Bragging rights

I'm sorry, but I gotta.  We got our PSAT scores back today at school, and I scored a 224 out of 240.  That is in the 99th percentile.  I got a perfect score for the Maths section. So yay for Maths!  I've always loved Math.  I know many people hate it, but it is a constant for me.  So I likez it.

A recent idea has popped into my head because of Ladyluck.  I told her that I was happy because of ramen and the fact that I saw a show on tv that featured the quote, "James always used to tell me how happy he was to be gay."  The show is a downer because it is all about sex crimes (Law and Order: SVU), but the fact that he said it dreamily and after having stood up to his father made me happy.  Ladyluck told me that I could be that happy.  But I responded that I didn't really want to just declare it from the rooftops--partly because I don't want that to be THE defining characteristic of my life but also because it would just bring up so many hassles at this point in my life.  I know that a bunch of you probably hate that stance, but it's what works best for me.  I don't intend on pursuing much of any kind of relationship at this point in my life, and so it just wouldn't be wise.

I really am sorry; it wouldn't really be that big of a deal at all.  But now just isn't the right time.  I never really planned on being flamboyant.  And I just don't think that my sexuality is that important to tell if I am basically celibate for the time being.  I'm planning on coming out when I meet a guy that I want to make mine--and who will accept the situation.  Excluding that, it is doubtful that I'll be coming out to people much of any time soon.

So there.  Anyway.  "Mawwaige is wut bwings us togevvuh, today.  ...WWuuv, twoo wuvvvv".  I've always liked the idea of "to the pain."  And I have always liked the medieval setting.  Lawfulness and cleanliness would be totally rank, but otherwise, it would be somewhat fun (though it would probably inspire lots of sadism).  At least people wouldn't care that much about such trivialities as we do today.  They would be less tolerant, and life would probably be hell.  But otherwise, a medieval lifestyle seems fun.  Haha.  There is sarcasm in that.  I used to want to be a knight or a ninja or an archer.  The only one that I still want to be is an archer.  I've never really understood why more people didn't focus on archery rather than swordsmanship.  I mean, the sword does provide quite the frontal power, but archers can be so much more easily maneuvered. I guess that's why modern warfare focuses on guns and bombs.   They are so much more maneuverable than a stick or sword.  Gaalee I feel like a crappy, stupid, jack rabbit of a son of a biscuit.  Either berate me or praise me.  Don't ignore me.

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

  Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the face I wear

For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

Masks that I'm afraid to take off

And none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,

that all is sunny and unruffled with me,

within as well as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

that the water's calm and I'm in command

and that I need no one,

but don't believe me.

My surface may be smooth but

my surface is my mask,

ever-varying and ever-concealing.

Beneath lies no complacence.

Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

to help me pretend,

to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation,

my only hope, and I know it.

That is, if it is followed by acceptance,

If it is followed by love.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself

from my own self-built prison walls

from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me

of what I can't assure myself,

that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to. I'm afraid to.

  I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game

With a façade of assurance without

And a trembling child within.

So begins the glittering but empty parade of Masks,

And my life becomes a front.

I tell you everything that's really nothing,

and nothing of what's everything,

of what's crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine

do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

what I'd like to be able to say,

what for survival I need to say,

but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.

I don't like playing superficial phony games.

I want to stop playing them.

I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

but you've got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings --

very small wings,

but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me,

how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator --

of the person that is me

if you choose to.

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

you alone can remove my mask,

you alone can release me from the shadow-world of panic,

from my lonely prison,

if you choose to.

Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

The nearer you approach me

the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books may say about man

often I am irrational.

I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

and in this lies my hope.

  Please try to beat down those walls

with firm hands but with gentle hands

for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet

and I am every woman you meet.

       By Charles C. Finn

Have fun with life, but don't ignore needs.  Have a purpose is the one that stumps me.  I can't do it.  I feel apathetic so often.  It's like this new-fangled society is stealing away people to apathy and individualism.  It's creepy.  Life is creepy.


Life is like a Zelda game.  You are never allowed to talk, there are always so many secrets, and you can never save at the end.

Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get.

I have recently been signing my school papers as something like: Madison, the supreme hegemon ruler chancellor master and commander of Greater Normandy.  Life must be taken as a whole if we are to apply any sort of judgment.  However, that viewpoint is idealistic and not feasible in the real world.  So we base people on what they can do.  And it's crap.  In that aspect, life is crap.  Everything is crap.  The way to happiness is thereby barred and perfection is the staple requirement.  It drives me crazy.  Academia is slowly and surely training the so called "HONOR" students to be as ridiculously over the top about perfection as they can be.  That and the absence of a real working job is slowly training me to see life as worthless.  It kills me.  It really does.  They're all such fonies.  I can barely stand it.  Those people kill me.  A nun in a cafe at 3 am collecting money for little kids and not accepting my money when I offer it kills me.  I kept thinking about those nuns as the day went by.  I couldn't help it.  I really did want to give them more than I did.  I wonder if...  It kills me.  They're all such fonies.

Me, the great WE.  They, them, he, she, it, that one, that damn thing, that stupid idiot, that jackass, that asshole, I can't stand him.  I really shouldn't complain.  I'm pretty much liked by everybody.  I'm basically a hoss. (I'm really not though a lot of people do like me.)  My school is like an anomaly in that we don't have cliques.  There are groups of friends, but everyone is really just a kind heart.  They all get along at least somewhat.  There are people who butt heads, but the majority are pretty tolerant and idealistic.

Idealism, idealism, idealism.  Is there a concretism?  I guess that would be realism.  But I prefer romanticism to any of the above.