Wednesday, April 30, 2014

JotMotW: Entry 10: Freedom in Carelessness

All of this is bullshit. That's what I've realized over the past few days. I have nothing to fear, no reason to be stressed, because none of this really effects me.

In the past I felt suicidal, losing my will to live because of all the stress laid down on me, all the worthless crap piled onto my back, and all I could think of was me ending it all. As a matter of fact, I planned to have my last journal entry be a suicide note (but you know, not really), to be 'accidentally' sent to all my teachers to send them a message that I am stressed out, and when someone is stressed out as much as I am, what are they going to turn to? What will they do to cope? And I wanted to write a moving suicide note in order to send that message, that one with no likelihood of ever taking a knife and ending their lives can be driven to do exactly that, driven to something that would earn quite a few lawsuits, some educational reform. I know if I killed myself, over half my school would gasp in shock, all my friends would drop their pencils in horror, that guy. That one guy. The guy who always made everyone laugh, the guy who was a friend to all and eager to spread wisdom wherever appreciated and could cheer everyone up, couldn't do so for himself. It was too much, and though he always preached against suicide, eventually that was his only alternative. He had nowhere else to turn, and so my suicide note, my oh so moving suicide note, might attract attention, my cold dead voice would be heard, and change would occur, the curriculum being made a little bit less stressful in order to prevent future suicides (because AISD naturally rolls over on command), "all the cash, all the fame, and social change".

I could've channeled my inner depression and wrote an emotional suicide note, able to bring tears in some, as I would simply break my poetic style, talking in simple honest words, no more bullshit, just a plain suicide note, describing exactly why I was driven to it, and what I want to be done in my absence (also a declaration of love to my crush, identifying her by name, something I deliberately haven't done).

Such could've been an emotional weapon, such could've been a mighty cry for attention that couldn't be ignored, even by people who might not even know me. I could've written that, and immediately been paid attention to (because adults in the education system seem to have an interesting fascination with the topic of teen suicide). In fact, I still want to write it, but I know I can't now, not because I'm no longer in the situation to be depressed, but because I'm no longer depressed, even though I have every reason to be.

As you all surely know by now, I don't write with my mind, but with my heart. I surround myself with my specific emotion as dictated by the tone of the day, I let it overcome me, build up inside me, until there's only one way I can release it: writing. I can't write my suicide note, even if just for shits and giggles, because I can't overload myself with depression. All I figure I am is lovesick, not enough to merit depression, let alone suicide. I no longer am depressed, and cannot write about depression as a result, all I do feel is blatant carelessness.

I care nothing for my stressful sophomore curriculum, I am who I want to be. I cannot be pushed down by my school, because I'm no longer afraid to voice my opinions publicly. I cannot be depressed by assignments that I'll openly say that I don't have because I didn't give a shit about them. I am Meursault, my indifference resulting in my depression, my slow transition through my hellish, dismal state until finally, finally, I have lashed out at the chaplain within my mind, I have slept and awoken a new man, begotten a new Meursault, one who accepts the pitiful reality of my world. I scare myself somewhat, knowing I care not about my future, that I could flunk out of school, given if I fail two classes, I would get kicked out of my magnet school, one of the places I know I belong. I don't care still. My apathy strengthens itself every day, maybe in a short while to the point where I can ask my crush out, but that won't be for a week or so. I am paranoid about the consequences of my apathy, even though deep down I no longer care what whiplash befalls me. I know it is too late for me to get any sort of help, perhaps I could've back when I was depressed, but not anymore. Surprisingly, I was comfortable back when I was depressed, even though now when I no longer care I feel content. I can still put on the act, the illusion of caring, for I find it easy to feign interest in anything. I am something I always wanted to be, and yet feared to become, and my very rational fear is dying by the day, fear of what I now am and that I no longer care for certain things I once deemed crucial. I don't care for this bullshit anymore. Life is mine, and though I fear the results of my new-found confidence, I care not.

I say to anyone who may be listening, be comfortable with this new me, because I doubt I shall regress to my previous self. I am a new Meursault, and I can only hope that I shall be greeted with cries of hate.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #9: Love Sucks.

Love is one of the most exhilarating feelings, lifting one up out of darkness and keeping one from slipping off an edge, love can be the most beautiful thing one can ever envision, and yet, love can also be the harshest hell one can be in.

When you fall in love, you try to act upon that love, your desire seemingly within arm's reach, and you find yourself confident enough to do so, allowing that love to be explored. May I say to these people, good for you, I'm happy for you, I wish you nothing but the best (is that too much condescension?). For these people, love is a blessing, for they are confident enough to follow through. For others, love can be a curse. Others find themselves less capable of approaching the object of their affection, their nervousness overcoming them and forcing them to withdraw. Love can lift a person from death and also force another to fall to their knees. The object of your affection may not love you, or worse, they already love another, who's succeeded in being confident enough to ask them out before you do. Love may be amazing for them, but it can be dismal for you.

I am one of the people who is screwed over by love. Every single time I have a crush, they somehow sense my growing affections for them, and out of intimidation, manifest their discomfort in the form of a boyfriend, who in turn intimidates me, primarily out of respect for the bro code (and also because he appears to be a lot better than me). This appears to be a common trait found in my crushes, perhaps the specific traits I'm attracted to are linked to the gene of boyfriend manifestation. Hmmm....

Anyways, I post this because I am in love yet again, against my very will, with a girl who puts all my other crushes to shame. The sad part is we barely ever see each other, and the rare times when we do manage to encounter each other whilst walking the halls don't coincide with the times I feel most confident in terms of talking to a crush. I try to find confidence, but all I can do is listen to the nearby conversation she partakes in and make the occasional witty remark, inciting even the smallest hint of agreement, if not the smallest bout of laughter. When she is affected by this and laughs openly, I feel confident, and yet I still can't talk to her. Intimidation comes hand in hand with the love I feel, part of the reason why boyfriend manifestation is allowed to occur.

I don't want to lose this one, she seems like the one, we're both pretty damn similar, yet also different enough to prevent monotony. We have like personalities, and her beauty is but an added bonus to me, and yet I'm afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of being in second place, afraid of feeling pain, which for anyone is only natural.

I'm seriously trying on this one, but still there is hesitation in my step, in my voice, intimidation disguised as caution. I beseech whatever god of love may exist, give me something. Is it too late, is it a waste of my time? Or should I continue? Is this road worth travelling on? Is this desired by someone other than me? Is this wishful thinking, a figment of my imagination, or is this real?

Monday, April 28, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #8: "Just fuck it"

There's a project due tomorrow. A project for english, but it's not really a project. We have to write fanfiction. A fanfiction about the meeting of J. Alfred Prufrock and Meursault, two separate intriguing characters from separate stories. An easy enough assignment to bullshit, and yet I can't do it. I'm mentally drained, as i might've said before. There are things I don't want to do, and yet I don't have any excuse to not do them other than that i don't want to do them, because I feel as if I can't do them. However, given my mental state, I'm probably not far off from the truth. I have been numbed and eroded by stress, I can't do work. Not even in the environment I feel it's easiest for me to concentrate, I can't do my homework. I don't want to go to school anymore! I don't want to be a part of this environment that produces nothing but stress! All this is pointless as the more stressed the students at my school get, the less they actually learn, and the less they want to do. I can't do anything. When you overlay someone with stress, they become lazy and develop less of a will to do the work. That is me right now. I have reached the point where I do not feel empowered to work, yet all my teachers expect me to work, not because they know I want to work, but because I'm a student at the best high school in the city and that's what good students at that high school do.
Yes, I know, I sound like someone who's just some incompetent lazy person who can't be bothered. Any of my teachers who read this will probably think that, but the truth is, no, I'm not lazy, and I'm sure as hell not incompetent. The truth is, my loving teachers, it isn't me, it's you. You claim to give us the right amount of homework for each class, but we have 7 classes! do you honestly think that's right for anyone? I know a guy who gets home at 8 and has to stay up all night to finish his homework. This isn't just me here, this is everyone. You either don't know what we students go through, or you do and simply don't care. My World History teacher even had the nerve to tell us she was just as, if not more tired than all of us, despite the fact that we were currently working on two projects.


So when my teachers will ask me for the reason why I haven't done my homework, I'll be completely honest with them, no more bullshit. I'm too mentally incapable of doing the homework, especially after the massive load of it I've had to do this entire year. I'm no longer afraid of telling my teachers that I don't care about the assignment they've given to me.

Dear teachers, I no longer give a shit. I will do that which I am passionate about, and find my own direction. You make it seem like I'll be a failure in life if I don't pass your precious classes, and while you have a point, that's still mostly a lie. I will be a success in life, just you wait, I'll prove you wrong, mark my words.

JotMotW: Entry #7: Dulled Down to the Point of Incomprehension by the System

I'm not tired, I'm perfectly awake. My Chemistry test proved to be more challenging than I thought, given my inability to do less than half of the problems. I cannot think, I cannot get my mind focused on Chemistry today, and likely the same thing will occur when I take my AP world history test, I won't be able to focus. Normally I take adderal to stimulate my brain a little, help me clue in and focus on a subject. It used to work, but now it feels like it doesn't, like I'm simply daydreaming against my will again. School has overworked me to the point of hating it, I keep having to remind myself that I don't hate the subjects, I hate the classes. More than that, being overworked has led me to be lazy, even when it's a subject I love. The amount of work is counterproductive, and only makes me not want to learn.

This is what's bad about the American school system: they structure it in such a way that once one gets to high school, they hate it, and thus don't want to learn. I know for a fact that this is happening to me, and my natural curiosity (and good parenting) is the only thing that keep me interested. I think science is cool, and thus I pay attention, I think math is a puzzle, and thus my competitive nature kicks in and forces me to do it. I think english is fun and creative, especially writing, and I can be creative and philosophical. I think history is interesting, and want to learn more about it.

These subjects, all on their own, are absorbing, fun, and I can focus easily, the classes, however, are hell. They could care less about if you learn it and more so if you memorize it for the test. You could memorize all these dates for a history test, take it, then walk out and forget about them for the rest of your life, as they won't help you in 99% of the careers the average person goes into. The classes are pointless, and I'd learn a whole lot more if I were simply given a textbook, told to read it, and learn about history. All I learn from AP world history and english is how to bullshit things, and given most of the assignments are bullshit anyways, it's not too hard to accomplish. They don't allow us to learn at our own pace, forcing us to learn everything in one year, and proving we've learned it by assigning tons of homework about the subject, serving more to actually stress us out rather than make us learn stuff, which only complicates things in the long run.

If you apply more and more stress to someone, they learn and retain less, and that stress also reflects in their personality, as it has with me and my frustration and my giving of less fucks than usual. School can be fun, you can have lots of friends there, but depending on your school, can be a complete waste of time.

In my Latin class, we go slowly and patiently, gradually translating stuff, yet still going at a fast enough pace. We occasionally get off on tangents sometimes, but we always get back on track. Latin is a class I enjoy, as we're given freedom, and it's not too restrictive. The weirdest part is the school hasn't picked up on the idea of freedom. You could simply compare the happiness levels of the language students in each of their classes, and you'd find that the latin students are happier and more open to learning than the other language students, for the most part (may I mention that Latin just has translation homeworks, 2 tests per six weeks, and the occasional quiz. That's it). Even to me, the other language courses seem much more stressful as there are projects everywhere, while we never get any projects of the sort, just straight up material.

The American school system, for the most part, is counterproductive in the long run, and one doesn't have to be an average person in order to be affected by it. I want to change this shit, because as I've said, it's bullshit.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #6: Paranoia in Laziness

I desire meniality, however indirectly it serves as my desire. I have my rest, I'm calm, I'm not stressed at all, but I still can't focus on my homework, however light, because it clashes with my own desires. I finally feel free, unburdened, everything of my choosing, my life of my own direction for once, and I have no room for homework within this free agenda I possess. Here I am, free from my restrictive schedule, and I have all the time I need to finish my homework, yet I can't.

Now that I have felt myself no longer under the yoke of school, with all it's stressful direction and frustrating decisions, I am free to achieve my own ends. I can do what I please now, accomplish my goals, further my own desires, but I find it hard to get back to schoolwork again. I have tasted the essence of freedom, and now I cannot return myself to servitude. I want to write more, let myself go, have fun, but I am required to force myself to do my schoolwork, but that nulls me out. My desire to be my own lies on one end of the spectrum, my school's desire for me to be a good student on the other. Both converge and create neutrality, so instead, I simply play Flappy 2048, no wish to be productive entering my mind. Paranoia has returned, the pondering of what might happen would I not do anything today, passive stress, unneeding of a reason to attend the concert of voices in my head. My self-confidence only goes so far, I could lose my good grades, I could be embarrassed, I could flunk out of my school, I could spiral into depression (bit late for that one, though...).

None of these are likely to happen, but they could, they have a one in a million chance of happening, and that's still a chance, isn't it? I know that they probably won't happen, but my subconscious mind disagrees. They could happen, the smallest chance ever in history, literally once in a trillion chances, and it'd still make me paranoid. I fear getting up in front of people, lest I be humiliated, when in reality they love me, they look forward to me, they know I'm a cool guy, and yet I'm still afraid. I fear saying a witty remark in class, lest I be called out on something for whatever reason, when in reality half the time people laugh at my quips and jests, and some specifically look forward to it, and yet I'm still afraid. I fear the possibility of going right up to my crush and proclaiming my love for her, lest she reject me and embarrass me, when in reality...she could very well do the same, and yet I'm still afr...well, actually, I think a little nervousness is appropriate in this situation.

I've already proclaimed that, as a result of this harsh year of school, I no longer care about the opinions of others, that I simply don't give a fuck, that I live my life carefree. This is a lie at times, I am paranoid of failing, whether it be school or my own assigned goals. I am confident in my own abilities, and yet also cannot be confident to save my life. My greatest challenge will always be, not the stressful school year I've been facing, but my own self.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #5: Peace

This morning is one of happiness, of life. While my week has been one of stress, frustration and judgement, only now do I know peace. My load of homework is currently at a lull, I got out and did something physical outside for once, I watched an episode of Doctor Who, and I feel content. I can keep my eyes open for over 5 minutes without rubbing them and making it look like I've just smoked a joint. I can sit up with ease, I can smile without difficulty, and I can breathe easy, as nothing hard is to be done this weekend.
.......Or so I'd wish.

Gandalf would disagree that this is peace. This is "the deep breath before the plunge", the calm before the coming storm, the eye of the hurricane. Monday I face a chemistry test, where I don't actually get the material quite as well as I'd like. After that bit of stress I have Planet Earth, where my group must face our teacher and confront him about last week's previously-thrown curveball. After that I must confront our Mock AP World History test, where three essays and 70 multiple choice lie in wait, all in two separate class periods. After that, I have a project due on Tuesday and Thursday, which lends to me even more paranoia for the days to come following this blissful hiatus.

How can I enjoy this coming weekend of peace and plenty with this knowledge plaguing the back of my mind? How can I have fun now given the trials and torments that serve as the epilogue to my pleasure trip? My frustration I know shall return, the stress and all the homework will resume their bombardment upon my emotional shields, until they could fail completely, and beget pain emanating from the voices of my subconscious, driving me over the edge. This morning helps me realize all the things I live for. It's hard to remember when the frustration and stress make you forget. I feel like Frodo, the Ring hanging as a pendulum from my neck, the frustration subtly building within me. I want to survive, the voices within me have begun to sing once more, for the first time in a while, and they make me happy. I feel mentally sound, conscious, ready for the day. I can only do my best to forget my pain-to-be, and live for now, as I always try to make myself do. Hopefully I can accomplish some things I've wanted, hopefully, I can make the most of the time I have before it all ends. Hopefully I can someday know peace.

Friday, April 25, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #4: Indifference Towards Death

I don't have a death wish, at least, not a full one. The discrepancy between killing myself and my current thoughts are very simple, so far away, yet so close together.

The death wish I claim I don't have involves full submission to the suicidal thoughts within my ruined mind. The voices of pain and torment whisper to me, close as the wind on my face, yet far as the burning sun. Unseen, only slightly heard, urging me to grab that knife and slit my throat, to grab that gun and put a bullet in my head, to take conscious action against myself and my not-so-well being. The voices in my head are beautiful sometimes, treated correctly. They sing to me in times of happiness, the multiple types, respective with several aspects of my personality, their voices echoing through my skull, letting my thoughts clash, crashing and colliding and merging within the battleground of my subconscious. When happy I find them beautiful, as they do seem when they appear to me. In my current state, however, they serve no pleasure for me, yet also serve no pain. When they serve pain I beget a death wish, as mentioned previously.

Now they are simply indifferent, caught between the deciders of life and death, and thus my death wish remains present and yet inactive. In other words, I too am indifferent towards the decision of life and death, the meaning somewhat confusing to others. This simple idiom means that I shall live my life, not caring about death, until suddenly it stares me in the face, grasping my arm, trying to force me to follow. My indifference means that I will not fight it when the time comes. Death will call my name, and I will walk towards the hooded figure leisurely, caring of neither life nor death, so long as death asks politely.

This wasn't always me, I didn't used to be like this. I used to enjoy life, never wanting to die. My stress and frustration forced me to this, I sometimes wonder if the voices in my head will turn on me, I currently don't care either way. My life right now is hell, and I'll do my best to live it, until the hooded figure comes for me, and I will be at peace.

sorry if this one isn't as good as the rest, I'm extremely tired and need my sleep.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #3: Menial Fulfillment Through Emotions

So many of us crave success along with distraction, a place away from the dismal world we take part in, where depression and frustration thrive. Most often, such a distraction comes in the form of the mind-boggling flash games found in abundance throughout this diverse internet. 2048 and Flappy Bird, for example, are a few popular examples that I see. These games are the most pointless, for even though we might gain quicker reactions and more complex coordination, they serve no purpose except to show off someone's programming skill.

Flash Games
Internet flash games are without a doubt some of the most pointless things out there, and yet we seek them out, finding ones that we enjoy and hate, developing addictions in a furious desire to beat the game, to "gain validation from the machine", as xkcd puts it. The more the addiction progresses, the more every tiny victory feels like the greatest uplift you can experience, and the more every defeat becomes soul-crushing. Games can toy with your emotions. The feeling of failure versus success, life versus death, creation versus destruction. We can hate games, not because they're bad, but because we're aware of what they can do to us, and we can be powerless to curb our addictions. Flappy 2048, for example, is considered by Reddit to be the product of Satan's new career in game design. Something as innocent as clicking to levitate a block can be infuriating, mind-numbing, and yet no matter how much we know it can get to us and make us twitch, we still play it with glee, only for, as a dish is thrown down onto tile, so our hopes are dashed in a similar manner. Again and again, game after game, the emotional roller coaster never stops, we keep playing on and on, that "play again?" button taunting us every time we encounter the inevitable adversarial defeat, but why do we seek this in the first place? Why do we particularly enjoy it?

Because it's easy success, with a small amount of opposition to keep us interested, so we can simply reach out and take it. We go through so much shit every day, we're bored and tired of the complex activities of daily life, complex activities which would normally grant success and defeat and the resulting emotions, but we're exhausted, we're tired, we're lazy. We don't want to live the real life, we want to sit at home at our computer and live the Sims life. The easy flash games are completely menial, a certain activity repeated in some form or fashion, over and over, and they grant us solace from the complexities of life. We are attracted to the simplicity of the games, and they give us the same feeling as life.

I am worked too hard, I believe. I tire of the complicated and stressful curriculum, and as so I am drawn to the simple yet equally stressful games. They are a subtle peace of mine, whether or not I choose to regard it as such. Grant me relief, give me rest, make life come at me just a little bit slower, and I can handle it, I can work it out and succeed, but my sleep-deprived self is unable to do so. Slow this life down, if even a little bit, and I can win this, but until then, my mind will be on the game.

So I started to write this as a journal entry, but it actually turned out to be like the kind of posts I'd write on this blog in the first place. I'm letting my inner writer shine through during this project, which is one of the few I've actually enjoyed. Expect more of these in the future.
Lastly, I hate reminding you guys this: I want feedback. I don't want you to reply to this, saying "oh, this is great" or "I agree", I want to know your thoughts and reactions to my words. Be descriptive, refer to specific moments if you like, I don't care, just tell me what you think.
Other than that, please give my blog a follow, if you enjoy my posts. That's all, please enjoy!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

JotMotW: Entry #2: Frustration

My next journal entry! Hopefully you guys enjoy this one. Long story short, (or TL;DR, as Hunter asked), today was suckish, but a different kind of suckish.

Anger makes you clench your fists, your face go red, give you the urge to punch a wall. That last one isn't you, it's not a conscious decision at all. It's merely adrenaline. When infuriated, you tense up, feel yourself become strong, no matter how weak you are. You become enraged, ready to strike at a moment's notice, knowing that you could lash out right then and there.
Frustration is different. Frustration is subtle. Frustration is a snake in the grass, poised to strike when you least expect it. Frustration is built, frustration is cumulative, and if you are never able to let it out, it begins to erode at you, your psyche, your temper, it all simply is weathered away without your knowledge. The subtlety is key. Frustration works slowly. Frustration is the rock you narrowly trip over. Frustration is the not-so-subtle patronizing tone in your algebra teacher's words as a single minuscule pebble hitting your head every minute. Frustration is your teacher not communicating clearly and not granting you -or your group members -any sympathy on the project you're currently working on. Frustration eats at me from within, gnawing away at my happy thoughts and forcing me to dream of sweet vengeance upon my daily annoyances. It takes my desire to make those that annoy me know of their effect upon my nerves and mutates it, manipulates it, until I desire to uphold Hammurabi's code and make them pay, "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth", that is what I strive for, despite my original wish simply for nothing else than peaceful complaint. My previous picture of peacefully speaking up in class to calmly let the teacher know that we're more tired than she could possibly be at the moment has changed into the metaphorical image of the Tenth Doctor regenerating, the fires of grief, anger, and sorrow exploding from the phoenix's heart, fashioning the inferno aboard the TARDIS's control room. This is only a premonition of what I could possibly expect for myself.

I am truly frustrated, I have taken it for so long, for this entire year, given the short end of the stick at every possible moment. I care not, I am sick of how my life is held back, for things that might not even be worth my time. The next time I'm handed that short end of the stick, I'll take it and beat my oppressor with the long end. I can feel rage at the slightest moments, held back by the slightest bit of restraint I still possess, but not for much longer. I'm going to truly lose it sometime, and if I am to die...let there be fire. I can tell regeneration comes upon me, as a personal form of death, revolution of spirit, and renewal.

and then, maybe then, ere the break of summer, I can let my frustration go.

aaaand my expectation of this being crap turned out to be completely wrong. Damn! I hope you guys enjoyed!

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Journal of the Movement of the World (or some bullshit like that): Entry #1

So I've been given a project in English (which I have been procrastinating on), called the Journal of the Movement of the World project, based off The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. The basic gist of the project is that every day, I have to pick a moment to write an entry, at least 4 sentences, but i have to write it as close to the moment as possible (expect venting!!), and it can be about anything, in pretty much any format (yes, it does include blog entries). I'll be using my blog for this as it is kinda dead and I haven't written much in a while. I'll be doing 14 entries, most on their own separate days, some not. Expect these until at least next Thursday, when I have to send my teacher the links (and she'll just love all the cursing you can expect me to do) to each of the separate posts. Now, to begin, the tale of the moment I'm currently in.

I'm fucking tired. I'm only 2 days into the last 6 week period at school, It's barely even halfway into the second day, and I find myself tired. All these people are having fun around me, all acting as if they've had the most rest in the world. I personally will be decked by World History this six weeks, where I'm in the process of being coerced to take the mock AP test, despite the fact that I never signed up for the real one. I'll have to take that test, then do corrections so I would get 100%, even though my superfluous grades won't change in the slightest, so if I fail the mock AP, I'm fucked, and then we get a huge important project that's 40% of our grade for the six weeks. Did I mention that I'm tired? Everyone else around me as I sit cross-legged seems to act perfectly awake, even though there's the possibility of their fatigue being easily hidden, I still fell distant from the world, lost in my own imagination, I can't concentrate on anything at this particular moment, not even the WW2 lecture in World History we had a week ago. It's moments like these that I feel the distinct urge to escape into the holodeck of lucidity that is my complex mind and diverse imagination. Sadly, this is not so. I cannot simply have my spirit let go of my body and thus beget a rag doll. I cannot fulfill my wish of pulling my mental body back into the recesses of my mind. I simply desire a world to live in my daydreams, if only to envision how each would work and exist, as well as exploring possibilities and potential for my own self. My daydreams are broad, logical, fantastical, possibilities to be examined and followed through with. Reactions can be gauged, strategies devised, objectives achieved, potential found, in short, I want to live within the interior of a holodeck. Desiring and requiring neither food nor sleep, as I am merely a program within the matrix. I am merely a non-corporeal being within this holodeck. I am alone, and yet I am within a crowd. My psyche is split, multiple personalities emerge with each passing emotion, changing points of view and perspectives with each unconscious shift. They all converge when I deal with my corporeal self, when my imaginary world begins to become black around the edges, signalling my return to wariness, consciousness. The physical world has returned, I am waking against my own will. I am drawn back to the world around me, the raucous noise exhumed by my colleagues fading, the white noise that sent me into my mind disappearing. I am awake now, sadly. Life begins, and I must depart again. Farewell, my great holodeck of lucidity, my ship of the imagination, but I shall return.

Wow, this turned out great! I seriously like this one. Anyways, in closing, you should expect these every day or so, if not more frequent. In other news, if you like the stuff I post on my blog, then follow it. If you like a post, +1 it on G+ (that's how I score my posts, it's not just a personal thing, it's also how I evaluate my audience). That's all for today, folks, have a nice, lazy, Tuesday, as I have been having.