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.