Chapter 6

Thomas flew to France directly, and comfortably. In planes they let you watch movies of your choice these days. I made Thomas decide to watch "Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer". It was so awful he fell asleep.

When he woke up the movie, "Fantastic Mr. Fox" was playing. he stayed awake for it because it was so good. He noticed at the end of the movie that the producers had recorded most of their own music. He was impressed by that.

I know very little about France, just that the food is good. and that it was once occupied by Germany. and that French people don't much like English people, but that they hate American people more. They are indifferent to positive about Canadians.

Since the food is good, the cooking schools must be good too.

All I know about Thomas's time at cooking school was that he was happier than I had ever seen him. There was a romance. He met the love of his life. Her name Clair Lambert, that was how she spelled it at least. As relationships go, it burned like an inferno. She taught him French and how to ride horses, he taught her some English and cooked for her. She was secretly rich, and to her, Thomas was an escape.

One day she left him. Without warning. Three weeks later, She married a guy named Gaspard, who I am told is quite the man.


Thomas was utterly heartbroken and I felt awful about it, so I imagined up numerous gorgeous french women for him to sleep with.







Thomas taught me a lot about character when he refused to sleep with any of them.









He graduated eighth in his class of two hundred and fifty. Which is pretty respectable.

I could never finish eighth.

Upon further research of French Cooking Schools, I discovered that the one Thomas graduated from was the most prestigious in the world.

His loss of Clair and forced her to flee the country. Since Clair was the rich daughter of an ancient French family and Gaspard was named France's Sexiest Man Alive, their wedding made the news. Thomas had to leave. She was everywhere.

Thomas's plane ride home was uneventful. There was "mild turbulence" and the fish made everybody grow large red dots on their faces. Thomas didn't have the fish.

Also, on his personal turbulence scale, "mild" is only a 5, which he classifies as "dangerous if not wearing seatbelt; annoying". He wore his seat belt so his plane ride home was uneventful. Blah Blah Blah.

Thomas never told anybody about his personal turbulence scale on account that he felt that nobody in their right mind would have one.

What Clair didn't tell Thomas or Gaspard was that she was pregnant. The child, eerily named Thomas Jr. on the insistence of Clair, never knew his father or his mother. She died in childbirth.

Ironically, when Thomas attended her funeral, nobody put two and two together. Including him. Instead he felt honored and secretly that he must have been better than Gaspard.

Its ironic because such a humbling event made Thomas arrogant. Its also ironic that every person at the funeral was a smart person but none of them suspected a thing.

Thomas Jr. grew up to be kind of like the Sean Connery equivalent of real life. He kicked ass at everything.


Rumor has it he:


shook hands with Frank Sinatra and said it was nothing

blocked a roundhouse kick from Chuck Norris with a roundhouse kick of his own, and broke Chuck's leg.

has not only lived among bears, but they universally hail him as their ruler

completed the international space station, on schedule

already knew what an awkward moment felt like, without even trying one

reached level 487 in Nazi Zombies and is known in the world of online COD as simply "God".

single handedly resurrected Latin.


He was the best dancer to ever live.


People wrote books about his time on earth.

Chapter Five

Thomas graduated high school as an all-providence goal-keeper with excellent grades and so on.
He was able to earn enough money in scholarships to spend his two years in a local Canadian school and then to study abroad. In France. Where he dreamed of learning to cook.

Most of this time was pretty uneventful, except for when he learned he was going to Frace. It was very cute. Allbeit wierd.

On his nineteenth birthday, his parents visited him at his school. It was unexpected and he was duely suprised, although he was rather pissed because he had been planning to go gambling with his friends.

It is absolutely ridiculous that the gambling age in Canada is nineteen, and the drinking age is eighteen.

However, they had brought a cake. Thomas inherited his love for cooking from his dad, but his love for baking came from his mother. Mrs. Rogene's cakes were unparalled. Magnifíc.

As an aside, good cake tends to smooth almost anything over. Also,

Flowers : Girls Good Food :: Guys

and

Sandwich Making Ability > Sex Ability

Good sandwiches never get old.

C'est la vie.

Thomas's birthday's were never good ones. Unfortunately, his birthday fell on Black Friday.
You would think that if your birthday fell on Black Friday, you would get better gifts because the more expensive things would be less expensive and more affordable.

This is not true, people kind of get saving money stuck in their heads and don't have time to celebrate your birthday and they don't want to spend extra moneys on you.

Bad Luck Thomas.

His nineteenth birthday didn't seem to be turning out too well when his parents turned up.
When they cut the cake, there was a deck of cards inside.

Thomas thought it was fuckin weird, but acted the part. His dad had, after all, invented all Rogene products.

His dad said he would let Thomas officially gamble for the first time in his life, against him.

His dad bet the trip to France. Thomas bet the honor associated with a man's first legal gamble. - And the last slice of cake.

Thomas won. His dad had been a magician for years before he invented Rogene. And he had slipped Thomas the card.

Kind of a weird guy if i do say so myself. In this story my opinion matters because I make all the characters. Hypothetically I could burst a light bulb in the dorm and start a fire. But I won't do that because Thomas wants to go to France. and not to die.

This chapter has been purely dedicated to ridiculous advancement of plot, followed by my thoughts at the moment.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My thoughts at the moment:

Happy Thanksgiving to All.

My friend said that it sucks how it takes a holiday to get everybody to realize how thankful they are for each other. She's right to an extent. I think rather, it takes a holiday to make people say it out loud.

Sometimes that's all it takes.

I am thankful for everybody who reads this blog. No, i don't care way too much about it, its just nice. Especially if you tell me you like it.

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Chapter 4

Since Katie had the ability to sing and play the guitar beautifully, and Fara was ever so talented, their band rose to fame quickly.

Well, relative fame.

Meaning they weren't famous at all.

And all the benefits of being famous were kind of limited.

They were extremely popular... at their school talent shows.

Fara got mad poon for his playing... But it was really slutty white girl poon, which wasn't his type. He had an std scare and it ruined his week. but that's another story.

Simon got free dro... but it was nearly always partially crab grass.

Steven had a secret admirer who remained secret and constantly creeped on him. He is a strong pacifist, but even he had to disable his facebook account.

Boys adored Katie... But they were all gay.

Not that gay people are bad fans... in fact, they tend to go way overboard, and its very nice for the performer. But Katie likes boys, and as a rule, the ones that like girls.

Not to stereotype or anything. I love gays.

Oops.

The longer I try to cover up my social discrepancies, the worse they get.

If this story was to be published, this whole chapter would be cut.

Sadly.

Simon was not smart. He disliked school quite a bit. He was also plagued by erectile dysfunction, a kind that could not be treated until he was fully grown.

Everyday he would submit these lines to FML, a popular website that displays completely fabricated snippets of life for the entertainment of millions of bored and insecure kids who like feeling better about their lives because they can read about someone who's life sucks more.

"My penis doesn't work. FML"

It never made it.

If you were Simon, you would toke up too.

As time went on, Simon grew far more dependent on Marijuana to make it through his abysmal days. Things got ugly when he discovered "that cali dank". He dropped off when cocaine entered his life.

Eventually he quit The Seismic Toss. Jarad quit too. Jarad followed Simon everywhere, and they often sang together in songs.

Katie thought about making a joke about Simon & Jarfunkle.

She realized it wasn't funny at all and didn't make the joke.

Simon dropped out of school. When he stole money from Katie to buy drugs, she broke up with him.

It broke his heart.

As an aside, he ended up in rehab... The story of his recovery over the next ten years is the stuff of legends.

He now tours the country warning against drug use.

Even though kids laugh at him for what he does, he leaves a lasting impression. He is a good man.

With the loss of Jarad and Simon, Katie's band changed their name to Cederstrom.

Steven didn't say anything about it.

Katie was related to the famous Swedish artist Gustaf Cederstrom. She thought it was a cool name.

So did Fariesh

So do I.

Chapter 3

At the same time Thomas was wasting all his time struggling with society, two other important things were happening.

The first important thing was that Jake Rogene's grandmother passed away in her sizable home in Los Angeles, California. She had left all her assets and belongings and fortunes to her daughter, Jake's mother. They moved to California, where they joined the middle-upper class.

At Jake's new school, when people asked him whether or not his dad owned Rogene, he said yes. Things were much better for Jake after that. The turn of events turned him into a devout Catholic.

The other important thing was that Katie Ericcson started an indie rock band with her boyfriend Simon and three of his friends, Jarad, Steven, and Fariesh. Fariesh was a drummer. His family was from Bosnia, but he was born in America. Everybody called him Fara. He was extremely talented, and extremely hairy. People often called him Osama. This frustrated Fara because he was not even remotely similar to the people in that part of the world, and he liked his very long beard. They all lived in LA.

Fara was also frustrated because his parents didn't even name him properly for his heritage. They just thought it was a cool name.

Katie played guitar and sang beautifully.

Beautifully in the way that Thomas Rogene would define beautifully.

She didn't much like to sing for people because she felt it was showing off. But she sang a lot by herself. It was her favorite thing to do.

She didn't have a favorite band. But she really liked The Shins and Belle & Sebastian and Bon Iver. She also loved Simon & Garfunkel.

She liked to pretend that her boyfriend and Simon from Simon & Garfunkel were the same. But she never told anybody that because it was really embarrassing. She also wasn't sure if they were actually two people or just a clever band name.

She was sixteen, and in love. Simon was fifteen and felt lucky to have her.

Katie's boyfriend Simon fell in love with Marijuana. It would tear them apart in the coming year.

They named their band The Seismic Toss. It was the name for a pokemon move in which the pokemon would lift its foe so very high that it would appear to circle the earth and then throw it down magnificently. There was nothing Seismic about the attack, and there was nothing musical about the band name. Fara loved pokemon. He mentioned it. Jarad and Simon backed him.

Steven didn't say anything about it.

Katie thought it was rather dumb.

So do I.

Chapter 2

Everyday Thomas would wake up and go to school. His classes were very boring. The people in his classes tended to be like machines.

He often asked the machines if they had had good weekends, to be polite of course.

They always said that their weekends were good.

Thomas thought it was funny that they always said that for two reasons.

1) It proved that they were like machines.

2) He read a book once where God turned everybody in the world was a machine, and left one man who was able to make decisions. The man eventually turned into a machine because he had to fit in. The author didn't give any insight into Gods thoughts (Thomas thought he was scared to), but the moral of the story was obvious. Thomas felt like the man in the story. Except without the God bit. Thomas had issues believing in divine intervention. Kind of like myself. But that's for later.

Since Thomas hated the idea of being like a machine, even though he was, he spent more time on being creative than he should have. His grades always suffered. His parents always got angry. His teachers were always perplexed.

His classmates were very competitive machine people. They were always nice, because they sometimes got bad grades too. Thomas knew they were smug deep down that their hard work paid off. Thomas didn't mind though... they were entitled to whatever made them happy.

He supposed that it was equivalent to what he felt when he drew or cooked or wrote or played hockey.

He often described the feeling as beautiful.

Nobody seemed to understand what he meant.

Thomas wrote a poem about it. This is what he wrote.

"It was a dance, they decided
that split the evening sky
The colors of the spectrum flashed
Wavered. Faded.
Reborn. Danced.
Aurora."

He thought words were limited.

But it made sense to him.

Thomas didn't really think that his classmates were machines if they felt that. They were just better at being civil about it. Why though?

This is what confused Thomas about society. He still thought a lot about it.

Chapter One

There once was a man named Thomas Rogene.

Thomas Rogene married a woman named Katie Ericsson. Their story is wonderful.

Thomas grew up in the lower-upper class... the kind of place where he had quite a bit of money and a very large house, but he didn't have menservants and gardeners and servants and cooks. and those people who don't do anything but stand around and open doors.

His parents weren't divorced, in fact, his dad, Jim Rogene, was the inventor of Rogene hair and facial products. His small 1.2758% of all profits generated by the product was sufficient enough so that he never had to work again. His mother, Carol, liked tennis. She was very very very good, and always dominated the inter-country club tournament. She was so good that people pretended to like her, when in fact they all hated her. All except for Joni Kchovenejenenen and Chisti Haroll. Joni was her only competition as an ex-professional, but she was getting on at 66 and so she tended to be more friendly then not. Christi was very empty. She liked everyone but she didn't know why.

Thomas grew up attending a small private school. He was incessantly curious, and very bright. His body's chemical proportions were favorable, but he had adhd and dyslexia. Unfortunately, it was the kind of dyslexia that was too small to be diagnosed, but large enough to where it made small print impossible to read. This lead to glasses that were completely useless. But it didn't matter. Thomas was in the lower-upper class. it didn't matter if he spent money on glasses.

When he was in High School, Thomas switched schools for hockey, which was what he was good at that people cared about. He was also very good at drawing and cooking food. But nobody cared about his paintings. And his friends made fun of his exquisite taste and his beautiful talent for food. They never quite understood what he meant when he said he loved food.

Regardless, the private school at which he was stationed was no good for athletics, and Thomas wanted to expand his horizons. He transferred to the local public school. He lived in Ontario, Canada. He was 6'5''. He wanted to go to cooking school in France. He knew his only chance was to go by playing hockey. He worked very very hard.

The local public school was full of kids from either the lower-upper class, the middle-upper class, or the upper-upper class. They all asked Thomas if his name was like the hair gel. He said yes, exactly like it. People were always impressed.

His sophomore year, there was a freshman named Jake Rogene in his art class. They were not related. Thomas felt sorry for Jake because people asked Jake if his name was for hair, and if he was related to Thomas. Jake always said no. People were always unimpressed.

Thomas was a star on the Hockey team, people liked him because of his name and because he was good at hockey.

Life was good for Thomas, and he knew it. He never once was ungrateful for what was given to him, and he worked very hard each day to earn it. But he was always so confused by the way social structure seemed to work in his city. He thought a lot about it.

On My Mind.

I have come to a conclusion of sorts.

The universe is massive.

Bigger then our comprehension.

It gets bigger every nanosecond.

It won't stop getting bigger for a long time.

Its ordered.

So far as we know, everything in the universe follows rules of cause and effect. everything can be explained. everything is orderly. and happens. for what purpose, we do not know.

maybe its because its simply an effect from an old cause thats trickling down to infinatesimally small levels...

maybe its all an accident and the universe is the product of an arrant cause that should never have occured.

People say all things happen for a reason.

Maybe they do. But i think its not because of some destiny, but rather because of some anomaly.

To whatever extent, we, as humans are like atoms, no smaller, quarks to the structure of the universe.

Our existance is meaningless to the cosmos. Negligable. In fact, most things at all are negligable to the cosmos. Our sun, or solar system, or galaxy, or cluster, or super cluster; all tiny in the scope of the universe.

Quarks and gluons theoretically make up protons and neutrons and electrons.

Theoretically they flicker in and out of existance, so small is their size.

Human lives, animal lives, the lives of stars even, events gargantuan to us, are so ludicrously unimportant in the amount of cause and effect in the universe at any given point, that they flicker in and out of existance.

I mean to state this plainly.

If our lives our negligable in size, so are our causes and effects.

So are our lives.

We have no purpose here on earth. There is no grand scheme.

All that is left is what we have control of.

Our actions, our lives.

Take them into your hands.

Put it this way. Its quite impossible to royally fuck up.

Moving.

True emotion is powerful stuff. Truthfully it can be both scary and intimidating.

Sometimes it can be too much.

Sometimes the timing is poor. Sometimes there is far too much in the dramatics. Sometimes it can't be helped. Below is a resolve.

I never meant to take it too far.

I am so sorry.

This is it from me. Moving.

Thoughts on Thought

We live in an indefinite world, an inconsistent one.

It can change in the blink of an eye from right to wrong, from beautiful to ugly, and from great to poor.

It can change from full to empty.

Collecting thoughts in such a world can be like catching dry leaves in the wind.
Its really difficult, and then when you catch one, you usually crush it.

Only those with the mental dexterity of philosophers, good philosophers I might add, can get their shit together. And even then, in a way that is unique to them, and in a way that few others can understand.

There is a reason for that.

Honestly, there are so many ups and downs, that even taking a break from life in order to collect oneself kinda just puts you behind.

Discipline of the mind cannot be taught. It simply must be learned. From experience.

It shouldn't even be learned. It shouldn't even be a concept. It causes so much more trepidation and trivia then success and understanding.

Everybody everywhere thinks that this sort of discipline is the end all be all of greatness and enlightenment, and it is these same people who scream from the rooftops that they have found it, or that they need it.

It is those same people who actually attend classes or sessions to learn to think about how they feel.

Are you kidding me?

There is no such thing as complete mental discipline.

This is because there is no such thing as emotional discipline.

Those who say they have it, either don't really live around people, or aren't human. Its that simple.

Blocking out emotions is a bit of a death sentence for the mind.

The problem is people's sense of self-importance.

While it is the most essential part of creativity and by extension, self-expression, and again by extension, individualism, which is the core, and possibly singular, good belief of our society, it forces people to just take themselves way too seriously.

If they would simply get over themselves, and believe me, I am just as guilty, I write this blog that practically screams of unintentional arrogance, then they could start to think about things that actually matter.

Things like other people. This magnificent world in which we live. Integrity Character ArtandMusicLovePassion. Truth.


I am aware that this has been downright contradictory and borderline ludicrous. Keep Reading.


Do not get me wrong. Collecting your thoughts, or in other terms, staying sane or thinking straight, is pretty important.

Trying to control how you come to that state of almost divine enlightenment is wrong.

You'll only go backwards.

In a sense, the common man, the one who has never worried about how he acts, is far better off than the greatest of philosophers, who must unlearn all they forcibly "learned" or "discovered".



Feel first. Then think about how you feel. Don't try to change it. Don't lie to yourself. Don't run away from the feelings. Don't try to block them out.

Accept them, for whether you like it or not, They Are You.

Your own emotions keep you honest. Only ignore them if it must be done, and then with the knowledge that you are indeed ignoring them.



Humans do not need Sunflowers. They know they are beautiful. Most think they need them.

Bees need Sunflowers. They do not know they are beautiful. They simply need them.

Want them all you want, but know that you do not need them.

Saying Goodbye

Man, by design, is an individual.

No two people are identical, and no two people ever share the same thoughts.

Each and every one of us lives alone in our thoughts, and each and every one of us fall fate to our own devices.

Much like computers, which were made to think in the likeness of us, are we in many respects.

As an aside, an odd relationship to think about. They say God made us in his likeness, and we have made computers in ours. What does that tell us about God? Could a computer ever comprehend how we have designed and what thought went into it? It is so limited. Ask the same thing about the nature of God and ourselves.

Computers are truely alone, they feel nothing, they have no emotion, because they are all the same, because they never interact with one another.

And therein lies the difference.

We interact with one another.

We have emotions.

Emotions, derived from our need to explain our feelings for each other.

Without emotion, we would never survive. Without each other, we would never survive.

These bonds of emotion and of feeling run deeper than any knowledge we can surmise, deeper than anything a computer could ever do for us.

It is our lifeblood.

This is why death is the darkest of our observances.

This is why saying goodbye comes close.

There is a feeling associated with this...

Its the feeling that the world has less in it. That a home you just lived in shrank and forced you out of it. That the music you played for a silent room never existed. That anything you do means less. That nothing you do means anything.

That there's a deep hole in your heart.

That your missing your heart.

Even food doesnt taste good.

Its ok.

Its feelings like these that let you know you're human.

Its feelings like these that let you know you're never going to be alone.

The world could fall, and the sun could never rise again, and still you would know, just because of this feeling, that you wont ever be alone.

Embrace it.

Own it.

Its yours.

The world wont fall, the sun will rise.

But its nice to have a constant, something to keep you company.

Stand Tall

a poem

"Stand Tall"

i dream of being far away
away from what i knew
from what i know
the truth of it blinds me

he stands a statue in the torrent
oblique and absolute
radient light

Hope.

stone wears away
ideas live on
but only, the right ones

his sheild is but nought
so alone is its type

everlasting

Hope.

better days lie ahead
and think what promises were said
and what has been dead
the world around you falls, sweetly.

the sheild slips
the statue fades
the image is burned on the black forever

Hope.

and now we cry
all honerably
it's all gone, to pieces

and so have we failed
i try to be the stone

collapsing

Hope.

This Is What Happens When Your Heart Breaks

(Re-submitted after a computer failure: Originally posted 8/12/09 11:32 pm)

This could be ugly.

I rage.

Inside and out I feel as though there is a crushing weight pressing in and there's nothing holding it up.

My body is hollow.

My heart beats so little now.

I will control this. This beast within me. This dark dark beast. It roars.

I knew for so long i was right, that others were right and that i should have left it.

I pushed it away, a slave to my own meaningless devices, my own sycophantic failures to face the truth that I love a person who can't, and will never love me back.

Its been nearly a year. I've poured more into this vat then I can say.

All that's left is the music and a canvas of silence to paint on.

The passion is all gone from me.

There. I am done.

The reality of this matter is my own failure. my own lack of judgement and control. I trusted for too long, with too much, knowing all the while it was folly.


I loved you so much.

An Age Old Question

Looking back on past posts, I have come to realize a common trend in my ideals.

There is something wrong with the world.

I can't explain why I feel like there's something wrong, when so many say it's right.

Each post is a piece to the puzzle.

Each plea a confused cry.

Just read.

There is a question that every single person confronts in their life. Few know they do, but some know they do.

What is the meaning of life? Why do we exist? To what purpose do we live?

It is a big question... In fact, maybe the biggest. And everybody has an answer, again, whether or not they know it.

Some say that we live because God wills it, and this is but a trail for our judgement for the rest of eternity. Or something to that effect.

Some say that everything we do is predetermined, and that the concept of choice is what keeps us sane, but that we really are just a planned existence.

Religion is a great thing. It has comforted billions upon billions of people who have lived. It has saved them from this question. And yet, I can't help but wonder at the practicality of it all.

To say that there is a divine power that we cannot comprehend in any way, shape, or form, is to say that we live for no purpose other than to live and then die. The way in which you lived, decides your eternal position.

Why then, do we as humans conceive time. Or anything at all for that matter? An animal does not understand the passage of time, it just lives. It serves its purpose exactly in the way that it was built to. It has no ambition, or sin, or anything. Do all other animals go to heaven then?

Then I ask myself, If the Gazelle was created, by a divine power, to graze and bound and it does, and it goes to heaven, what does that look like to the gazelle? More of the same? Or are other animals unfit for heaven? That very conception is against the way of God.

To say that God discriminated from one animal to the next, from gazelles to humans, is against his very purposes.

This leads me to believe that heaven is a goal. An ultimatum for someone to reach. A direction for life. But God is against that as well, or so I am told.

If God made man in the likeness of himself, why are humans flawed?

and if He made them to be flowed, then who are we to describe His ways? Our descriptions of heaven and hell and of God himself, reek of the human stench of aspiration and desire.

I then turn to the argument that Jesus, the son of God, described His ways to us, and that Jesus was not flowed. If we all make an effort to be like Jesus, and say we succeed, then would we not as humans turn back to the state of Gazelles?

We would be born, we would live well, and without fighting. We would hunt and gather, as man was meant to. There would be no drive to survive better then the other, and that would, in effect, make us no different from apes. We would devolve.

I find it Ironic, that without all the evil people in the world, we would be no different from any other animals.

I then ask myself, If the nature of the Gazelle is to live as Gazelles do, then is the nature of man to desire more? To be arrogant, and vein. To think that one is greater then all others on earth. To strive for greatness? To "sin"?

Yes. It is.

And this has been admitted by many others... but only in the words, "Man is naturally flawed, or evil".

Some people hate who they are because they are human.

This is not right.

I refuse to believe in religion simply because it takes human nature and it tells us that we must be above it. That we must despise what we are for its flaws. The result has devastating results for people.

And yet, religion is a channel for the human spirit. Those who take it very seriously, strive not to strive. It's sort of an interesting cataclysm of purpose.

I digress. I mean to say that religion takes the question of meaning and says, 'your purpose is to be perfect, when you aren't meant to. But don't try to be perfect, or that defeats the purpose. Best of luck to you'

It offers an easy way out of the question for many people. It says, have faith in this, and you will mean something for all eternity. It offers that simple incentive.

That answer is not for me.

To say that we are all controlled by fate, and that i do not choose to type these words, but that they've been picked for me, is to say that there is something higher then us moving and placing our lives. For what force controls fate? Why does fate exist? Why is it called fate?

To say that fate is a constant, is to say that time is a constant, for as time moves forward, so, hypothetically, does fate. Unchanging.

And yet, time is not constant. It changes relative to your speed and position in the universe.

This is not simple. But i think I am less confused now because I know what question to ask...

The question itself is selfish and arrogant. The Gazelle doesn't ask why. It just is.



Why am I here? Is there a purpose to man? To my life?

I am tempted to say no. I am tempted to say that i should simply enjoy it while it lasts.

But i do not know.

If you ever figure it out, give me a call. I'd love to know.

Confusion

There is much confusion in the world.

Confusion so great it distorts reality.

But what is reality?

I believe it is less what is real, or what is tangible fact, rather that it is up to perception.

It is a great thing that humans are all the same in some ways, for if they weren't then their would be no such thing as reality.

If people did not perceive things in the same way, then "fact", which in itself is a verified public opinion of a matter, would cease to exist.

Let me explain.

A man who is sane, in his own right mind, thinking the way everybody else thinks, who knows that the sky is blue, deems another, a man who thinks differently, and that the sky is red, insane. But if the world was full of insane people, then who would be right?

If a majority found the sky red, then in all the books, all the archives, would say so.

Maybe a less dramatic, and more believable idea?

The men who invented the airplane were the first. Up against all odds, the Wright Brothers were out to do what had never been done before, something for the birds alone. Before their time, flight was deemed ludicrous. Even though we very well know today that flight is as easy as $55 to Southwest airlines and a quick trip to the airport.

Reality before the Wright Brothers was no reality, but after, public opinion was changed, and it became a very real reality. Without public opinion, the world would be lost to war about who is right.

The confusion of what is reality, and what reality should be is a problem.

This is where morals come in. Everybody in the world knows what should be. There should be peace. There should be prosperity, and yet there isn't. The result is confusion.

And in confusion, people's realities become distorted, and then their are misconceptions and misunderstandings.

Which feed the cycle.

It is truly vicious.

Such a thing could not spring from nothingness. Its an abomination. It must have been conceived.

Public opinion destroys things before they start, and crushes ideas in the bud, but it also keeps us together.

There is but one thing to do.

There is a reason every child is told in adolescence to be his or herself, and to not follow the public opinion.

Those who succeed are above its influence and lead lives happily.

But those who don't suffer through life, deep down questioning whether what they are doing is right, and hating themselves for their position. When they grow old, and they look back on life, it is with regret.

Be an individual, but do not force it. This is no fact, this is but my own opinion, written for those who care to try it out.

The most dangerous people are the ones who use the public opinion as a device of their own.

For they are the sources of confusion. There are too many. And the result is the debacle of the world today.

It is a beautiful place. But I worry for it to last.

The hardest thing to do is to realize that your entire life has influenced you to be the person you are, and to see beyond these experiences.

This is not without reason.

I am still confused.

It comes down to the same old question.

What is right?

For eons, people have puzzled over the questions. All in search for a means to an end.

To one such person who has come up with some solution. Say, Confucius, Muhammad, Jesus, or Buddha I would ask...

To what end?

The end of confusion.

Why end?

Because it torments the world.

Doesn't this just make it worse?

Not for me.

What about others?

If they understood me they would be fine.

But what if they don't want to?

Why shouldn't they?

Because not all people are like you.

They should be.

Why?

Because I am happy. They are not.

But they aren't like you, even if they would like to be.

It's worth a try, isn't it?

Wouldn't that be a bit confusing?

I'm worried.

It isn't right.

but, I'm worried.

Things won't turn out the way they should, or maybe they will, and I'm not a part of it.

Yes, I am fine.

Yes, I always will be.

No, I am not happy about it.

This is a Rant

This is not directed at anyone.

The world is kind of ironic; and not in a good way.

It makes me sad.

People are just so blind, they cannot see past what is put in front of them.

How many times have you heard the statement, "life is a like a big game"?

This is such a blatant misconception that it disgusts me. Life, to the masses, is a game.

But somebody had to make the game. Somebody had to make the rules. And most of all, somebody has to be controlling it.

Those who say life is game have spent their entire lives playing the fuckin thing and have just now realized, "hey, I've really learned a lot about being a good slave to society, I'm rich! I'm going to write books to instruct others in how to play the game. I am such a good person", are happy doing what they do, but really are the top top top percentile. The ultimate suck-ups.

Congratulations to all of you.

The way i see it, there are two ways to go through life the way it has been constructed as of late.

1) With a bunch of talent and practice and hard work, completely ignorant of what you're ultimately doing. In other words, getting lucky and following directions.

2) Becoming average.

However, few people are talented enough to actually even come close to success. It all comes down to genetics. How good your hand of cards is.

The game has become so pathetic now, that the road to greatness is the easiest if you have talent.

This is simply because the standards of the best are the best. Traits such as hard work, patience, diligence, loyalty, integrity, honesty, and character are all useless unless you have talent.

The people who make this game to control the masses of people who all aspire to greatness allow only those like them, the talented, single-minded, kings of their game, to take their place.

Whatever is left disperses around the world.


There is nothing anybody can do about this. It is the way of the world. The strongest survive.

It is so infuriating however, to those who may be talented, but refuse to be uni-directional, workaholic slaves and suck-ups.

There is so much of life to enjoy. So much beauty. So much passion.

And yet,

To survive, it must be sacrificed, it must be thrown away forever.

It is ironic only in that through constant failure I have discovered this.

And that those who understand cannot win.

How can they, with a good conscience.

When life is easy, and set like a train on a track for a destination, why even bother with understanding. Just do what you're told. Do what's put in front of you.

Am i just jealous?

Absolutely not. I could give up everything I love to be great at just one, but then i would be no different from the rest.

Do i see myself as a tragic hero?

Fuck no. I just know that it is my decision to fail.

It is ironic. If you try your hardest, and still do not succeed, then what?
People say you will be content.

We shall see.

Irony is a form of comedy.

I hate, no, I abhor how the world is just a sick joke.

And that nobody, truly nobody, gives a flying fuck for one another.

And that the expression, "No good deed goes unpunished" even exists.

And that I can do nothing.

FTW.

Everything means everything...

"On and On again"


In this place that i have known
my whole long life, all alone
I sit and stare, unwinding.

The waves wash up
they always have
and when I go
They wont laugh.

Nor will they cry
or stop rolling and die.
This spot will stay forever.

And as the moonlight shines
i think in my mind
of all the time
that has passed here

And about the day
so far away
Where i will never return.

Choice

"Do we make decisions? And if so, to what end?"

We all make our own choices, and our choices directly impact our own futures, and ultimately lead to our deaths.

But with death, there comes a lack of self-control.

No possibility exists for the next world if no choices can be made. Assuming of course that our brains and not our 'souls' make decisions, and that they cease to function when we die.

Inversely, there are many who believe in destiny and fate, which is to imply that life is simply a game that is played by higher individuals, and that we are the product of the whims of others.

However, it does, in its own way, give meaning and purpose to life and offers life beyond death as a 'wonderful' incentive.

'Afterlife' scares me much in the same way that infinity does.

Be completely honest with yourself. Anything, no matter how perfect or unwavering, that lasts forever would be horrific. Sure the first 500+ years are enjoyable, but then what?

It makes no sense. And maybe it isn't meant to. But it still can't be anything like what is promised.

Because of this, I am forced to believe that it is choice that governs the world of man.

Through this logic, i am forced to admit that no matter what i do, there will be an outcome.

The decision to write this blog affects nobody but myself and yet, it has kept me from my math homework, and by extension, from sleeping.

My father always compares life to a hand of cards. He says that you have to play what you're dealt.

It's true, but it isn't five card draw. You cannot exchange your cards, you just have to make the best decisions and go from there.

You only get one hand to play, and whether you've got a pair of twos or a straight flush, you have to make a move sometime.

The decision not to make a decision is not one at all. Holding all your cards until they can no longer be played is not only foolish and useless, but puts you in a position to fail.

Utterly and Completely.

But if you indeed make the decision to not make a decision, life will pass you by, you will become nothing.

In effect, a discard pile.

Why is chess considered a game?

It is the most intricate, complex, and difficult pastime to even come close to fathoming. Even those who dedicate their lives to the game, grandmasters, do not understand it, they memorize it.

It is a game because it is not the pieces that make the decisions, but their controllers; us.

All of these pointless metaphors are an attempt to explain that even though the fact that we as humans have choice, which implies no purpose to anything at all that has ever existed, our lives are meaningful because we have to choose. It is choice that gives us all the will to strive for greatness, to succeed, to live.

It is choice that is our primal instinct.

A knight does not feel pain when it is sacrificed for the queen, but a man of a royal guard feels pain taking a hit for the king.

"What is Greatness?"

Greatness is not awarded. It is not given. It cannot be bought, or sold. It is earned.

In itself, greatness is nearly impossible to define, and describing it is no easy feat.

Make no mistake; there is no doubt of its existence.

Each day, we stumble upon it, or it is forced upon us, be it by the achievement of others or the staggering truths of life.

Like many other indefinable emotions and ideas, greatness is determined by the perspective of a person.

It just so happens that when a majority of a population feels as one that greatness is deserved, that it is earned.

Lance Armstrong, to any first world child or adult, represents greatness. However, to what significance is riding a bicycle faster then all others with half the manliness to a child suffering from malnutrition in central Africa?

To that child, greatness resides in the food he eats, or simply does not exist at all.

A good deal of the world looks up to Lance Armstrong, and has awarded him the title of "greatness" as a nearly unanimous feeling, but who does he look up to?

Does he see himself as greatness?

Do heroes idealize themselves?

I should hope not. There is no end to what a human can do in one hundred years of life in this world. This place is not boring. It does not run out of opportunities, or of information to learn.

I think greatness in truth, is achieving everything possible. To obtain what seems beyond reach and in the face of all odds, be it civil rights movement, or a deaf composer writing some of the most well renowned and venerated music ever.

Life’s obstacles are chances at greatness. And overcoming them is the gateway to immortality.

It's a Metaphor Within a Metaphor.

"What do you do when every door you open shuts and the walls close in around you?"

Life continues to amaze.

There are people in the middle/upper middle class who basically get stuck.

They are restricted by society, or in other words, money.

Because their salaries are restricted by their bosses who in turn hoard money and make bad decisions with it, the economy has slowly been diving until very recently when the world was hit with a sudden deficit of cash.

And because the world is lacking cash, bosses and the upper class decide to, instead of shortening their own salaries, to cut away unnecessary others, and shorten the salaries of their middle class and upper middle class workers.

To be fair to the high-ups... they don't decide to make budget cuts, they are forced to by the structure of society.

If they took the deficit out of their own pay checks... then they would no longer be upper class, and the as a result, very few rich people would be left over, and then all that is left would be chaos.

It's a system of checks and balances designed to spread the wealth and keep the superpowers at bay by equalizing them. This takes care of itself because rich people like being rich and work hard to maintain their position.

This battle of the wealthy takes a toll on the middle class, and the ones who want to survive, have to work.

It is not long before they're stuck at a dead end job. And the walls close in.

Fortunately for these middle-class plebeians, there is more to life then just work.

The middle class fight to open a door to another bit of life. Maybe sport or acting or music or art or women or something that is not work.

But life continues to amaze. For at any given point... the door is slammed shut. An injury, a stale relationship, a cut etc.

The work remains. The fight for his own existence still sits around.

There are a great deal of people on this planet, and for every man who fails, there are six ready to take his place.

Originality is nearly unreachable.

So what do you do?

I do not think anyone knows. For there are many who have tried to escape.

and just as many who have failed.

There may be one thing that separates any one faceless nameless robot from the next.

And if that one thing may be in existence then it is intensity.

To the middle/upper class citizen,

Keep you're head up, get through it all.
The walls can keep getting closer, and the doors can continuously slam in your face, but they cannot crush you unless you let them.

Some walls have windows.

Thoughts on a Tragedy.

True Love is for real.

It is not an illusion, it is not a reflection of something else, it is no mirage on the horizon, or a hollow promise made by one to another.

It can be faked, and it can be used irrationally or immaturely for the selfish whims of those who wish to gain something from the despair of others.

If it's there, then it's there. And if you say it's there, then for fucks sake don't lie and take it back.

True Love isn't invincible. In fact it can be as frigile as a rose of glass.

There's a reason why its called True Love. Because it plans to stay.

Finding the right person in the world is like winning the lottery. Some people play all their lives, and never win once.

If you win, consider yourself lucky and fight your hardest to hold it together.

If you loose it, you probably won't ever see it again. Thats just the odds.

Good people have one flaw. They are not taken seriously at times.

They do everything they can for you, and even if you don't mean to, you push them aside and trapple all over them, blind to your own damage.

Things happen. People make mistakes. Nobody is perfect.

It is how you deal with the mistakes after you make them that defines their impact on the world and those around you.

Be careful. Bad things tend to happen to good people because nobody stepped it up.

Good memories last a lifetime.

Bad memories do too, except they burn deep.

(This post is dedicated to the greatest of friends, someone who doesn't deserve to be reading this. Remember. No matter what, life goes on.)

Why Try?

It is also almost funny how the raw nature of people forms "modern" civilization.


We educated humans of the 21st century look back on ancient times with an air of superiority; life now is so much better, far more comfortable, and far more sophisticated.


People will be doing the same thing in another Millennia. It is the way we are.

For better or for worse aside, all things change.

And even though the people in power, the level of technology, and the rules of life change with time, people can be trusted to do the same thing.


Survive. and not only survive, but to survive in style.
Always are people striving to live in better comfort, to climb the social ladder.



Even as our religions and social rules decree to refrain from greed and selfishness, few are the people who manage to actually do it.

As a result, we have crime. In fact, a great deal of the evil in the world stems from this self-perpetuating need for bigger and better things.

Crime is not a first option. It's just too risky.

People do not choose to steal or sell drugs because they want to. They choose to do these things because it is easier to do then the all the hard work done by the average person.

Why even try?

The thoughts and motives of criminals in some cases are very understandable.

No matter how much you try, life will only get harder.

Its as much luck as it is anything else. There are kids who spend their lives devoted to one cause. Working.

They've been brainwashed since birth into thinking that their are no options, no path besides that of work.

Brainwashed by their parents who strive to better themselves through their children.

It is a crime.

The whole world is a constant competition of who can do the best and the most work before they turn eighteen.

Who can prepare themselves the best?

Who can compete with a single minded, computer-like, shit-for-brains, kid, who's been forced to take Mandarin and Violin lessons since he could say Ni Hao?

More importantly, who wants to?

That is the modern world at its highest point.

It is almost funny to think that in fifty years, we will be the same as we used to be.

Except it isn't.

There are suicides that occur because of this.

Some can't take it. They don't quit. They are worked until they die.

Whats more is that the synthetic child has become a fad in recent days amongst adults.

It is not just one poor, suffering child that's in the race. It's thousands.

"Modern" Civilization is a joke. It is a machine.


This may seem more like a tirade then a thought process, but that is because there is an eye to every hurricane.


When it's all said and done, you can look back and say you gave it your all. And while you may be working two jobs to pay for your college education, it's a hell of a lot better then working three to raise a child.

And you did it without breaking the law, without cheating, and with a life.

You could almost say you were one of the few who stayed away from the greed and the selfishness.

Keep Going.

We Need Change?

It is almost funny how so few people can cause so much evil for so many others.

Even in the democratic society of the United States, a very very small percentage of its people choose to go to war when the time comes.

But when blamed for the death and destruction of thousands and by extension the recession of the world economy as a whole, The Democracy replies with a simple, "you picked us... we just follow the rules".

So we blame the rules, but unfortunately, they were written by the people, for the people.

In some ways, every American crying out for change is a bit of a hypocrite.

The Settlers needed change. So they created it.

The Declaration of Independence

The Constitution of the United States

Nomadic tribes do not live as well as the modern American, at least from our founding fathers' points of view.

I am in no way criticizing President Elect Obama, nor any of his supporters.

I just find it somewhat humorous that the people attempting to end the war, have the same mindset as those who created the power to start it.

What do we do?

Well... we need to change of course.

Maybe we'll get lucky this time.