SHH

I think I've swallowed just about all of my foolish pride. I specify foolish pride for a reason because I still tend to think that I have plenty of pride left. Just not so much foolish pride, those are pigheaded stances I like to take on silly arbitrary things that I think are just dumb. Really though, me "taking a stance" on them is probably the dumb thing, which is why those are my foolish pride moments. I think ive gotten to the point though where I've argued so many of them and I just ended up swallowing them because they're stupid, a waste of time, or because it wasn't fun to argue about anymore. I've done it a lot, and last night I did it again. The formerly long list of things I felt entitled to argue about is getting progressively quite smaller, to the point where I really dont have much left to arbitrarily argue about. Then what the hell am I going to do?

Bird Gerhl

I really have nothing to say except, I wish I could fly.

I Was Meant For The Stage

I really do live one of those dramatic, screwed up television- show lives. People who listen to backwards, simpering tales of my life and use barrowed ears to hear some of the things that go on in the Heusel household blame these so-called "fallacies" on simplicities such as irradic adolescent behavior and teenage whims for attention. Most commonly I hear, is the belief that all teenagers are melodramatic and tend to "make a mountain out of a molehill." Honestly, the fight I-- WE (Erik and I) are fighting is a battle without mercy or humanity; driving a 46 year old woman to a fro to places because she is too drunk to do it herself is hardly the usual menial taskwork an 18 year old teenager does. Being told that anything we care for or feel for or love is meaningless to her, and, even less meaingless to us is the possessions and monetary statuates that she holds over our heads each and every day. What she does not understand, what she will never understand, is that we could care less about money or items or things, we want love; we just want our own mother to care for us like a mother should. To take into account our feelings, to understand that things are still really hard for us, and that we want to be there for her, but how can we, when she won't let us. The saddest part about this whole thing is that she could read this right now, and still feel no remorse or pain and even if she did she would not handle it like a mature adult and she might even slam the door and yell about how selfish we are, to, heaven help us, tarnish her snooty country club reputation. And she wonders why we have no respect for her. How can we respect someone who cannot respect themself. Stumbling in every night in a state of drunken stupor and letting her kids do virtually anything they want hardly qualifies for mother of the year award. Things could be worse and we do have a lot to be thankful for; we can accompish our tasks without the normal restrictions that parents give to their kids and yet, sometimes I wish she could just put her foot down and tell me no. Things have not progressed much since my dad died, and I miss him more and more each day. People say I'm making him proud and stuff, but the hard facts are that he is gone. There is nothing I can do on this earthly world that he can percieve and see or care about, although I wish that wasn't the case. I will be very sad on days like graduation and my college acceptance letter coming in the mail because these are dates he and I planned for many years. I will especially miss him at my wedding, I had always hoped in my mind that even if he had to roll in a wheel-chair to take me down the isle, I would walk it as slow as he needed, as long as he was holding my hand the whole way. There are innumerable things I want to say to him, that I should have said to him, but I have to keep a stiff upper-lip and remain steady and dependable for my brother, because if he can't count on anyone how can I live knowing i'm letting him down just like my mother.

The Meaning of Pi

Lately, I have felt alone in a huge school of people. I used to take refuge in it, and now i am finding it tedious and stressful just to sit in the same room as some of these same people. It's amazing how you think you know who your friends are, and their character, and their abilities; I am quickly finding out that I have a lot less friends than I originally thought. It makes me very sad, but I'm tired of trying so hard--- too hard to be involved in their crap. I'm tired of trying to push my way into their circle. For the longetst time I've always thought that I belonged in a certain group, but I am very much realising that most of them could give less than a rat's about me. People I thought that I would intially be friends with always, have turned their back on me, and chosen others, that, while they may be "cool" betray them on a daily basis. I sit in quiet agony, smiling and laughing, but I'm feeling terribly miserable inside. I don't much like quitting, but I give up on these people; until they realise that I AM a valuable friend, I won't waste my time feeling inadequate. I do feel like pi though, in that respect, alone on a raft with nothing but death at its heels and death sitting just opposite of him, staring with quiet malice. But I won't fret, because I know that the sea holds secrets that not even the fish can whisper about.

From Norway with Love

You helped people because it was right to help them. Because life was the most precious, the most beautiful and most mysterious thing there was, and where there was pain or suffering or danger, you wanted to stop it, because it was detrimental to life. But that was just an explanation too, albeit a closer one to the truth. Compassion couldn’t be explained. Like altruism, and love, and charity. People risked or sacrificed thing for another, without reason or logic, and in some way that defied explanation it was noble, and good, and perfect.

But how could you explain all that to someone who didn’t understand emotions?

Hey Jude

Death never looks how you expect it to; whether in movies or on TV, it's all really generic. This is not so bad, but obviously there is no ballad playing in the background, no onlookers feeling sorry for you. It's all just very simple. I went downstairs, and my knees were shaking so bad, not because I was particularly sad-- shock had taken a grip on me, but I was afraid of a body, a body I had known my entire life and longer still-- but they were knocking nonetheless, and I could hardly get down the stairs. Turning around the corner, he seemed perfectly alive, just sleeping. But death's facade is tricky, and in the state of not wanting to believe it, I feined ignorance. I will tell you though, it is a still that no other void, not even space could possibly account for. It's more than just quiet and alone-- it's knowing that you aren't alone but with someone who you know and love, and they arent quite there. You realize, you really realize that physical characteristics are so unworthy of the soul, because essentially, looking at my dad, it wasnt my dad, because he wasnt talking to me, telling me that the basement was too cold, or asking me how tennis was going. And it isnt just physical things, it's mental as well-- knowing that you just want to shake the crap out of them, make them wakeup, tell them they're being foolish, but it just grips you, and you turn away because that stillness will burn you like a rampant flame. If you are lucky enough to only have 1st or 2nd degree burns, you can get out without it consuming you, but if you fall into the fire, it will turn you into ash and you will surely blow into the wind, your many particles becoming unfathomable and unrecognized by anyone. And so it happens that death is different than any kind of wind, or flame, or water-- it is an element in it's own, and only the most stable of statures can seek comfort while knowing the finality of it. These people are the ones that will not let it turn them, or most importantly, their hearts into earth's most solitary element, stone.

a clean slate, hopefully the first of many.