Are you a dreamer?

We live in an imperfect world.  This is something that we eventually have to accept.  It does not mean that life can be made fair, that we can have a just society.  There is no such thing as natural justice--things happen based on cause and effect.  Granted, there are a lot of causes that bring about lots of effects, are skewed by other causes and effects, and skew other causes and effects.  But as a whole, the universe is rather logical.  So does that really mean we live in an imperfect world?  Yes, while nature is perfect and logical, humans are not.  Humanity corrupts the nature of nature.  It is the one great scourge upon life.

That is where we dreamers come into the picture.  We create.  We identify and seek.  We make things out of what was not there to begin with.  And that is a wonderful occurrence.  If not for dreamers, would life be worth living?  (Yes, yes it would.)

The true question is not 'what do dreamers do?'  It is not 'why would I want to be one?'  It is 'How can I become a dreamer?'  And the answer is that it is generally a natural thing--not something that can be emulated well.  Now, luckily we all have a natural capacity to dream.  But it is up to you to fulfill your dreams.  (BTW, that's how you become a dreamer--you strive for your dreams.)  Tata, I'm off to school for our last week this semester.

Lost

Fooly Cooly is my favorite anime ever.  It tops Avatar, Naruto, Bleach, DBZ, and even Bobobo bo bobobo.  It's about this kid named Nauta.  He gets hit by this alien girl, and then robots and stuff pop out of his head.  And I was watching the final episode of the 6-episode anime, but Megavideo decided that i had watched too much and cut me off.

Those bastard nazis.  Sorry  about the last post; i really hope you will still continue to read my mindless drivel.  I just wanted to let you all know that I am overstressed at the moment.  I have this university class that i am supposed to devote like 14 hours of my time to, and it's working out wonderfully (sarcasm--language of the weak).  I have 5 normal classes to keep up with, which wouldn't be that hard if i wasn't doing the university thing.  But i am, so yeah.  i have a research paper to do for english.  i have to worry about my ap tests, ACT tests, SAT tests, and a butt-load of other things.  I have to worry about school clubs, school activities, and grades.  I have soccer to do--which apparently has informed me that i am out of shape.  I have to improve my music tastes.  And on top of that, I have to worry about life.  About meaning.  Ooh voila; there's nothing there.  And so...

I'm in a heap.  Stuff on top of me, stuff below me, and i can't help but wonder if there is a giant mouth somewhere below me, chomping all this stuff into little tiny bits.  I would like to go into some interesting imagery to describe just how i feel, but that would take too long.  So uh, stfu.  Leave me alone.  (if i had to do the imagery, it would be of a jail-cell and me acting like tom sawyer--because i am so frazzled that i cannot decide which plan to go with, huck finn ftw).  The worst part of it is that i'm doing it alone.  All of it, there isn't a person that i can confide in and be happy about my self-centered life with.
Do you ever stop to wonder if life is just a dream?  If we are all just fermenting in an egg--until we have lived every possible life and at once become GOD?  I kind of do.

I can’t help but wonder if there’s some moon inside me, spinning and shifting without my consent, making here over there and over there here,and I’m afraid I’ll end up rolling out, beyond the lifeguard stand, up and over the dunes and into the parking lot, sprawling into the roads, unearthing houses and lampposts, drowning children I’ve knocked from their bikes. I stare at the farthest reaches of the tallest trees, jutting up like the tips of an explosion, and I imagine touching them but it feels all wrong, like fingering the corners of my heart–somewhere that shouldn’t be touchable, a place that shouldn’t be reached. And wherever that is, I know that’s where I am. -Everything I’m Cracked Up To Be

But then again, i don't.  I'm just a helpless 17-year old.  I don't care about people (lie)--and they only sometimes give a rat's ass about me.  And then, i just pity, pity, pity.  It's my only function anymore (lie).  And it just gets so hard sometimes.  Be calm, be calm (quote?).  So i follow my rut lines.  And i trap myself by conditioning myself to think morbidly, self-centeredly,  and "analytically".  And it's shit.  Vie du merde.  Yeh, profanity.  Get used to it.  Don't get used to it.  Be Holden Caufield.  See that "F" "U" "C" "K" and erase it.  Get so flaming mad that you want to kill whoever wrote it.  Be a righteous NAZI!!!!  or a righteous fox--whatever the hell that means.  Be happy.  Be happy.  Be happy.  Be healthy.  Be happy Be happy be happy be happy behappybehappybehappybehappy.  What about the mold?  No just do what i say. 

Even with freedom, even with thought, all the world is still not yours.  Your mind is not even your own.  You should be happy.   You shouldn't be told to be happy.  Agg, this silence is killing me.  Come on.  Come on.  What's it not to you.  I don't know.  I've lost my thunder.  I just don't get the product anymore.  It's like i've calculated the sum--and im unwilling to pay it.  So i go for lower quality--and that may as well be the lowest possible.  Ahhhhh,,  so many thoughts.  They are took control.  I are can't think.  Not are in the way that i want.

Mitchell Heisman

Article about it

IT

So, I think that I should read this.  But, I do not like reading big huge books that I can only access as .pdfs.  What i've read so far is kind of... AWEsome.  But i don't want to read 1905 pages...

Uncertain of uncertainty, skeptical of skepticism, it seems
that the most important question is whether there is an
important question. The only serious question is whether
there is anything to take seriously. What has previously been
considered of value or importance appears as only an
expression of myth, bias…error.

 And then of course.

We open the successive doors in Bluebeard’s castle because
“they are there,” because each leads to the next by a logic of
intensification which is that of the mind’s own awareness of
being. To leave one door closed would be not only
cowardice but a betrayal—radical, self-mutilating—of the
inquisitive, probing, forward-tensed stance of our species.
We are hunters after reality, wherever it may lead. The risk,
the disasters incurred are flagrant. But so is, or has been
until very recently, the axiomatic assumption and a priori of
our civilization, which holds that man and truth are
companions, that their roads lie forward and are
dialectically cognate….We cannot turn back. We cannot
choose the dreams of unknowing. We shall, I expect, open
the last door in the castle even if it leads, perhaps because it
leads, onto realities which are beyond the reach of human
comprehension and control. We shall do so with that
desolate clairvoyance, so marvelously rendered in Bartók’s
music, because opening doors is the tragic merit of our
identity.

This stuff is pretty interesting.  See, this is how i want to spend my hours.  Reading, proliferating knowledge or examination, speculating.  Not just constantly following the rules of a society.  It is a selfish desire, but do you think we could perhaps stop the equivocating--at least for certain people?  I don't want any change.  I truly don't.  But i have to question.  And analyze.  And sift.  So that I can be power.  So that I can distinguish.  So that I can.

I want new.  I don't want, "Oh, you have to check yourself based on this event/phenomenon/rule."  I want creativity.  I want imagination.  I want the right-brain, uncentrifuged by the left-brain; then I want the left-brain.  Stop taking from the ism and start feeding your own ism.  But make sure it isn't an ism.  Make sure that you don't tie it down.  Make sure that it can live on its own--with the back-up of the national internationality of self.  Let it draw from every idea, ever.  Let it so remain.  Then let it be destroyed.  Let water into it, and have it degrade.  Let the sun melt it, turn it white, and nourish.  Let the flies have it.  Then make a new one.  Then decide that you want the old one back.  Clean it up a bit.  Then decide on the other, of whichever other you have.  Then merge the two.  And repeat.  Invent.