The creation of IggRSA IGBRAA, the location of interactive story network, the inclination to a new form of webcomic, the proclamation of a parallax scrolling adventure, all this and more to explore, so open up your doors and let your wings soar.
I have a website. That's what this post is really about. Here is the magical link that will teleport you to worlds unknown and take you to places far and wide:
http://199.254.168.244/
It's called IggRSA IGBRAA, because that's what the IP spells out in 13375p34k (LEETSPEAK).
You may find yourself entangled in an interactive story adventure or enraptured by new way of reading webcomics. You may even find yourself running into parallax scrolling if you look hard enough. Odds are, you'll at least have a little bit of fun. Oh, and there's also a poem for you to cringe at.
Monday, May 13, 2019
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Marriage Question
Hey, I haven't typed anything out on this blog in a while, so lets discuss marriage (ya, very smooth ainti?).
I know absolutely nothing about marriage save for the few results I've seen of other people's relationships, so I would probably be the worst marriage-guru ever, but I have something to say about it that I've never heard anyone say before (this could be because I've never read anything about marriage or talked to anyone about marriage, but I don't care). What I'm going to say is brief and could be worthless to you, but hear me out anyways. The only advice I would give to those who want to get married is to ask a single simple question before you do it:
If this person (that I want to marry) suddenly becomes really old while I remain my age right now, would I still feel the same way about him or her?
If the answer is yes, then obviously go get married, but if there's any sense of doubt in your heart, don't. If you really think you could spend the rest of your life with a person, then it shouldn't matter how old, weak, or ugly that person is or could become (put extra emphasis on "could become," for people seem to avoid thinking about that when they're "in the moment"). Your love for him or her should be deeper than appearance (this is the most cliche phrase I've ever said, but if you haven't considered this because of that, then you don't deserve anything, hahahahahaha)
So yeah, ask that question before you get married and maybe your marriage will last longer or some crazy claptrap like that. Good luck, and, to whoever actually reads this, hahahahaha I got you to think about marriage without you even knowing it. If you disagree with this, you only prove my point. Listen to the sound of mystery and relax. Heheheh. Goodbye.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Past Rough Essay Time!
With the mood of uninspiration haunting me, I'll show you a random essay draft I wrote that nothing in which got into the actual essay. Have fun interpreting the flying colors of bad words.
I feel inclined to write what I feel I should write about the things my thoughts provoke me to write by the abstract actings of my brain. The thoughts that linger here, covering many lingering topics letting miriads of subtopics linger from them like swingsets built an the hair of a human head haunt me with haunting messages whoes letters are hauntingly arranged to construct haunting words lining up into haunting sentences. The clarity of my thoughts in the time my hands, or rather fingers can move is like the clarity of a frozen car window in the early morning. I hope that, like a car window frozen in the morning, I will somehow be able to make clear the sight of my driven driving of expression, perhaps with a psuedo defrost button. I suppose we'll see. That was two sentences in one, wasn't it? I guess I'm getting more clear now. Yes, I feel like a superhero who just woke up from an arousing dream of pleasure and who is discomforted by the cold air that seems to prey on him as he takes off the covers. I don't know, you figure it out. I'm just the typer who is procrastinating in a creative way to clear his thoughts. I'm supposed to be writing an essay about Martin Luther King Jr. and Henry David Thoreau, it doesn't have to specifically be about them, but it has to do with the subjects they discuss. I decided, since I couldn't think of anything else, to do a comparance of the two, a sort of similarity search. In my findings its difficult to come up with examples of how they are similar in a way I know they are, but can't explain. I'm better then this. I'm gonna do some paragraph separation now, or when it is correct to do so.
My first click of inspiration for this essay came as I was writing a freewrite for it during class (something I can only enjoy doing when it's going nowhere for some reason). The idea blew up in my mind that I could discuss how Thoreau came up with the idea of civil disobedience, but didn't spread it very far because of his ethics. He wrote in his essay that he had better things to do with his time then actually stop slaver, but he didn't want to support it in any way either. So his resolve was to simply not pay the taxes to the state as long as it alowed slavery.
He published his little essay on some obscure paper that only upperclass smart asses who already believed that slavery was a sin of mankind were bound to read, and did read, and did agree with him. His objective was to convince those people to do what he did, ie stop supporting the things they didn't believe in; I suppose he succeeded in his mission, but what a minscule problem solver, huh? He was like a guy looking at deer hunters and jeering at them and promising that he wouldn't eat deer ever, but not doing anything to actually save the freaking dear, ie slaves.
I bet his readers had a ball with his freaking amazing intuition. They were probably like wow, that was quite interesting, and maybe I should stop supporting slavery by refusing to pay taxes, but I'll think about that later; lunchtime is soon, so...And they never thought about it again. See what I'm saying? That was probably their reaction to his little fiasco, the equivalent of watching a soap opera episode: you care for the characters for about thirty minutes, but then they die off. The minute you turn the tv off, it's basicaly over. Maybe it'll linger in your mind for a few extra minutes, but once you start doing some mind inducing task, it's gone. That's how I'm saying they reacted to his thing, to be a repetive asshole.
What I'm trying to say in my haphazardly typing is that Thoreau made no efforts to spread his ideas, to free the slaves, or to stop the war in mexico. He had other things to do (I know I said that already. Sue me.), like find out what it was like to live on his own. (what a fucking hypocrit) he claimed that people who cared not a drop were worse than people who cared a whole lot. I'm tired, so lets go on to the next subject. What I am doing here with this super long and unconstructed, probably longer than seven hundred words by now, essay is compare Thoreau with King in how they did action. Oh, one more thing, Thoreau claimed that action was important to bring about change, yet he only half did action to end the things he thought wrong; he ignored them and refused to support them, but didn't make an effort to resort them (I'm sorry, I think in rhymes because I'm a freaking musical artist 'saying freaking when I already said fucking, smooth.')
King, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Not only did he believe like Thoreau, that slavery was evil and separation was evil, but he preached his believes to every single being he could reach with his voice and his life. He was like the Jesus Christ of the twentieth century, for not only did he preach, but he told his followers to preach as well. He spread the word with every ounce of devotion he had in his soul, his mind, and his body. He truly fought for the cause he believed in, like a true soldier (true twice isn't so great now, is it?)
When he was sent to prison, he didn't linger about and think about "oh wow, I can hear sounds like its the middle ages and I've never heard my town like this." But he wrote a long letter explaining why his imprisonment was wrong and continuing to fight for his right and the right of his people. Even while in prison he fought. Thoreau stated that simply being in prison would get the governments attention, but King didn't stop there, he used every second of his time to bring about his cause and that's why he is considered a hero and Thoreau is just some lonley theorist. Yes, Thoreau does deserve to be credited and, yes he is a very advocate liear of (wait a minute). This is my filler of the day, great talking to you. Yes, he did start the idea, thus proving his own statement "If one person were to be against slavery, ie if there were one honest man in the world, slavery would end" He was right, and he was definitely that person as far as the provider of the means, but lets not forget that without people like Ghandi or King, his ideas, his beliefs would go nowhere and that's a fact.
And that's the end of that. Hopefully, I'll have something to actually write the next time. Heheheh. (I don't know, so don't ask!)
I feel inclined to write what I feel I should write about the things my thoughts provoke me to write by the abstract actings of my brain. The thoughts that linger here, covering many lingering topics letting miriads of subtopics linger from them like swingsets built an the hair of a human head haunt me with haunting messages whoes letters are hauntingly arranged to construct haunting words lining up into haunting sentences. The clarity of my thoughts in the time my hands, or rather fingers can move is like the clarity of a frozen car window in the early morning. I hope that, like a car window frozen in the morning, I will somehow be able to make clear the sight of my driven driving of expression, perhaps with a psuedo defrost button. I suppose we'll see. That was two sentences in one, wasn't it? I guess I'm getting more clear now. Yes, I feel like a superhero who just woke up from an arousing dream of pleasure and who is discomforted by the cold air that seems to prey on him as he takes off the covers. I don't know, you figure it out. I'm just the typer who is procrastinating in a creative way to clear his thoughts. I'm supposed to be writing an essay about Martin Luther King Jr. and Henry David Thoreau, it doesn't have to specifically be about them, but it has to do with the subjects they discuss. I decided, since I couldn't think of anything else, to do a comparance of the two, a sort of similarity search. In my findings its difficult to come up with examples of how they are similar in a way I know they are, but can't explain. I'm better then this. I'm gonna do some paragraph separation now, or when it is correct to do so.
My first click of inspiration for this essay came as I was writing a freewrite for it during class (something I can only enjoy doing when it's going nowhere for some reason). The idea blew up in my mind that I could discuss how Thoreau came up with the idea of civil disobedience, but didn't spread it very far because of his ethics. He wrote in his essay that he had better things to do with his time then actually stop slaver, but he didn't want to support it in any way either. So his resolve was to simply not pay the taxes to the state as long as it alowed slavery.
He published his little essay on some obscure paper that only upperclass smart asses who already believed that slavery was a sin of mankind were bound to read, and did read, and did agree with him. His objective was to convince those people to do what he did, ie stop supporting the things they didn't believe in; I suppose he succeeded in his mission, but what a minscule problem solver, huh? He was like a guy looking at deer hunters and jeering at them and promising that he wouldn't eat deer ever, but not doing anything to actually save the freaking dear, ie slaves.
I bet his readers had a ball with his freaking amazing intuition. They were probably like wow, that was quite interesting, and maybe I should stop supporting slavery by refusing to pay taxes, but I'll think about that later; lunchtime is soon, so...And they never thought about it again. See what I'm saying? That was probably their reaction to his little fiasco, the equivalent of watching a soap opera episode: you care for the characters for about thirty minutes, but then they die off. The minute you turn the tv off, it's basicaly over. Maybe it'll linger in your mind for a few extra minutes, but once you start doing some mind inducing task, it's gone. That's how I'm saying they reacted to his thing, to be a repetive asshole.
What I'm trying to say in my haphazardly typing is that Thoreau made no efforts to spread his ideas, to free the slaves, or to stop the war in mexico. He had other things to do (I know I said that already. Sue me.), like find out what it was like to live on his own. (what a fucking hypocrit) he claimed that people who cared not a drop were worse than people who cared a whole lot. I'm tired, so lets go on to the next subject. What I am doing here with this super long and unconstructed, probably longer than seven hundred words by now, essay is compare Thoreau with King in how they did action. Oh, one more thing, Thoreau claimed that action was important to bring about change, yet he only half did action to end the things he thought wrong; he ignored them and refused to support them, but didn't make an effort to resort them (I'm sorry, I think in rhymes because I'm a freaking musical artist 'saying freaking when I already said fucking, smooth.')
King, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Not only did he believe like Thoreau, that slavery was evil and separation was evil, but he preached his believes to every single being he could reach with his voice and his life. He was like the Jesus Christ of the twentieth century, for not only did he preach, but he told his followers to preach as well. He spread the word with every ounce of devotion he had in his soul, his mind, and his body. He truly fought for the cause he believed in, like a true soldier (true twice isn't so great now, is it?)
When he was sent to prison, he didn't linger about and think about "oh wow, I can hear sounds like its the middle ages and I've never heard my town like this." But he wrote a long letter explaining why his imprisonment was wrong and continuing to fight for his right and the right of his people. Even while in prison he fought. Thoreau stated that simply being in prison would get the governments attention, but King didn't stop there, he used every second of his time to bring about his cause and that's why he is considered a hero and Thoreau is just some lonley theorist. Yes, Thoreau does deserve to be credited and, yes he is a very advocate liear of (wait a minute). This is my filler of the day, great talking to you. Yes, he did start the idea, thus proving his own statement "If one person were to be against slavery, ie if there were one honest man in the world, slavery would end" He was right, and he was definitely that person as far as the provider of the means, but lets not forget that without people like Ghandi or King, his ideas, his beliefs would go nowhere and that's a fact.
And that's the end of that. Hopefully, I'll have something to actually write the next time. Heheheh. (I don't know, so don't ask!)
Monday, March 21, 2011
Mina
I have something to say, obviously something that's worth typing, but anything's worth typing, right? Am I right that I can type anything I want and this little spot on some stupid website will accept it and hold it until it decides to abandon it because the profit it garners doesn't make ends meet? I think I am. Did I tell you anything of any value yet? No, but who cares. I didn't have anything to say to begin with. Umm. Lets see what else I can say to force the text onto the freaking buzz.
May the force be with you. Star Wars, known by nearly every human being on this side of the planet (America, if you didn't already know), created a thousand seventy-one worthless jobs for a million seventy-thousand worthless people. When it hit those awesome screens in that awesome year, people exited those theater doors ready to do some work, but there was none to do, none that they could recognize with their tiny little brains, anyways. Finding nothing to be done in plain sight, each of them walked his or her own way to a sofa and sat for the rest of life, pondering how cool those ships looked when they blew up the death star. This being a normal thing, or perhaps not normal then, but predictable now, as could be the case with any other medium or noun for that matter unless false data pervades every sector, people became normal by watching the lovely space romance.
In reality, everyone cheered when it was over because they were bored out of their minds and glad that they could finally leave from the prisonous seats that they had been forced into and chained by law to remain within for the entire length of the film, George Lucas you dog, that buzzed them with electricity whenever they made a sad face. Yes, they were not filled with excitement for a few colors on an incredibly fast flashing machine, but for the reason every human seems to get excited: freedom. Freedom from those damned seats that were uncomfortable as cacti filled them with the energy and enthusiasm for that treadnaught of a film.
No one man today can stand alone saying that he hates Star Wars without a thousand STAR WARriors jumping instantly to defend it, but does it matter in the slightest? Not at all. Am I making little to no sense? Perhaps, but you've read this far, so you might as well continue. I mean, what have you got to loose? Nothing, absolutely nothing, you worthful reader. I need you to really focus on the next paragraph because it's going to make the most sense out of all of them; perhaps it'll even make everything you just read understandable; perhaps it will connect all of it into a beautiful web of beliefs unbreakable by any force short of a complete mental overhaul. However, I am terrible at this blogging thing, so don't get your hopes up. But I got your hopes up, didn't I? Oops. Guess you'd better pay more attention.
This whole post has been complete nonsense. Wouldn't you agree? It was probably a complete waste of your time, amirite? Now, you have to read the rest, for if you don't, what was the point of reading all that up there (did I already say that?). Here is where the words start to "get interesting." Did you ever see that movie, did? 'Twas spelled with a lower case d for a reason, I would assume. You know what I'm really talking about, right? RIGHT? RIGHT!? Can you hear the words yet? Do certain words in this paragraph sound louder in your head than certain others. I'd certainly hope so. Well, I guess this is the end of the line, eh, mister? Do I make myself clear? I certainly hope I do. You must've had some fun by now, right. Try selecting the text with your mouse; it kind of looks like a sound wave, a very blocky one, but whatever. Have fun with your life and be free and clear in your mind of what you want.
Ciao!
May the force be with you. Star Wars, known by nearly every human being on this side of the planet (America, if you didn't already know), created a thousand seventy-one worthless jobs for a million seventy-thousand worthless people. When it hit those awesome screens in that awesome year, people exited those theater doors ready to do some work, but there was none to do, none that they could recognize with their tiny little brains, anyways. Finding nothing to be done in plain sight, each of them walked his or her own way to a sofa and sat for the rest of life, pondering how cool those ships looked when they blew up the death star. This being a normal thing, or perhaps not normal then, but predictable now, as could be the case with any other medium or noun for that matter unless false data pervades every sector, people became normal by watching the lovely space romance.
In reality, everyone cheered when it was over because they were bored out of their minds and glad that they could finally leave from the prisonous seats that they had been forced into and chained by law to remain within for the entire length of the film, George Lucas you dog, that buzzed them with electricity whenever they made a sad face. Yes, they were not filled with excitement for a few colors on an incredibly fast flashing machine, but for the reason every human seems to get excited: freedom. Freedom from those damned seats that were uncomfortable as cacti filled them with the energy and enthusiasm for that treadnaught of a film.
No one man today can stand alone saying that he hates Star Wars without a thousand STAR WARriors jumping instantly to defend it, but does it matter in the slightest? Not at all. Am I making little to no sense? Perhaps, but you've read this far, so you might as well continue. I mean, what have you got to loose? Nothing, absolutely nothing, you worthful reader. I need you to really focus on the next paragraph because it's going to make the most sense out of all of them; perhaps it'll even make everything you just read understandable; perhaps it will connect all of it into a beautiful web of beliefs unbreakable by any force short of a complete mental overhaul. However, I am terrible at this blogging thing, so don't get your hopes up. But I got your hopes up, didn't I? Oops. Guess you'd better pay more attention.
This whole post has been complete nonsense. Wouldn't you agree? It was probably a complete waste of your time, amirite? Now, you have to read the rest, for if you don't, what was the point of reading all that up there (did I already say that?). Here is where the words start to "get interesting." Did you ever see that movie, did? 'Twas spelled with a lower case d for a reason, I would assume. You know what I'm really talking about, right? RIGHT? RIGHT!? Can you hear the words yet? Do certain words in this paragraph sound louder in your head than certain others. I'd certainly hope so. Well, I guess this is the end of the line, eh, mister? Do I make myself clear? I certainly hope I do. You must've had some fun by now, right. Try selecting the text with your mouse; it kind of looks like a sound wave, a very blocky one, but whatever. Have fun with your life and be free and clear in your mind of what you want.
Ciao!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Inspiration Deprived
Okay, I'm really angry right now, so I'm just gonna type what I feel, type away my woes and worries and get myself inspired again through the tried and true method of self-motivation. Wish me luck, and beware that this blog post probably won't be very readable by the time it's finished, for I don't intend to slow down or edit it to make it beautiful. No, this particular piece of prose is going to be written and submitted in the rawest format ever inspired by the boy who went fishing off of the moon, what a loon!
I want to be inspired, but I don't know how to get myself inspired. I've tried websites, movies, interviews, blogs, and all of the other methods of consuming a product created for the sole purpose of dipping some form of value into someone's think fluid, but hardly any of them has even given me a single drop of the need to create, so I am resorting to the most selfish and probably failing way imaginable, typing my inspiration on some stupid blog that no one reads.
It really pisses me off how hard it is to get my thoughts into words when I know that I was able to do it very very well just a few months ago. I feel like I'm slipping into dumbness, like all my mind wants to do is get stupider and stupider, and nothing I've tried has gotten it out of this mode of running. I need to shift it up somehow, but I don't know the way; however, I am a very stubborn person, so I don't intend to ever give up searching for it. I suppose you could call this post, a method or a medium as I like to call them, of searching.
Inspiration comes when you grab it, right? No, not exactly, not to me.
About a year ago, no, more than a year ago, I felt extremely uninspired about writing, like I was always destined to fail and that it could never be a fun activity when I had to do it, but something changed me, and that something was my writing teacher. What made him stand out from all the other teachers was that he actually did the writing with us. When he was teaching the class how to write a paragraph, he didn't just explain what a paragraph was; he explained that there are different kinds of paragraphs then he wrote an example paragraph on the board by using their suggestions. He also gave them a system for writing essays on any subject, a foolproof one that was incredibly easy to apply, made writing fun, and, when I tested it in another class, got me constant A's.
But it wasn't just that he taught me writing, for he also taught me how interesting writing could be. He had us do several readings throughout the semester, as per the usual for a writing class, but the way that he explained them after we read made them incredibly engaging. I had no idea that you could dig so deep into a bunch of words and actually find relevant and interesting concepts. The way he explained what metaphor's were and how often we used them in normal life and the way he explained how sad, depressed, lonely, and pitiful J. Alfred Prufrock was were only a few of the many, zillions it seems when looked back upon, of subjects that he dove me into.
I feel totally uninspired to continue writing about that. Do you want to know why? Probably not, but I'm gonna give you the answer anyways. I feel ashamed of how bad my writing is right now, and if I give credit to my writing teacher or to any amazing teachers I've learned under, I want to do it in the most readable understandable way possible, so that they don't seem like a bunch of random saps some random kid on the internet wrote about for no particular reason. In other words, they mean to much for me to write about them illegibly.
One of my writing teacher's favorite sayings was "everything's an argument," and I think it applies nicely in this context. If I write with bad grammar about how good my writing teacher was at teaching grammar, I become an instant hypocrite, or something like that. I want to write well, yah! I do; I do; I do; I do!
I really really really do! I need to get the words out of my brain and onto the screen, so I can put them back into my brain in the right order by looking at them from an insider's outsider's perspective. My brain is so muddled up right now, that that sentence made perfect sense to me. Does that make me crazy, or stupid? Is there a difference?
When one is crazy, it usually connotes that he or she is obsessed with something and can't rest for even a second not thinking about it, while when one is stupid, it usually connotes that he or she is.... AM I REALLY THAT BRAIN MUDDLED? AHHHH! COME ON! Of course there's a difference between crazy and stupid. A crazy person thinks too much, while a stupid person doesn't think at all! That's got to be the biggest difference ever, yet I coulnd't recognize it! Man, I must really be going insane! Or am I just becoming stupid? Gah, not again! Let me break free. I want to break free; freedom, come to me. Oh, there's something to talk about.
Freedom can't come to me, because freedom is not something one can possess. Freedom is merely an idea, a forging within the mind, so it lacks the ability to take any sort of physical form. You could say, therefore, that it's also a state of the mind, since it is a thought, or an idea, a concept, a flying flower planted inside the soil of the mind! It can only be associated with or attached to persons, places, and things; it can never become said items. That is why I'm tired of writing about it. Because it's just as stupid idea and my mind doesn't want to think about it right now, but I am in control of my mind, so I'm going to jolly well think about it; I know that I want to, now, and there's no stopping me from thinking about it at all. (please forgive me if I get repetitive; I'm exercising my brain through expressions)
What is freedom? How can one find it? I already said that it's an idea, but lets suppose that it's a physical, touchable object, what then? Supposing truth were a woman, what then? Supposing Nietzsche were a Religion, what then? Would that not make him a suicidal ol' fool? He spent his life looking at things and comparing them to other things, but the vast majority of things he looked at were letters, so how within real life is he really? I need to know this in order to argue against him, which I seem not capable of without looking stupid, for I don't even know how to interpret half of what he says. He is German, after all, and that's a language I have absolutely no brain containment of. (ha, you thought I was gonna say something else, didn't you?)
Oh, if I could only break free of this contempt of not being able to write. I think it's some sort of spiral that I have to jump out of, or maybe I have to be pulled out of it by someone else. Hey, there's a thought! And it fits perfectly in with that thing I said about my teacher like, ummm, lets see, forever ago! I was in a spiral of depression, or uninspiration, rather, and my writing teacher pulled me out of it. And right now (by the way I keep typing write when I want to say right; does that mean I'm losing it [whatever it is]?) I am in that sort of spiral and I need a helping hand to pull me out, an outside source of inspirational grip. Yes! By heaven! Oh most pernicious idea! Villain, smiling, Damned Villain! My tables meet; it is, I set it down, that one may smile and smile and be a villain! At least I'm sure it may be so in my mind! (cause shakespeare quotes are ftw, amirite?)
Now this is the end of the first of maybe many blog posts that suck the time from your life; oh, but time is not really an object it is a happening, so in theory, it can't really be taken away from anyone because no one owns it. It's really energy that you own, and you're deceiving yourself if you say that that's not the case. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Goodbye and I hope you got something out of this. I know I sort of did and didn't at the same time, so yeah! Happy interneting!
I want to be inspired, but I don't know how to get myself inspired. I've tried websites, movies, interviews, blogs, and all of the other methods of consuming a product created for the sole purpose of dipping some form of value into someone's think fluid, but hardly any of them has even given me a single drop of the need to create, so I am resorting to the most selfish and probably failing way imaginable, typing my inspiration on some stupid blog that no one reads.
It really pisses me off how hard it is to get my thoughts into words when I know that I was able to do it very very well just a few months ago. I feel like I'm slipping into dumbness, like all my mind wants to do is get stupider and stupider, and nothing I've tried has gotten it out of this mode of running. I need to shift it up somehow, but I don't know the way; however, I am a very stubborn person, so I don't intend to ever give up searching for it. I suppose you could call this post, a method or a medium as I like to call them, of searching.
Inspiration comes when you grab it, right? No, not exactly, not to me.
About a year ago, no, more than a year ago, I felt extremely uninspired about writing, like I was always destined to fail and that it could never be a fun activity when I had to do it, but something changed me, and that something was my writing teacher. What made him stand out from all the other teachers was that he actually did the writing with us. When he was teaching the class how to write a paragraph, he didn't just explain what a paragraph was; he explained that there are different kinds of paragraphs then he wrote an example paragraph on the board by using their suggestions. He also gave them a system for writing essays on any subject, a foolproof one that was incredibly easy to apply, made writing fun, and, when I tested it in another class, got me constant A's.
But it wasn't just that he taught me writing, for he also taught me how interesting writing could be. He had us do several readings throughout the semester, as per the usual for a writing class, but the way that he explained them after we read made them incredibly engaging. I had no idea that you could dig so deep into a bunch of words and actually find relevant and interesting concepts. The way he explained what metaphor's were and how often we used them in normal life and the way he explained how sad, depressed, lonely, and pitiful J. Alfred Prufrock was were only a few of the many, zillions it seems when looked back upon, of subjects that he dove me into.
I feel totally uninspired to continue writing about that. Do you want to know why? Probably not, but I'm gonna give you the answer anyways. I feel ashamed of how bad my writing is right now, and if I give credit to my writing teacher or to any amazing teachers I've learned under, I want to do it in the most readable understandable way possible, so that they don't seem like a bunch of random saps some random kid on the internet wrote about for no particular reason. In other words, they mean to much for me to write about them illegibly.
One of my writing teacher's favorite sayings was "everything's an argument," and I think it applies nicely in this context. If I write with bad grammar about how good my writing teacher was at teaching grammar, I become an instant hypocrite, or something like that. I want to write well, yah! I do; I do; I do; I do!
I really really really do! I need to get the words out of my brain and onto the screen, so I can put them back into my brain in the right order by looking at them from an insider's outsider's perspective. My brain is so muddled up right now, that that sentence made perfect sense to me. Does that make me crazy, or stupid? Is there a difference?
When one is crazy, it usually connotes that he or she is obsessed with something and can't rest for even a second not thinking about it, while when one is stupid, it usually connotes that he or she is.... AM I REALLY THAT BRAIN MUDDLED? AHHHH! COME ON! Of course there's a difference between crazy and stupid. A crazy person thinks too much, while a stupid person doesn't think at all! That's got to be the biggest difference ever, yet I coulnd't recognize it! Man, I must really be going insane! Or am I just becoming stupid? Gah, not again! Let me break free. I want to break free; freedom, come to me. Oh, there's something to talk about.
Freedom can't come to me, because freedom is not something one can possess. Freedom is merely an idea, a forging within the mind, so it lacks the ability to take any sort of physical form. You could say, therefore, that it's also a state of the mind, since it is a thought, or an idea, a concept, a flying flower planted inside the soil of the mind! It can only be associated with or attached to persons, places, and things; it can never become said items. That is why I'm tired of writing about it. Because it's just as stupid idea and my mind doesn't want to think about it right now, but I am in control of my mind, so I'm going to jolly well think about it; I know that I want to, now, and there's no stopping me from thinking about it at all. (please forgive me if I get repetitive; I'm exercising my brain through expressions)
What is freedom? How can one find it? I already said that it's an idea, but lets suppose that it's a physical, touchable object, what then? Supposing truth were a woman, what then? Supposing Nietzsche were a Religion, what then? Would that not make him a suicidal ol' fool? He spent his life looking at things and comparing them to other things, but the vast majority of things he looked at were letters, so how within real life is he really? I need to know this in order to argue against him, which I seem not capable of without looking stupid, for I don't even know how to interpret half of what he says. He is German, after all, and that's a language I have absolutely no brain containment of. (ha, you thought I was gonna say something else, didn't you?)
Oh, if I could only break free of this contempt of not being able to write. I think it's some sort of spiral that I have to jump out of, or maybe I have to be pulled out of it by someone else. Hey, there's a thought! And it fits perfectly in with that thing I said about my teacher like, ummm, lets see, forever ago! I was in a spiral of depression, or uninspiration, rather, and my writing teacher pulled me out of it. And right now (by the way I keep typing write when I want to say right; does that mean I'm losing it [whatever it is]?) I am in that sort of spiral and I need a helping hand to pull me out, an outside source of inspirational grip. Yes! By heaven! Oh most pernicious idea! Villain, smiling, Damned Villain! My tables meet; it is, I set it down, that one may smile and smile and be a villain! At least I'm sure it may be so in my mind! (cause shakespeare quotes are ftw, amirite?)
Now this is the end of the first of maybe many blog posts that suck the time from your life; oh, but time is not really an object it is a happening, so in theory, it can't really be taken away from anyone because no one owns it. It's really energy that you own, and you're deceiving yourself if you say that that's not the case. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Goodbye and I hope you got something out of this. I know I sort of did and didn't at the same time, so yeah! Happy interneting!
Monday, February 28, 2011
What a complete waste of time.
Yes, you heard me right; this post is a complete waste of time, yet you're looking straight at it. In fact, your looking hard enough to recognize these words as well as you do right now, and you might even be looking harder if you think about it. I know those two sentences made no sense whatsoever, but come on. Give me a break. I need something to say, so randomness will be that something, okay? Good. Now lets talk about randomness.
Blue is a very interesting color if you look at it, but you can say that about almost any color can't you? Maybe you can't. Maybe only certain colors are interesting, while the rest are just bland copies of boring uninspiredness. I need to see these colors everyday for them to be this bland. Let me see the blue, Forn, you know who you are and why you are and what you are, yet you always seem to countermand my vehicle of sound and violence. Oh, come now, not that Camelot is a good movie, which I think it is that being beside the point, but it does have a bit of wrongness within it's lovely story telling woes.
Oh, don't kill me, but fill me with love and understanding like a dove would a Christmas tree in the middle of July. Yes, Christmas is a lovely year for songs to be sung and birds to be eaten and lives to be lost and crying to be done and toys to be bought and so on. But et cetra really means and so on. So why do people use latin in their little short phrases. I mean that it really doesn't make sense. Does it? Does it? No. Never before has it ever, and ever before had it never nought sought the serving pot of cruelty and remorse riding high upon a white horse and flying in a camel's norse. Yes.
Blue is a very interesting color if you look at it, but you can say that about almost any color can't you? Maybe you can't. Maybe only certain colors are interesting, while the rest are just bland copies of boring uninspiredness. I need to see these colors everyday for them to be this bland. Let me see the blue, Forn, you know who you are and why you are and what you are, yet you always seem to countermand my vehicle of sound and violence. Oh, come now, not that Camelot is a good movie, which I think it is that being beside the point, but it does have a bit of wrongness within it's lovely story telling woes.
Oh, don't kill me, but fill me with love and understanding like a dove would a Christmas tree in the middle of July. Yes, Christmas is a lovely year for songs to be sung and birds to be eaten and lives to be lost and crying to be done and toys to be bought and so on. But et cetra really means and so on. So why do people use latin in their little short phrases. I mean that it really doesn't make sense. Does it? Does it? No. Never before has it ever, and ever before had it never nought sought the serving pot of cruelty and remorse riding high upon a white horse and flying in a camel's norse. Yes.
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