Feeling stringent discord for the hours that passed by.
Committed 6 hours to Precalculus, 2 for English, and 1 for Advanced Drama.
It's been awhile since I've thought that much in a day about work. But really, it's the best feeling after the day to know that you actually did something. And to that end...
I simply love math.
I love numbers. I love the way we can manipulate them in a solid manner that makes sense with the world--the way we can apply them to create what we want, what we need, and in such a sufficient manner at that. How digits, measurements, patterns and codes align themselves directly with what is around us, the universe. My brain buzzes as it waltzes with the proofs and functions I pin down on paper, writing fact, solving questions. The neat little numbers gaze up at the lead dispensing wood , wielded by the hand, with neurons of energy shooting from that mysterious world of mine,that sits on this neck. It all makes sense. It's quite a feeling to know that what you know is right. And the proof lies before you on that oak desk you've sat at for so long. Math is proof that we live in a logical world. Math is proof that our lives and all we come into contact with are governed by a solid concept that we may explore and comprehend.
I was trying to find my old article for Government when I stumbled upon a file labeled:
'As Grim As Christmas.'
I have no recollection as to why, or when I wrote it...but I've decided to post it solely for the
Fuck of It.
What goes through my mind when someone starts to rise to stardom before my very eyes?
What goes through my mind when I see someone beautiful and talented, with no trace of falsehood or lies?
Could I possibly express what kind of mixed emotion brews within a heart of an ambitious spirit?
Come, useless enamor, leave this black room.
Brighten my enthusiasm, the world crumbles to restart again; to redefine its measurements and values to everyone, everything and the medium through which I create the world dilates to the point of no return—to the point where the dull melds to beauty; where sin is forgiven, and where love is in the very air you breathe.
The voices and sights are unworldly.
Bring up your heart, wake up, and find yourself in paradise; the very scene you were seeking in the first place was well within your heart.That is where God had hidden it; yes, man’s last place to trek in their venture towards happiness, a better tomorrow, a life of promise.
Yet, what feeling stirs in such an occasion?Is it jealousy?—Envy?No.It must be something greater, something beyond what such terms could define.It is a benevolent feeling altogether with strings strung from above in a taunt from the outer reaches of what I cannot yet see.Alas, coming up from the peak of Earth’s worldly turn I sense the light from my adventure, my time to finally take the deep breath and to plunge into the bottomless sea of unknown; to finally discover that beneath the surface, beyond the truth of what I know myself to be, I may breathe easier.Beneath those depths is an Atlantis to discover.
I am in love with no one--simply the concept.
My infatuation does not exist, simply a thought to-be.
What goes beyond wishing?What goes beyond hoping and dreaming for something magnificent to happen in your life?A time where you’re through with being through, and don’t know where to turn to.When the cities, despite their busy streets and bright sights couldn’t be anymore as black as these eyes and in the mind that can’t decipher what’s there and what’s not.Yes, a life that has lacked the means to live on.I want to fight such an outcome, such a plague of mind that intoxicates my voice into believing itself when it says “I’ll never make it or I’m not good enough.”Self doubt is for the dead.Why question your very means of questioning?Forget regret, and let’s run towards the sunset, I’m sure either way, the nothingness that clouds our incentives will turn into something.For the purpose in this life is to give this life purpose.For the purpose that is aligned with that of no one.
Tell me it’s not over.Tell me we haven’t started yet, better- -tell me that I haven’t been born yet—for I am not prepared to convince myself that my time is done here.That everything seemingly so irrelevant has brought me to a place where I must simply stop and drop all that I am.I cannot be forced to stand against the tide and drown beneath the skeptics and the sorrows of this century.
The weight of this decision rests on my shoulders, nearly to the breaking point.It can be over anytime I want it to be, by simply pleading ignorance, ignoring what’s calling for me, to turn a blind eye towards the poet who predicted my destiny all along, with nothing but a look.I can’t understand the voice of the wind, nor the rustle of leaves that inhabit the branches of those beautiful autumn trees.I can’t resist staring at the stars and wonder who we are watched by.I cannot be alone.We cannot be alone.Love holds us together more than I’ve thought.All it takes to realize it is a spontaneous good deed, a friendly smile, the passion of a young voice.It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done; you are the same within the eyes of love.Without it, we cannot step forward into the journey that eventually dissolves to darkness.For what are we to be lighted by?
I was thinking of singing, and I came across the word “Me” in theoretically vocalizing a more ‘A’ vowel.But then I stopped to realize “Wait a minute...then it would cease to become the word ‘me.’
Should a factor change in a grand scheme of things—a single factor, would that factor alter what the very picture is in the first place?
Take an apple for instance.Why is it an apple? --Simply because it has a combination of characteristics that we call as a whole an ‘apple.’ Say that we change an aspect of the apple; say it were perfectly square and tasted bitter and sour.Would it cease to be an apple?
Now say we take this same concept and apply it to mankind.If I were to transform a skill of mine—say create for me a perfect singing ability.Or a change in hair color.Do I cease to become ‘Will?’ What is ‘Will?’Will is, me of course!But do I share the same theoretical existence in the mind as we know of the apple? I am Will because there exists a combination of characteristics and features I have, to what we know as ‘Will.’ Should that change, would I cease to be ‘me?’
Perhaps we might look at a more extreme angle to justify the means of this complex question.What if God were to artificially transform my personality into that of a pessimist, a strong and stubborn one? Do I cease to be who I am?But then again...there comes the question: Who exactly am I?
I must simply be a living organism with a label.All changes aside, I still retain the label as long as I remain in one piece.But should that label change to accompany the changes within me?Perhaps, perhaps not.
I know, so I haven't written in awhile and I let all you junkies surpass me with your super ultra mega blog entries. But you know what they say...
The best timeto plant a tree was 20 years ago.
The second best time is now.
I love how you have to boldface the emphasis on words, as if I can't read properly Kid Will.
IT'S MAH STYLE BITCH!
The last improv. show was last Monday. I must say, that it was a huge step in my life where I learned that as long as I trusted myself--things turned out okay. On stage, when I began to feel myself panic I had a short conversation with myself:
"Holy shit, I have no clue what I'm going to do in this scene...
Do you trust me?
...yeh..
Then you'll be okay dude. "
Yes, I have those kind of sentimental loner conversations in my head, but I find them many a time quite necessary.
I can't believe I got my shot. I had my chance.I didn't blow it. It was only five some months ago where I looked up at those improvisers and thought "God, just give me a damn chance, and I promise I wont let you down." It was a stressful process, but everything was worth it in the end. I'm 10x more comfortable in my skin because of it... I remember the first time I prayed to God.
--Oh please, what the hell is this? Some kind of Ghey Christian blog now?
--No. I'm for a creator, not necessarily a religion.
Now anyway---it was freshman year. I was at a Christian Youth camp, despite my skepticism for Jesus and God and all that 'nonsense.' The Youth leaders instructed us to find a space along the camp, sit down, and pray. I thought "Okay...that's...cool."
So I found my spot... "Alright...so I guess I'm praying to you God. I'm not sure what I'm gonna say...well. This is gonna sound kinda dumb, but I'm praying for a jacket right now. It's really really cold; and I can't really think about religion when I'm freezing my ass off."
A minute later someone dropped a thick jacket over my head.
Taken aback, I looked to see a Youth leader in a short distance ahead, walking away.
Oh I get it Will Kid, so God is like a genie right!?
No you knuckle fuck, you just need to know what to pray for. These are just small examples of how I've asked God for help and he's given it to me.
Like the summer I asked for a month straight for a girlfriend--and found her--my first great relationship that lasted 6 months.
Golly then Kiddo, do you really rely on God this much?
I'll admit right now that I'm still skeptical of the creator's intervention in our puny lives but I do know that the universe has natural laws that will pull through for you, should you be willing to put in the honest effort. In fact, if God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.
Think about it. All are inferior to him; the concept is to serve for the greater purpose. No matter what you think about that--it is a very logical thing to follow, I believe, in the necessity to keep your distance with pride, corruption, and elitism. To help your fellow creatures and most importantly to concentrate on positive thoughts and beliefs. EXAMPLE.
The religious kid believes in God.
"God, I pray that I will exceed and do very well in the science fair."
Let's edit this thought.
Delete God. Delete pray.
And you have a positive notion to do well.
It is no original idea that concentrating on positive thoughts will more likely result in a positive outcome.
As opposed to this other kid: "Geez, I hope I don't suck."
He's already lost by putting forth the negative possibility in his mind.
I strongly believe that this is part of the inner workings of a high hoped religious thought; in an angle that shoves the actual religion aside to dissect the alteriors.
You're full of shit Will Kid, what about the religious wars and the evils of the catholic church and the-- --BLA BLA BLA! I won't go into that kind of detail; I've only been here for eighteen years out of the thousands humanity has been around. Give me a damn brake.
I'll keep making feeble attempts to justify the realities around me...
Today could be easily compared to taking the trash out.
At first, you don't really feel like doing it, but once you've gone through the process, you realize:
Hey! That wasn't so bad after all; in fact, I'm glad I found it in myself to do it.
Senior breakfast went just fine; they had too much food for meh. Which isn't a complaint at all!--you know what they say--better too much than too little.
They also say that money is the root of all evil. I personally think it is the lack there of, but hey...
Later, I spectated some fat dodgeball games with Caitlyn, Raffy, and Cameron. I wanted to play but I chickened out because I convinced myself that it was going to be lame. I'm not too ashamed about it--although it threw my day off a bit because I usually give in to my natural spontaneous wills. Oh well, not much of a sports person anyway.
A piece of dirt freshman looking kid gave me some mouth today whilst I was taking pictures of the school. I believe he said: "Take a picture of me and I'll shove that camera up your ass."
....
Really now?
I kept walking.
I, as Year of The Monkeys are described, panic in those kind of random hostile situations. I freeze up. Even if it's a freshman dwarf asking for a fight.
Though, I could go for a good fight right now, it's been a good while since I've gone fist to fist.
Anyway, he was accompanied by a crowd of similar motherfuckers. His group of apes were the same lifeless shits that annoyed me first semester. I wont go into any detail but I'll tell you it was enough to spark hatred inside me. I don't think I would feel bad murdering one or two of them.
Will Kid you can't be seriously saying that. MURDER?
Hahaha fuck yes. I'll tell you, there's nothing like the good old feelings of hatred towards soulless shells that should be rid of the gift of life. I've encountered his kind of unprovoked disrespect and hostility before. Our society doesn't need it. So why not do our world a favor by cleansing the population?
Alright, maybe I don't fully possess a vicious blood-lust. (As much as I'd like to.) The back of my head figures that karma will kick their asses anyway, and that I should forgive those who spit on you. So sure, that's fine. I'll feel sorry for them. They're clouded; they're blind; and I should be thankful that I am blessed with a mind that knows it. But (for the record) all the chips are off the table if I find myself in a zombie apocalypse and an AK in my hand.
The rest of the day flew by like kicked up sand.
Caused some chaos in Target with the munchkins and, a Costco polish dog later, I found myself working the lights at 'The Bluebird and The Phoenix' play at our school. It went pretty well, although I observed that everyone was giving only 80% because they were all tired. (We've been getting home after 10:PM since Wednesday due to the shows, and we've all lost our small shares of sleep).
Listening to a 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' cover by The Maine with my new Skullcandy headphones I bought at Target today.
Nice stuff.
Speaking of nice stuff, I suppose I'll go finding that tux tomorrow for prom. G'day Kid.
I don't have enough time to really do anything except quickly write in this and then head my ass up to take a shower and have a woman's voice read me to sleep with Sherlock Holmes stories. (Who said eBook's were a waste?)
So this is what it's like to be busy. To be one of those kids; involved, I guess.
Lately I've wanted increase my mental alacrity. Imagine something for me.
Take your mind right now. Your chain of thinking. Now imagine that you could possibly train your brain to think three times faster if not twice as fast. Wouldn't that be just amazing? Can you even grasp the edge you would have in getting what you want done? And I'm sure all it takes is enough training and repetition to make it second nature.
That's horse shit Kid Will, since when was the brain so great?
Try forgetting something you already know.
Besides, think of what you're best at.
Think of it.
Keep thinking.
Keep thinking.
Perfect.
Now, don't those fundamentals to what you do best already seem second nature to you? You don't even have to think about it. It's automatic. It's just the way you've trained yourself--whether it be visionary, muscle memory, or some other aspect that you require to do what you do well. Surely that can be applied to our general thinking!
I've recently watched the major motion picture Sherlock Holmes, and I have to say, that movie has absolutely positutely raviolly in pasta sauce--inspired me. Not just because Robert Downey Jr. is fking hot (homo)but because the idea of his intricate thinking is entirely possible.
Now...perhaps you were wondering what the 'Lock Count' above is for,
No, not really Kid Will. I just accept the fact that you write random unexplainable shit.
But really! I suppose I might as well tell you. Although, chances are, you're going to think it's completely retarded if not a waste of time, effort, and by nature, money.
Well, lately to improve what's going on in my head as stated above, I realized that my thoughts were idle many a time, and...well...
I'm on the road to becoming a brain dead fuckwad.
So I decided to try out a goal: Learn and take note of 100 things a day. So I thought: Fuck yea! That sounds great! The trouble is, on day one I would quickly lose count after about 15. Rendering my goal,a piece of average shit.
Low and behold! God smacks me in the mouth and I realize that I could just buy a Tally Counter! So for 4 weeks I fantasized. I fantasized. And I fantasized. Eventually I decided-- to hell with it!--I woke up early on Tuesday, rushed into Office Depot at their opening hour, and bought one. I could imagine the look on my anxious face as I opened the packaging and tried it out.
"Today, a Tally Counter. Tomorrow, the world."
Now every new discovery I make I add one point, and for every observation to connect the facts, I add two points.
I've turned the entire fucking thinking process into a Small-Scale-Large-Scale game. It's all in my head. But shit if it isn't fun. And boy, is it working. I have the facts to prove it!
I discovered that the street I always take to Chaparral has a name. It's called POURROY.
The intersection between Jefferson and Overland has two gas stations across the street from each other (Chevron and 76) both have identical gas prices for competitive compromise.
There's a sticky piece of gum under Mr. Loza's desk.
The bathrooms have room numbers.
Our school has an overwhelming majority of Vans shoes owners.
Experienced and elder bikers on the road are equipped with gloves.
Kid bikers have a tendency for backwards hats, perhaps to keep their front and side visions clear but to be protected from our vicious sun!
That would-be soap bottle next to my sink is actually a large container for eye drops!
That one girl in my class keeps wearing spaghetti straps, and I think she's been wearing the same black bra for two days in a row--how often do girls change that stuff anyway? HMMM!
Mr. Kingsberg uses light humor as well as sarcasm to address students he feels are being rude!
And a whole bunch of other irrelevant bullshit in the halls, classrooms, courtyards, and Temecula in general. Nevertheless, I'm beginning to notice things from my everyday that I never would have seen otherwise!
Will Kid! Does your spectrum of ambitious bullshit know no bounds?
No.
No, it doesn't.
Holy shit, I'm tired. I'm going to bed. But not before I cough out some last words for all my fans who would love nothing more but to end me...
I'm moving slightly forward. A little offside. Not too much.
Not enough for you to notice.
Not enough for anyone else to see.
I think I've got enough to get me by.
I'm still a teen--and still pretending that's an excuse to wait.
I don't understand a lot, and I try not to get too over my head with worries.
I watch them everyday. From afar. What wondrous lenses they must see the world in. But I never want to be like them. Far from that temptation, I know I'll get lost again in the end.
I'm sure I can fake a smile--I do it all the time.
I'm sure I can brush it off--There's never a day where I don't.
But it's only a matter of time when I catch up with myself and wonder...
"Really, who are you now?"
The media has already poisoned a nation with lookism.
Politics still slump in a climate of uncertainty and gullibility.
Society paints a future of dreams, and it's all so reachable,
or so it seems.
It's not in my right to spit on events that haven't happened yet; that's where hope falls into --doesn't it? Like atheists who attempt to decimate the idea of God. If we knew God existed for certain--it wouldn't be called faith, would it?
It's a sense of insecurity that drives us to cling only to what we know, a fear that keeps us from venturing on, to uncharted territory. But that is what ruins us further. There comes numerous times in your life where you realize that if you didn't take that step, took the risk, you would certainly not have grown.
It's scary. It's true.
How much longer will you ignore your nature?
We're all not exactly ourselves when it comes down to it. But I'm sure we'll be brought closer should we simply decide: yes.
Where time never existed, everyone is already dead, and I'm pretty damn sure the kids are tucked in.
But let's throw away the semantics of the usual bullshit because I'm finally leaving my childhood behind! Now, I can no longer hide immaturity behind an age. But I can still say that the bullshit I cover is a product of genuine boredom (which inexorably remains still a lie). All in all, nothing is going to change except the fact that I can now finally order Floam (yes, that pudgy green shit you see being suggestively squeezed and molded on TV) via phone.
Ah yes, the Birthday. Where narcissism and being self-centered is not only called for, but widely encouraged! It is the celebration of the fact that I came out of my mother's vagina. Ah, that was the glorious day. I was bald. Bloody. Fat. (yes, I was a fat baby, in fact my parents call me "Choug" which means fat in another language at home--i'm so used to it, it's weird if they call me Will) But the thing is, according to my parents, when I was born I didn't cry.
I wonder why.
How the fuck can you be born and not cry Will Kid?
That's exactly what I asked my parents when I discovered this! I guess I was born ready--and that's what I always say when those repetitive bitches ask me "are you ready!?" My parents told me that as I was being carried moments from my escape, I proceeded to stare at everyone around the room. Although, maybe it's not too strange considering that I am indeed a strange child. After all, I didn't learn to read until the Third Grade. Bullshit?
I know right? I actually recall a scene in my living room where, with a 3rd grade English textbook, my mother was trying to teach me how to read a story by Beverly Clearly. I think I was stuck on the word "thought" or something--but I can't say for sure because without warning, I vehemently hurled the textbook across the room and screamed as I ran upstairs to my room "IIII HAAAAATE REEEEAAAADDIIIINGG!!!!!!"
I was a damn good door slammer back in those days.
But Will Kid, if you're in actuality part mentally retarded, how is it that you seem fine now?
"Seem," is the key word Binglebee.
Well anyway....
I guess I'm turning 18. Dammit.
I never want to get old. I want do to everything while I'm young.
I love being young. I love being healthy. I love being in school.
And by the time I wake up from this delicious dream, I'll beold. Bald. Fat. (Again) and in a retirement home.
Telling my grand children to shut the fuck up because Grand Daddy kicked ass when he was their age.
Will Kid, you've gotta learn to get your fucking head out of the future and live in the present.
You're right.
But you'll be dead before you realize just how right we both are, in the end.
Two packed improv shows in the morning during STAR testing--filled with seniors.
That voice of pessimism has all been but muted to a whisper now. He doesn't speak much when I'm on stage anymore--I already know I'll do alright. Experience kills fear. And hopefully I shoot to overkill because I could entertain for a living.
Felt sick and disoriented during the beginning of lunch today. I'm missing something valuable. I'll probably always feel that way until I do something dramatic enough to shut it up for awhile.
The lights for the play aren't up yet, so I went home early.
Shot for a game of Starcraft and then began to worry about UCR.
Spent four hours looking for my AP score that came into the mail a year ago. No luck. I've got a series of Plan As, Bs, and Cs and I'm beginning to feel the stress build up again. But that's nothing new is it? I know I shouldn't be stressing out over stuff like this--but I'm teetering over the edge of a new chapter in this life and I can't help but get a little anxious sometimes about it. Oh, and I'll do stupid stupid stupid thingswhen I'm anxious. Nothing of course which I'd mention here--because they're that stupid--but hey! I'll let your imagination go at it because I'm sure if you're one of the few that read this you have a hell of one :D
I've got a lot on my mind these days, it's amazing to hear people say
"I wonder what I'll do today..."
because I definitely don't have to stray too far to think of what should get done.
Research UCR, College and career paths, sign up for summer classes and learn about orientation
Memorize all of my Victorian-dialect lines for Performing Arts English scene...
Block (plan out movements) for the scene because no one else wants to do it...
Establish plans for light cues for the school play...as I'm in charge of lighting now, and this week is their Hell Week (rehearsal until 6:30ish)
Get excited for Disney Grad Night, Prom, the last Improv Show, the play, and Graduation
That's right I have to plan to get excited before I can be excited. Isn't it just the worse thing in the world to be me? *Dramatic sigh with back of hand on temple leaning back*
Today I realized that I'm a total loner in Dance class. Isn't that a marvelous discovery!? It hits me as we're all just sitting around and stretching and I realize that I'm one of the three loner kids not in those chatty groups.
"Then why don't you quit being a loner Will Kid?"
Because sillybitch, it's just the way it is.
It's one of the classes where you just don't really mesh with anyone. Especially groups.
Don't get me wrong; I could feign interest all day talking to people in the class but I mean I just don't have a buddy or a real friend there.
It grows quite boring at times and disturbing when I think about this, but then again--my brain will make up excuses and spur on day dreams to keep my conscious busy. I love my brain.
"That's what you get for taking Beginning Dance, fucker."
But then again, it's been that way ever since I moved here.
I used to tag along like some kind of desperate stray dog to the Asian Dancers, my freshman year. I wanted to break dance. I wanted to be a badass.Just like them. Oh what marvelous feats I could have overcame in the wasted hours I spent with them.
I used to hang out with ROTC kids. (After a day I realized they were fuck-offs so no wasted time)
Andthen of course, the Drama scene. Sure, it's fun doing improv. with those guys and doing plays but when it comes down to it...
I feel like something is missing--to the point where I feel like everything I'm doing is wrong.
"Holy Emo-Kid shit Will, what are you--some kind of fake? Some kind of poser trying to fit in?"
AH HA! But you see-- that's exactly what you're missing you cow eating bristle fuck!
I am a poser.
Since the 5th grade scene I've had an alternate image that I've been trying to obtain, to become something I can be proud of---to be perfectly comfortable with being in my own shoes. That is just who I am, someone perpetually trying to become that person in my head. He's always been there; he talks, he rattles, he gives me advice, but I'm slowly starting to cut the distance between this figure and myself--maybe it's a symbolic gesture of maturity. Maybe it's me trying to grow up. Or maybe I'm a two-faced sociopath in need of medical attention--but whatever it is--I'm trying to be him. It's him when I wear those poser finger-cut-offTokyo Hotel gloves. It's him when I cut my hair and spike it up to look obnoxious and edgy. It's him when I put on skinny jeans and tight shirts because culture has saturated his influence.
But whatever the case may be; I feel like it's the real me when he's out.
And when he takes over, I'll gladly rest because he knows what he's doing,
