, although my mind ached for rest.
Brother, where art thou love? I can forgive him, but the
chances are this is going to happen again in the future. He’s unpredictable and
very much starved for attention, although he never does this in public and he
claims not to have ADD. Alas, nothing more on the issue. Mum’s come home and is
ordering me sleep. That should be reason enough to overrule him. Night,
Who’s winning now, eh Georgie?
EDIT: Guess what. I’m surveying the school with Jack. Even if half the school does it, we’ll get like 500 votes, most of which will be ninjas. The year 8’s alone voted 124 times for ninjas and 54 times for pirates.
The shovel’s edge broke scattered twigs at it was forced
into the earth. With a leaden arm, the man threw the dirt over his shoulder and
gritted his teeth to stop himself from trembling. He forced the spade into the
ground once more and heaved the soil over his shoulder. Thunder rolled on the
far horizon, a flash of lightning burned through the night. All at once the
heavens began to cry, and the rain fell from the skies as stinging bullets of
ice. The man’s own tears dripped down his aged face, disappearing into the grey
bristles that marked them. Again and again, the shovel attacked the earth, each
time digging a little deeper into the ground. Although his arms burned and
begged him to stop, he could not let his task remain unfinished, and so bore
the pain as he continued to shovel like an automaton. Throwing his tool aside,
he climbed from the dank earth, smelling both fresh and decayed. Two graves lay
waiting, lonely and deep, friends to one another.
The man returned to his car, the beams of light piercing
through the night that shrouded him, and from the backseat, he lifted a bag in
both arms. He returned to the place he had readied and with utmost reverence, laid
the body upon the ground. He unzipped the top of it, and a woman, fair of
complexion and gentle of countenance lay there, resting. The rain washed the
blood from her lips, and with infinite care, he bent down to kiss her. He
stroked her hair, his great sobs finally retching from his body and cutting
through the night. At last, he could bear it no longer, and zipped the bag up,
turning his head away. He threw her into the grave he had dug and began to pile
the dirt over her. Fatigue made his work slow, but he would not let his body
rest until he had lain to rest her body.
He returned to the car for a second time, and this time the bag he returned
with was only half his size. He opened it, and his son slept before him, his
lips apart slightly as if to breathe. The man closed them gently and ran his
fingers through the blonde hair of his only child. His miracle child that had
brought so much hope and love and promise into his life. The night wind bit
through the man’s soaked clothes, and with shaking fingers, he closed the bag
and climbed with it into the second grave. No words could capture what his soul
longed to cry, and so he sat there as the heavens bore down relentlessly,
wishing it were he who were to be entombed. A timeless age passed until the man
rose to his feet and pulled himself from the sepulcher, taking up his shovel.
He gasped in what oxygen he could to fuel his body as he threw dirt into the grave.
When at last, his toils were done, he took a faded photograph from his pocket.
A woman with raven hair smiled shyly at the photographer, and in her arms held
a sleeping infant, golden wisps just visible. He did not know how long he
stared at the photo, unmoving and impassive. When at last he closed his eyes,
he knelt to the floor and searched blindly for a twig. Finding one, he pierced
the image and nailed it to the ground between the graves.
"Mother and son, united forever," read the caption.
Slowly, the man turned his eyes upwards where the stars cried for his crying
"Agony!" he longed to scream to the empty skies, but no sounds would
escape his lips except his broken sobs. He crumbled to the ground and curled
up, sobbing for his loved ones, lost. With their lives they took his future,
and so his toils complete, he lay down beside them and waited for his death.
Mr Shackleton, formulating battle strategies during a chemistry lesson.
"If we were to attack this hydroxide, we can do it from here, here, here, here, here or here. As you can see, it is exposed and an easy target. However, on this butanol, the angle of vulnerability is reduced, and…"
If an Oedipus Complex is between mother and son, what is the relationship between a brother and sister? I know them to exist.
"What was once considered extravagant is now considered the norm."
How true! Statistics, not that I trust them, also show that people would rather earn $70,000 a year if the average is $50,000, than $120,000 when the average is $150,000.
"We were playing Hale the other day, and they were starting something about being a better resource than us. I mean," and here Mr Allanson paused to look at us as if he were trying to fathom the stupidity of their actions. "What a bunch of wankers!"
I would very much like to live by myself. Alas, this is not possible, because I rely on people to teach me what to do, to show me how to do it or to establish things for me. Once everything is up and running, I’d gladly live by myself in an immaculate house where I can practice the piano whenever I want and everything will be forever tidy.
Ninjas are winning. The poll currently stands at Ninjas; 16, Pirates; 9. I have not influenced people’s decisions in any conscious way. Take that, pirate lovers! Especially you, oh Georgeous one!
In other news, don’t mind me, I left my consciousness in bed with my hatchet. Seriously, I found my hatchet under my pillow, and for a while, pondered how it got there before practicing throwing it. Whether I can stab something with it or not is irrelevant. It’s weighted nicely, and it’ll bloody hurt, no matter which side of it hits you.
So it is I return. Not quite the same old, but not quite the new and improved. I hope you will settle for a happy medium until I manage to get my act together.
Tonight I plan to busy myself with homework, blocking out everything except the necessity to complete my written tasks. Alas, I procrastinate, but for an age I have been desisting, and torturing myself, by not writing in my weblog. I wish to say many things. Firstly, a myriad of quotes that Frankenstein (good book, that) has impressed upon my soul.
"And so, with trepidation, I trust logic over instinct. Never a good thing to do, but it seems to be the safest."
I’m pretty sure I was arguing over what to eat for breakfast when I came up with that one, but it seems insightful nonetheless.
"I bleed so that others may walk again."
He opened up the cardboard box, smaller than his tiny closed fist, and dropped two ring-tops into them. He had picked them up from cans lying in the street. In primary school, he knew a girl who had collected them, although he wasn’t sure why, and Mrs Dalton (bless her) had asked the class to take off the ring-tops when they were done with their drinks. So it was, a few weeks later, John Marshall decided to start his own collection. The two tops sat idly in their box, and he rattled them for a while with a laugh. How measly a beginning! Ah well. All things must start somewhere.
Years later, three large, plastic boxes glistened with a thousand cans’ salvaging. With great pride, the teen (for such he was, now) took them to school and presented them to his religion teacher. Her delight could not be put in words as she took them gratefully with a promise- that they would soon become the artificial legs of landmine victims. The adolescent smiled and bowed his head a little as he gave up years of his work and even a few drops of his blood as he was pricked, trying- all for hope someone could walk again.
"Ha! Tis pittance."
Not sure where this one came from, but it’s catchy. "Tis but a trifle, my dear," sort of thing.
"India taunts me again. I have missed out on -one of- [crossed out] the greatest opportunity of my life. It was offered to me on a platter, and I was too indecisive to take it. What was I thinking?"
It seems that every semester, I am mocked by the religion department at school as they talk about pilgrimages in India. Missionaries, fundraisers, ways to help and all the people that need the love. I wanted to go on that pilgrimage, more than anything I have ever wanted [or thereabouts] because I would actually do something for humanity. I’d actually be in the trenches and I’d be with the dying, and the starving, and the sick. Just like all those rants I’ve made to a void of internet and the readers behind. It brings tears to my eyes to think of the wasted opportunity to follow my dream, and yet for reasons I don’t understand, I declined the opportunity to go.
Friends, I tell you with utmost solemnity. It is my greatest dream to go to India, and to hold the dying, to feed the hungry and to take care of the sick. That is what I want to do in life, and I would brave the diseases and ailments if I could actually do something… My window to do it within Trinity’s time is gone. Now I will have to take the task upon my own hands, and may not have friends nor companions to share the burden. I will go alone, and I will live my dream, whether the school helps me or not. God forbid, why was I so stupid in declining the offer? It is too late now.
Guess what we’ve started in human biology? The reproductive system. Interestingly enough, it seems the class is more competant at analysing the female organs than the male. It surprises me to note that nobody is calling out "Penis!" across the classroom, except for our most evil of teachers, the dragon, Savvy-Walsh. It also seems, and God knows why, that I am the most adept at this topic thus far.
Happiness. I have decided that happiness is the ultimate goal of life, and sustaining that happiness in its peak. Whatever makes your soul soar, for God’s sake, pursue it. While you’re doing that, I shall be a hypocrite and a moron (an oxymoron?) and sit behind my monitor and type.
The more money you have, the more you feel you are able to buy. While this is correct, you do not NEED to buy, just because you are ABLE to. I henceforth make a very stern attempt at not buying anything for myself. Richard has the right idea- buying presents for his friends and sisters, or for the entertainment of others, rather than himself.
So if you have more money, which you don’t entirely need, why aren’t you happy with all the things you buy? Well, you assume you’ll enjoy and appreciate owning them and having them in your house. Fair enough, but they’re really quite useless compared to an intoxicating smile, and it is difficult, but not impossible for money to buy those.
The world depresses me. I don’t think it’s possible to save the environment, and unfortunately, I have given up doing anything about it, because I feel it is too late. I’ll do my bit- I’ll recycle and pick up litter and all that, but the world has its priority’s wrong. The planet we’re living on is beginning to crumble, but we’d still much rather ignore that. I wonder who the companies are that pollute and destroy the world we live in? Bummer, that.
I saw, just now, a seagull that could not escape the senior block. It struggled to break through to the light outside, pressing its face against the invisible glass. The only way out was one of the doors, both of which were occupied by the rumble of dumb students. Alas, the primitive brain of the gull could not fathom any other means of escape, and so it listened to its instincts and struggled against the barrier. With wry smiles, my peers noticed it was defecating in fear as it endeavoured in its futile attempt at freedom. Pathetically, it rammed the glass as it grew more desperate, and sadly, I let it be.
Economics now depresses me. I learn more and more aobut the conditions in 3rd world countries, and I’m getting more and more convinced that if something is not done about the population crises, we’re all going to consumer all the resources and preish.
"John, where have you been?"
I scowled, having anticipated this. It seemed that time always played a joke on me and fast-forwarded before chemistry lesson to make me chronically late. I steeled myself, not wanting Shacko to get the better of me, and answered in my best secret agent voice;
Being a military pilot, I was sure he would understand. He didn’t.
"Log, it wretches my heart to think of all the constructs society has placed on gender. I cannot be sensitive. Girls cannot be tough, because it’s unladylike. Sexual harrassment is basically when a man assaults a woman. They are subject to endless degredation. I cannot help but feel angry at the world for shaping its people before they have a chance to shape themselves. Then again. If every babe were allowed to be who they wanted to be, what sort of world would we live in?"
A very selfish one. Whilst I am aware that guidance is necessary for children to become what we assume to be kind and loving adults, it does not seem fair to restrict boys to being boys, and girls to being ladies. Either way, I’m being sexist, but I find it very very wrong for a man to impose himself upon a woman. Or a two-month-old baby, for that. Sickeningly enough, Mrs Savvy-Walsh, aka the dragonlady, tells us plenty of stories about friends of friends who have sustained the most horrible injuries, of these, rape included. I’m not sure I like human biology. I wish I were allowed to wear robes, and not have them called dresses. Not that I have robes.
"One of the greatest scenarios you can be in is picking up something you were doing in the past, whether days or years, and say, ‘What the hell was I smoking?’"
Warning: More Hitler-style queries ahead.
"I want to conquer the world to save it. Thousands are dying on the streets. Can’t you idiots see that I’m helping you in the longrun? eople suffer because no one acts. I MUST act in order to save humanity before it’s too late. I’m not giving up on the world. Not yet. I can’t be passive about my own damnation.
How do I go about having enough power to reshape the world?? 10:25am, 04/08/06"
The emperor of China had to conquer each of its divided nations in order to unite it as an unrivaled country. None of the nations could see it at the time, and all considered him a tyrant. At least, the movie Hero (Jet Li) said so. I can agree with the principle, anyway.
"Strive for excellence, not perfection."
This was my favourite quote when I was eight years old. It is only now that I remember how relevant it is.
"No one notices what I do until I don’t do it."
Also very true. I don’t mean to be conceited, but nobody appreciates what I do for them until I stop doing it.
"Who are you, who knoweth all I fear to be?"
"I am He who loves you."
Dunno. I just came up with it on the train or something. It sounds good, but it’s indicative of Christianity. Nonetheless, if anyone asks me who I am, I shall try to answer, ‘I am he who loves you.’
Can you imagine someone saying that to you?
"It is good pain." – Flash.
"It’s good burn Marshall, good burn!" – Nicholas Barbas, after doing 40 sit-ups.
"Pain is weakness leaving your body." The coolest quote ever.
Back in the 16th Century, the Age of Strife, ninja clans were formed and their services were hired to warlords who were trying to seize control of Japan. One of the more famous assassinations involved taking out the general of an enemy clan (Uesugi Kenshin was his name) who was guarded night and day. Undaunted, a ninja penetrated the castle and hid in the cesspit below the toilets. He waited there for days until his target was vulnerable and slid his sword through the floorboards. Cool story, just thought I’d share that with you.
"I think my conscience is a defence mechanism put there by God to protect humanity."
I get UBER guilty over the littlest things, and I eagerly seek punishment as justice for my sins. If it weren’t for the overwhelming guilty of a lax conscience, who knows what I might have done? If I weren’t chivalrous (ha, I doubt I am, but it’s alleged) or gentlemanly (HA! I DOUBT I AM!) I could have done things unspeakable.
Darn. It’s 8PM. That means I sign into MSN now. I spent, what, some half hour blogging? Rats. Ah well, it’s out of my system, for which I am grateful. Time to entertain the mortals.
Over the past week or so, I have come to the firm conclusion that women are just distractions in an otherwise very simple and thus, very happy existence. You can play video games, read books, brag and act cool without being labeled a try-hard pimp and so forth. Guys are generally more accepting towards the needs of other guys, whether they say it or not. Girls, however, demand time, attention, affection, devotion, loyalty, and occassionally, money. With steadfast adamantium, I decided not to get into any serious relationship until I could find someone more suited for me.
And yet, about an hour ago, something changed all of my views in the blink twinkle of an eye and the tug of a mouth. There I was, standing on the train, trying to master the art of balance by finding a stance that was neither too forward, nor too back, nor too left, nor too right. At each station, more and more people seemed to cram into the train, but I had wisely chosen to stay at the end of the carriage instead of amongst the masses. At each stop, I smiled, waved, "Live long and prosper"’ed and winked at the remaining passengers that had not made it into the sardine can, or otherwise waited for trains yet to come. Two girls from the neighbouring school, Mercedes College, were seated below the window I winked out of. I glanced down and saw one of them watching at me wink. As I met her eyes, she smiled, and for a moment I was taken aback. Not knowing what else to do, and deciding to trust instinct, I smiled back. I looked away, shyly or guiltily, as if to apologise for teasing the people beyond the window.
The rest of the ride was spent smiling for reasons I couldn’t explain. I felt very pleased with myself, although I can’t say why I had reason to. Something within me was flying. You know those really cheesy books that say, "she melted at the sound of his voice" or something similar? Well I would have died if she had spoken to me, if only to say "Hello".
What was this strange phenomenon? Her smile is burned into my mind’s eye, an image never to be forgotten. Thank you, my new friend, for the gift of hope.