Today, today, today...

I didn't sleep last night; my thoughts were racing pretty much constantly. I wrote a paper on the Romantic poet Coleridge. When I couldn't concentrate I typed my thoughts in a separate word document. Here's what happened.

For me anarchy is less of a political belief and more of a state of mind. Anarchy means living for yourself; it means not believing anything just because you are told. Anarchy means owning who you are and improving yourself with every ounce of your being. Anarchy means freedom. The only problem with Anarchy is that it requires a lot from every person on Earth.

Every time I take adderall I urge to pick up a pair of sticks. The jitteriness and inability to keep my mind focused on one solid thought reminds me of beating the shit out of a drum. Percussion was such an impact on my life in high school; being a part of the marching band gave me the most solid identity. Even to this day (I haven’t drummed in at least two years) I still drum and make beats on everything around me. It’s been ingrained into my personality, and was my introduction to performing music. It scares me to think how something that used to be so important to me has now disintegrated to nothing more than a nervous habit.

If I were to write songs, they would all be lies; I would simply tell stories in my lyrics. They would have no relation to my life—simply a collection of thought for thoughts sake. I would pour that part of myself that I can’t live in my day to day; the crazy, radical, revolutionary ideals that cannot be uttered within the normal constrains of society. I would live the fake life I can’t achieve by making music.

First semester of sophomore year was one of fuck ups. I hardly went to class, I took too many drugs and didn’t seem to care what direction my life was taking. During the depression I blamed many people for whatever troubles I’ve had; I blamed my teachers for my poor grades, the people around me for my depression, and external stress for my excessive partying. I honestly believed these delusions I had constructed in my mind. Upon reflection I realized my fallacy; there is nobody in this world (with few exceptions) you can blame for your life but yourself. If I had done the reading for class, I would have learned, if I had been honest with the people around me I wouldn’t have felt as trapped, and if I hadn’t been running from my problems, I would not have had to turn to vices. Make the most the madness of life and learn from your fuck ups.

Shoes are exactly like life. When you first get them they are fresh and new like a baby; everybody notices them and appreciates them for their beauty. Compliments are constructed and for a brief period of time both shoes and babies are incredibly renowned for their novelty and innocence. Time goes on and both shoes and life get a little dirty. They get beat up by time and slowly fall apart and become ugly. However, there reaches a point in life and shoes when something amazing happens; after all the hardships both gain something very important: integrity. When this point is reached suddenly both become cool again. Past mistakes and grievances are forgiven and shoes and life is once again adored; only this time it’s for what they’ve seen instead of what they haven’t.

“A job is something you can’t stand. I love to read, I love to write, I love to play video games, I love music, I love to organize, I love comics, cartoons, and anime. I hate to work and would never want to make any of these things my career. My dream job is something between the hours of nine to five and that’s it. I want to be able to dream about coming home and doing what I love; I don’t want to be doing what I love at work. No matter how much you love your job it’s nothing but a job, a way to make money.
I want work to be mindless; I want my mind to wonder while I work. Education is work. I study the field that interests me, but I refuse to learn something that I love. Education is structured, and passion is anything but structured. Passion is learned through experience—and not in a class. Because of class I notice faults in authors I used to deem flawless; meaningless, minuscule grammatical flaws now bother me. Because of education I over analyze. An incorrect dash, a period that should have been a semicolon, and a comma that shouldn’t be there, and I am no longer enthralled. The rules that writers must follow—arbitrary to the novel as a whole—distance me from the author and their work.
In the world of literature everything is a symbol for something else. Elm trees symbolize hope, fruit is ALWAYS sex, a woman sewing means she’s faithful, birch trees are hard working—even though they never sweat—everything means sex, except for sex—that means submission. So many symbols, I can’t remember them all, how can the author? How is it possible for every author throughout the history of all written language keep them all straight?”

I wrote this a year ago—my opinion has changed. I feel like this year (and the past few weeks especially) I’ve matured greatly. I now want my life to have more meaning. I do not want to live day by day in a job where I only wait to go home. I want to have an impact on the world; I want to produce something that will influence a stranger. The thought of someone I never knew picking up the fruition of my creative labors and gathering meaning from it fills me with hope. I want to help somebody work through the trials of life. If there is an afterlife and I can look down on the world and see somebody remember me after my death, my soul can know it has a reason to exist.
Also, I tried was too hard to use dashes.

Blarg

Every time I look at a book I haven't read I get a little weirded out. To be confronted with such an outrageous amount of knowledge I have not acquired fills me with unslaking determination. Unfortunately what usually happens is I will announce a war on literature and read all I can; this is perfect until I get burnt out. I can only be a reading machine for so long before I start to need some extra stimuli. I'll cut back on reading, but eventually the cycle will begin.
Today campus police showed up at my door at 9:00 in the morning. We were all asleep so he fucking keyed into my apartment. There was beer in our recycling. We're all kind of fucked. Everyone in the apartment is going to have to deal with school bullshit now.

Grooooooood

Today was a really excellent day!
I woke up at 9:30 to a beautiful day; and bummed around for a little bit, and leisurely did homework. I went to class and actively participated, also got to pay my housing deposit! In my backpacking class I went on a hike through some trails I'd never been to before, and after went to get ice-cream with Becca. At the dorms I rolled a blunt for the first time, and it went really well; to smoke it friendships and I went back to the hiking spot. Smoking proceeded. Got lost on the way back, got food, and at the dorms watched "The Shining." Now here I am listening to the Misfits. I had a really awesome day.
Whenever it appears that some higher power decided to perfectly throw together the events of my day, at the end I like to take a step back and appreciate. Elite Beat Agents is calling...

Coffee and Cigarettes

I am tired. Really, really tired. My attitude, energy, and life force are crawling away from me in an exiguous fashion. My throat hurts and I can barely walk. I feel old and my back aches. I've only been back in Salem for so long and already more has happened than I was ready for. I wouldn't change it for the world.
On Monday my friends and I drove around three hours to Vermont trying to get to Maine. We pulled across that state border, ate Pizza Chef and drove home. We left Quechee, Vermont around 8 o'clock, and arrived in Salem, MA less than two hours later. We needed beer and the stores were closing; we made it.
That very Monday I had an essay due, but obviously I was not able to complete/start it on time. I got up at 7:50 in the am, planned on spending all day Tuesday going to class and writing that paper; neither happened. Early in the evening I planned on pulling an all nighter, which I did. I didn't start the essay until 6 o'clock in the morning, and took about an hour long break at 7. I wrote it until class at 11. I got out of class and finished the essay. I printed it out and handed it in. Then, I went to my new backpacking class. It seems really rad and one of my friends decided to join in with me.
I've been up for 31 hours and am running on nothing but pure will. It's a beautiful day out, and I can only wait to see what the night will bring. I love all my friends.

Sometimes I feel more like Josef K. than I can handle.

"...it's in the nature of this judicial system that one is condemned not only in innocence but also in ignorance." Franz Kafka has more wisdom than he is given credit for.
The other day my mother took me to a very nice used book store in New Hampshire. My original quest was for some poetry, specifically that of William Blake(the reigning champion of the Romantic period in my humble opinion). Unfortunately I was unsuccessful in obtaining my Blake, but I was able to get some Coleridge, one of Blake's Romantic contemporaries, and some Alexander Pope, mater of neoclassicism. My poetic hunger satiated, I turned my eye to the novel; however, the inconceivable amount of literature that surrounded me began to make me anxious. After trying desperately to find a new author with absolutely no ground to stand on, I turned back to an old high school favorite I have not visited for quite some time: Franz Kafka. While looking at the stores Praguian selection I found a book I read senior year, The Trial. Although the book was the subject of a MASSIVE research paper I did on Kafka, I couldn't recall any of the details of the book, so I decided to pick it up. I remember why I love Franz Kafka.
His prose is at the same time overtly realistic and surreal. Mixing the drudgery of day to day existence with sudden bursts of dream like situations passed off as normalcy his novels the language of a true manic-depressant. With the mere 50 pages I have read Kafka has once again claimed the throne as favorite author. I can't wait to finish this novel and begin another of his.
Lately I've been going through a very big "classical" music phase. I use quotation marks because not everything labeled as "classical" in society truly is. Bela Bartox is not classical music, Aaron Copland is not classical music, even Bach is not classical, but they all come up as so in my iTunes, and technology is king. My father also introduced me to a new artist Daniel Johnston. Very beautiful folk music it is. I've decided to steal his complete discography. It should be done downloading in less than an hour. Thank you, BitTorrent 6.4.

All you will ever be to me is the word "Stranger" in red font.

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow--I am not excited. I generally hate people touching me for extended periods of time, and the fact that an oral hygienist will be probing the inside of my mouth for at least twenty minutes tomorrow fills me with anxiety to the point of insomnia. I need to get up in approximately four hours, but instead of sleeping I'm listening to Beethoven and writing this blog. Such is life.
I used to think that I hated how integrated the internet was in modern life. I have come to realize, however, how much I adore it. Facebook practically rules my life, I don't know what I would do without wikipedia and Google Books is slowly becoming a daily visit. I frequent Omegle, I'm blogging more regularly, stumbling is the only sport I practice, and it's only a matter of time before I succumb to the horrors of twitter and other mass social online experiments. It's ironic how the internet brings millions of people who would never have met any other way, but the experience is so impersonal I wonder if it is even worth it. I (like anybody else in my age group) have "met" people on line through various social networking site. I'll never know these people, won't even talk to them again. Is the internet worth the disintegration of our species social skills? Yeah, probably.

Not As Long As I'm Still Broke And Breathing

I was very productive today. I did my homework. I cleaned my room. I walked to the store. I cleaned my room. I cleaned the bathroom sink. I cleaned my room. I organized my papers. I cleaned my room. I smoked a blunt. I was very productive today.

The Nature of Rebellion

I am an anarchist through and through. I think politicians are a hindrance on my life and the progression of society. I refuses to vote, and every chance I get I proclaim my exclusive declaration of independence; I am independent from society, from others ideals, from authority and from myself. I wash my hands of cultural norms and expectations. Having immersed myself into this philosophy I have had much time to think of rebellion and the nature of people who hold it close to their hearts, and I've come to a conclusion: we're all assholes.
Every rebellious person (myself included) has not the ideals we think. We do not rebel because we hate truly hate government, society, or any of their implications. We rebel because we are insurrectionary. If we lived in chaos every anarchist would be a democrat. We go against the majority rule because it is our base nature.
It has already begun to happen. In the 2004 presidential election, a new political movement began to take hold: conservative punk. In an Aristotelian effort, I tried to "entertain [this] thought without accepting it." At first I had trouble; this train of thought left me confused. I couldn't understand how a counter culture's ideals could co-exist so fervently with basic cultural ideals. Trying still to understand the meaning behind this movement, I continued my research. I found that conservative punk started with punks who angered by liberals. They rebelled against what was a societal norm within the punk movement, and created their own movement. This epiphany allowed me to entertain their philosophy, but I could never accept it.
I hate government because my misanthropic feelings manifest themselves as anarchy. I recognize this, and I accept it. Let's build a revolution and tear down the government until even that angers us; then let us build government from scratch, only to tear it down again. Let's eat nothing but rice and water, until those become delicacy; then let us eat nothing but steak and potatoes. I guess I'm just a Jacobin.

Omegle, anyone?

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You: CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW
You: That is the war cry of the Pterodactyl, T-Rex, Velociraptor cross breed
You: You have been marked
You: The only question I have for you is do you wanted to be fucked before or after I eat you?
Stranger: i rather not be eaten
You: Mortal, I created this universe so I could fuck and eat everything within it
You: I created you
You: Your purpose is to be fucked and eaten by me
Stranger: uhm, and you know this because?
You: BECAUSE I AM THE PTERODACTYL, T-REX VELOCIRAPTOR CROSS BREED
Stranger: are you sure about that?
You: MORTAL you anger me
You: But I like your style
You: Will you join my cult?
Stranger: im not much of a cult person
You: Well then you will be ate and fucked
Stranger: i think you need Jesus in your life. He is the way the truth and the life.
You: I've met Jesus
Stranger: oh really?
You: I fucked him while I ate his face
Stranger: that is so wrong
You: He loved what was happening in his ass, but hated what was happening to his face
Stranger: wow that is really distrubing
Stranger: disturbing*
You: I told you, all life was purt here by me to be fucked and ate by me
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

You see all the stars and bars?! THAT means democracy.

I'm sitting here at midnight, about to start watching South Park, eating reheated frozen pizza. I'm not here because I want to.

I gave blood today and ran into people from my past. One of them I've done a pretty fair job of staying in touch with, and the other I haven't talked to since I graduated, about a year and a half ago. It was nice, they're both very good people. Haven't given blood in a while, and it always fills me with that nice warm feeling you get out of helping somebody. I was thinking about why I (or anybody) gives blood and it made me realize that there is no such thing as a selfless act; everybody is driven by their own desires in every aspect of life. If giving blood didn't give me that warm feeling, I wouldn't do it. Even the things we pretend we hate to do are not selfless. If a person truly hated doing something the bottom line is they wouldn't.

I downloaded insane amounts of Lady Gaga remixes today. It was awesome. I got the LMFAO remix of Love Game, two dubstep versions of her tunes, and a remix with Marilyn Manson of Love game. Also got the LMFAO remix of Katy Perry's Hot N Cold. So, needless to say a good day for my iTunes.

Besides doing that I didn't really get around to doing anything. I rocked out and got ready for the day, then I kind of sat around watching trashy television until I went to the library. Read until I donated blood than read some more. Boring, eh?

Bottles bite back

Salutations my vast imaginary audience. Today I became a man and reported to jury duty. After a lot of sitting, herding, more sitting, watching a lame education movie, and more sitting I was finally put in front of a judge to determine whether or not I could serve as a "fair and impartial juror." Turns out I can't and was immediately dismissed. The man was charged with sexually abusing his step daughter; the man was also guilty of being from Orange, Mass. When His Honor was questioning me he asked if I knew anybody who was either victim or defendant in a similar crime. Sadly, I can truthfully say yes. The judge excused me, thinking my past experience may cause biased. No matter how flagitious the defendant's charges, he deserves a fair trial, I s'pose. Hopefully the onus of proving this man guilty was not too much for the prosecution.

Once I was dismissed, I was let loose into the streets of Greenfield where there's nothing for a young man to do. I walked around, bought some cigarettes, smoked a few, and then looked around. Made another f.y.e. trip; bought the Lady Gaga LP. So fucking happy. I already knew all the songs off it, but that doesn't change the fact that Lady Gaga is an amazing fucking free bitch.
After doing that I...went into every store open. I looked at some actually pretty cool board games in this nerd shop. Smoked more cigs, bought coffee, and it was about 2:45. I got a call that my father would pick me up and to meet him at Walgreens. I walked to Walgreens and lounged in the store for like an hour, and then waited outside. It was kind of cold but not really. My dad came a little after 4, and I went home finally. Oh, and I had a Ruben sandwich for lunch. It was good.

At home I didn't do fucking anything but rock out to Gaga and put away clothes than waste time on my computer, which I'm continuing to do. I'll write more tomorrow, you sexy fucking bitch.

What's said is done

^for those who want to lol


Jury duty tomorrow-8 o'clock. Argh. On the plus side I've made a positive decision in my life to drastically cut back on cigarettes. No longer will I be a pack-a-day slave! I've been managing on two a day, but the real test will be whether or not I keep it up in school. I feel like I can do it, and maybe someday quit all together. That would be nice, eh?

Today was good, I got some bitchin' music. A media store in Keene is going out of business so e'rything was half off. I got an Against Me! cd of demos off As The Eternal Cowboy. It's only okay. A lot of the songs sound just like they did on the final cut, but it was only 5 bucks and the songs that are different are well worth it. I got an Islands cd "Arms Way" as well. Much more satisfying than the Against Me! purchase. Very melodic, and they really expanded on what they did with their "Return to the Sea" effort. The vocals and lyrics are probably the most interesting part of the record. Nick Thorburn's voice is haunting. The last and favorite album was Something to Write Home About by The Get Up Kids. I've been a fan of The Get Up Kids for a while but have never actually purchased a cd. I am not disappointed at all. In fact, I'm thrilled. I can tell this is one of those albums that I could just listen to over and over again and never get sick of it. I would have to recommend it to anyone who likes good music.

Along with purchasing music I also watched a really great movie today; it was a Spanish horror move "The Orphanage" (El Orfanato). Really fantastically shot, and completely lacking in the lame cheep scares most horror movies rely on. The atmosphere is what caused the film to have such a creepy vibe to it. The only real complaint I have is that it was at times too visually dark and could make seeing each detail a little difficult.

I'm finally getting around to reading "Pride and Prejudice" and I'm happy with it. The prose is nearly flawless. It pisses me off that people can't write like they used to anymore. *sigh* to live in the glory days...

I need to get ready for everything that is going to happen tomorrow. Stay strong soldiers.

Blaaah

This is a sort of rehab for me; lately in my life I've been acting and reacting in ways unbecoming of myself. This blog will act as a way for me to make sure that I no longer walk down the path of a nebbish, repugnant, train-wreck. Through what I hope to be daily posts I will track my progress next semester and make sure to enjoin my wild side into a more controlled balanced human being. Also maybe start posting creative writing? We'll see, bear, we'll see.

Holiday break has been heart breaking. It's really made me realize how little of a life I have back in my hometown and how much I've committed myself to the North Shore and what an effect it's had on me as a person. I leave for college on the 19th and I honestly can't wait.

I need to go out and get a new c.d.; not just new to me but new to the world. I feel out-dated. I have jury duty all day on Monday, and will be stuck in Greenfield all day, so maybe I'll swing by f.y.e. if they're still open and pick something up...It'll need to be fresh, hip, and above all fly. May take a while to make a final decision, but hopefully it will be well worth it.