The Flash.

She rises each morning, at the crack of dawn, to care for her children. Always at the same time, never remiss in her expected duties. Each morning, she obliges their chirps, petulant and impetuous demands.

Never faltering and certainly never failing.

She looks into the distance, he's nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he went out in the night, although that certainly isn't like him. But no time to worry about that, she has voracious appetites to satisfy, which she already prepared for. After all, she's been through this ritual ever since their birth. She gives them what they clamor for, they chirp less, the morsels they consumed satisfying their bellies and subsequently quelling their neediness. She's a professional, she knows what she's doing.

Never faltering and certainly never failing.

She looks on coldly at them. They're now quiet, mollified temporarily. But certainly not permanently, much as she would like them to be. Abstract, omniscient, obligations ties her to them. Can't be severed even with the sharpest implement. They wouldn't live without her, and she couldn't live without them. A vicious cycle of surrendering your life to others. Selflessness makes others happy, but how much happiness can you really derive from pleasing others? It wasn't bringing her much pleasure. In fact, quite the opposite. Misery permeated everything. But what could she do? Leave them? Go some place else? There was no way.

At the moment, things were idyllic. From where she was, all she could see was vast and infinite green. The beauty and size of nature was truly something to behold. The silence wasn't deadly, as it usually would be, but calming and therapeutic. The follies of life were sudden and unrelenting, but moments like these were to be relished. There's nothing quite like it, and she truly appreciated, loved, the opportunity. There were only occasional flashes of serenity like this.

Suddenly, she heard a rumbling from underneath her. A mechanical monstrosity meandered into the plain, crushing all that stood before it. It came straight for them, knocking over the tree. She spread her wings and took flight in alarm, pausing for nothing, not realizing the nest was destroyed in a flash. They were gone. She didn't have time to look back, just narrowly escaping with her life. In an instant, it was all gone. In an instant, all was shattered. The peace was taken away. It was all over.

She had faltered. She had failed. But it wasn't her fault.

PS. Meditating to Massive Attack makes you write really weird shit.

Materialism

The concept of property has inadvertently caused, all together now, the fall of civilization, the erosion of society, death in the millions, and the corruption of every generation that flourished ever since we evolved enough to be more intelligent than a sabretooth tiger with a cranial injury.

What is it that compels us to seek out property, items, materials? Is it the fact that we need to have things to feel comfortable with ourselves? Has pride of ownership sunken so deeply into us that it is akin to racism? Do we just want to look pretty in our new skirt or intimidating in our new car? A combination of all, to be honest.

This concept of materialism isn't necessarily a negative or limited to just humans, those flawed bastards that I hate so much. Lions and hippopotami are extremely territorial, komodo dragons will share their carrion so long as that carrion is YOU, and chimpanzees will fling their poo at any passerby. Point is, animals are as capable of altruism as I am capable of having sex with supermodels. It's an evolutionary instinct, to seek comfort with what you have. Hell, I can't sleep unless I have my huggy pillow.

But there's a fine line. There's a difference between getting what you need and what you want. And like the wise philosopher Jagger once said, "You can't always get what you want." And I find that to be pretty wise, even if it's coming from a Rolling Stone. Sure, we need a bed, cars, computers, cell phones, TVs. But come on people. There's a limit to how much shit you need. You have a perfectly good TV, Samsung DLP, 42 inches, capable of 720p output. Do you really need to consider updating it to a 58 inch LCD 1080p Bravia, just so you can mount it? Is that shit really necessary? You have plenty of nice shirts, do you really need more? We as a species find comfort and happiness from the things we buy, from the glut of unnecessary bullshit we have. And once the newest bullshit comes out, we trash what we bought earlier in favor of the newest shiny device.

How can we help it? Evolutionary instinct, let's say. Sure. That's plausible. But everything around our society revolves around owning more. Capitalism at its finest - what we want to accomplish is to achieve wealth through business. And what do we do with that wealth once we attain it? Exchange it for goods and services. That's what the American Dream is! Come over to the Land of Opportunity from a dirt-poor nation with absolutely nothing to get a lot of money and then spend it! This goes back to God knows when, probably back to when Grug decided that he needed a new spear to kill a Mastodon with. The media's constant barrage of telling us "You need this new product" merely exacerbates the problem.

But would I honestly call it a problem? Sure, if it's all we can think about. If we're raised believing that the entire point to life is MORE STUFFS, that's materialistic to say the least. If you want me to say more, the words "fucking retarded" and "collapse of society" come to mind. We want more stuff, sure. Acceptable fact of life that everyone wants to buy more shit. But when it becomes a value, a virtue, and something to strive for all your life, you're a slave to plastic, to cotton, to metal. And who wants to live like that?

A short story

For several days, she was all I could think about. She didn't even know me. I didn't even know her. Somehow, the sight of her long, fiery hair incensed me, struck up a vast array of emotions, many of which were foreign and disturbing to me. I was ashamed of what I felt, such animalistic lust I had never felt before. I believed if I had just a momentary lapse of reason, this beast would ripple through me, strike me down, control me. A delicate sound of thunder would ultimately be the end of me.

So on that day, as she passed by, smiling her enigmatic smirk, I smiled back, going on my way. She ascended the stairs, I looked back, the darkness creeping back through me again, but this time, I let it go. I moved towards the sofas in the lobby, collapsed, exhausted, dipped into euphoria. Emotions I had never known surged through me, feelings of jubilation. I looked up, into the domed ceiling, a mosaic, a clash of color, a maelstrom of confusion and ecstasy. I let go, I was comfortably numb. Her face appeared in my mind's eye, a specimen of such divine beauty that I felt obligated to kneel, in my own mind, surrender my realm to another God.

And with that, I opened my eyes, returning to reality. I stood up, walked out of the building and stopped at the bus stop, sitting down on the rancid bench. I looked down the road for signs of the bus. There was none. I closed my eyes again. This time, she wasn't there. Instead, I saw a technicolor warp of buildings. These buildings extended into the sky, infinite and insurmountable, stretching higher and higher. And suddenly, without warning, they collapsed. Exploded into a million pieces, raining rubble from the sky, in a manner befitting the most malevolent, vengeful deity. And suddenly, I was there. A mortal man facing the downpour of man's proudest structures. Impact was imminent...

And then I opened my eyes. I saw the bus rolling towards me, braking. I climbed on, and took a seat towards the back. The bus rumbled forwards, driving along a dilapidated sidewalk. I looked up and into the other side of the road. Dozens of cars thundered down the speedway, their motors screaming like banshees. I closed my eyes, saw myself floating above a sea of gazelle, stampeding down a gorge. Their sharp horns glistening in the African sun, I looked down, from high up. The sounds of fear and panic permeated my ears, freezing my heart cold. As I floated above the stampede, I extended my arms, as if on the Holy Cross. I stared back down and dove straight into the rampage.

But then I opened my eyes. The bus had rumbled to a stop, right next to my apartment building. I got off and walked in, climbing some rickety stairs, ignoring the screams of the unhappy couple downstairs. I pulled out my keys and walked in. My apartment was dark, freezing, and foreboding. I sighed, turned on the light and collapsed on the couch. I stared at the coffee table, swiped my bottle of pills. I took down another two.

Next time, I won't take more than I need.

You ever wonder why we're here?

This question has been pondered ever since man decided that getting eaten by sabertooth tigers and killing mammoths with spears was a bad idea. Since the very beginning of critical thought, the idea of the point of our existence as a species has been wondered. And so I ask. Why are we here? Why is this species of ape on this tiny celestial body, slowly poisoning it with their inventions and such? In the grand scope of the entire universe, we're insignificant. So why are we here?

There is no "point" to our existence, strictly speaking. The evolution of neanderthals into what we are today has no specific purpose in the grand scheme of things. The universe and its natural laws didn't direct our evolution so that some day we might accomplish some grand feat. God doesn't exist and he doesn't love all of us unconditionally, as much as we would love to believe that. To the universe, the millions of years lifeforms have been wandering the earth have just been "chillin." Another million years will pass, our species will go extinct, life will begin anew, evolve again, and maybe give way to another species capable of abstract and critical thought.

The religious believe that the point of our existence is to live a full life, die sinless, and go to heaven. And while that's certainly, the least I could say about it is that it is an ideal. The worst I could say about it is that it's a load of idealistic bullshit that's stupid to abide by. So what do I believe?

The belief that you can nail life to one, single, all-encompassing purpose is also a load of bullshit. This is going to sound like relativist propaganda (which I'm sure a few of you are a fan of ;)), but life is simply what you make of it, to borrow an extremely cliched term. You make your own purpose in this universe, and the bigger picture, the framework in which you create this doesn't matter, because none of it affects you, or will affect you. Effectively, you're purposeless once you're born into this world. But as you grow up and mature, learn about the world, about culture, about society, you'll have a clearer picture of what makes you happy. And then you base your life, your purpose on that which makes you happy.

The argument that life's purpose simply is to be one with God is valid to the religious. If you base your whole life around an abstract ideal, once you die, you die happy. That's fine. But have you ever truly lived for yourself? You lived for your beliefs, sure, but does that really qualify? Have you done what made you happy? Do the things you wanted to do? Bring meaning to your own life? I don't know. I'm not religious.

What's the point of life? Why are we here? You ask a hundred different people that question and you might get a hundred different answers. The purpose of our lives is to make our own purpose, whether it's through religion, education, or what have you. We're not here to change the way the universe works (although those scientists at CERN might be), we're here to make ourselves happy. Life is a lot brighter that way.

Fucked up ways to die

There are many.

But the worst one would be death by Candiru.

Although it is quite rare to encounter this horrifying, parasitic bastard, if you happen to be swimming in its waters, be afraid. Be very afraid.

The candiru, or Vandellia cirrhosa, a fish so feared that the second part of its binomial nomenclature is named after a degenerating liver condition, is most commonly found in the Amazon River and El Rio Negro. Also common to these waters are bloodthirsty piranhas and deadly crocodiles. So you know this thing is lethal when the natives fear it over all else.

The candiru is tiny. The biggest known specimen was only six inches long. What's so scary about it, you ask? This pugnacious little bastard hunts for prey by detecting ammonia and urea expelled by the gills of other fish. Once it locates its prey, it rapidly darts towards it, slips into the gills, and, using its spines, lodges itself in place. As if having a little parasitic fish inside you isn't enough, the evil thing begins to gnaw through a major blood vessel. Omnomnomnom.

Of course, fish aren't the only things this asshole fish feeds on. People unfortunate and foolish enough to urinate in the river are also susceptible to the Candiru. The fish can swim up any orifice, the anus, the urethra, the the vagina, anywhere is possible. As such, it is impossible to remove without surgery. Though it's likely that the resultant infection and systemic shock will kill you before some Brazilian doctor who got his degree over the Internet can touch your genitals with a bladed apparatus.

This has been a public service announcement. Do not piss in the Amazon or Black River.

Whine

Despite the rant I'm about to write, I'm actually quite cheerful. No homework, new Prison Break and Heroes in an hour or so (although my expectations are extremely low for Heroes), no work in the foreseeable future, and I kicked my math test's ass. So, time for a little purgative writing.

If the title of the blog is any indication, I'm a misanthrope. I hate my fellow man, for many, many, many good reasons. But recently, some hope has been restored, but I'm not sure why. People with problems have talked to me, and instead of callously ostracizing them, I've actually given advice, comfort, and feedback. I guess I'm softening up, but make no mistake. I am still very much a misanthrope.

We're selfish. We're vain. We're paranoid. We're xenophobic. I'm not just describing America, but all humans. All values that have been so deeply indoctrinated that they're not going anywhere until we evolve into omnipotent beings capable of levitation and shooting thunderbolts from our eyes. I'm guilty of these despicable characteristics. Everyone is, there's no denying it and there's no way to get rid of them (trust me, I've tried and am still trying!). But imagine if we could purge ourselves of them? Would we be happier? Would all the world's ills cease?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There's no such thing as utopia. It's just an ideal to strive for. We can come close to it, but we can never attain it. It's just in our nature, our behavior as human beings to be imperfect. But that doesn't mean we can't change ourselves. We can change ourselves to not be so xenophobic. To not be so materialistic and vain. Hey, a whole generation of kids in the 1960s pulled it off; they didn't want to embrace the backwards, racist ideology. In just a few years, all that paranoia, hatred, selfishness, fear of change was just cast out the window, raising a new generation of kids. It's very much possible.

Time after time, I've been let down, disappointed, offended by the stupidity and folly of mankind. All of the aforementioned manifested in their absolute worst. Everyone's guilty of them. Some people are just more guilty than others, and I've had the misfortune of having to deal with them. Cunts. That's how this way of thinking flourished.

That being said, I think I'm becoming something of an optimist. My human interactions have been fairly limited - I haven't been forced to mingle with a cornucopia of morons like I was a few years ago. I can pick the people I want to spend time with and cast aside the ones that I hate. Great system, because I've known nothing but great people for the past few months, hell, even years. I guess that's where the newly rooted optimism comes in. I've kinda given people the benefit of the doubt, that kind of thing I mentioned earlier. I wasn't really aware of it until I stepped back and thought about it. It's nice...I think.

I have no idea what the freaking fuck I'm talking about. Cheers.

Free Will and Acceptance

I've recently read a few things that made me wonder about the individual human and his development. The stages of life that he goes through are dictated by the laws of sociology, physics, and psychology. Chuck Palahniuk's Lullaby really made me ponder the issue, as did a blog my friend wrote. So let's get right into it.

From the moment we take our first breath, our first steps, crawl for the very first time, we're bombarded by a garish assault of ads, expressions, norms, and values. You grow up in a Christian house, you'll learn to confess your sins, never to have sex before marriage, and to say a prayer before you eat. You grow up in a Russian household, your parents will put you through a rigorous training course so that you're badass like your distant relatives in the Motherland. My point is, form every angle, we assimilate values of our culture, develop a way of thinking that is in harmony with our way of life, and express values that sync up with what we were raised to believe.

In that sense, is there ever such a thing as free will? Is there such a thing as true originality? What we perceive to be free will is just choosing between brands. What we believe to be original is just adapted from an earlier work with a few variations and spins. I am reminded of Bioshock, a brilliant video game that brought up one of Ayn Rand's classic themes. "A man chooses. A slave obeys." But what is there to choose? We can choose between American cars or Japanese cars, we can choose between an Alfani or an Armani shirt? The point is, we're all subjected to the same stuff, the only choice we have is to choose which one, which company, which style to abide by. We're all slaves. Slaves to the norms, slaves to the culture, and slaves to the values that have been instilled in us since birth. We may try to break the chains, try to become unique, but there's no such thing. We're all the same underneath. It's just a mild variation on what might be different.

What else are we? What separates us from the beasts? We're self-aware. We're conscious of our own decisions, we know the consequences of our actions, and we can think critically. And yet, we are a herd. We're herded along, swindled by the mighty and their impressive rhetoric (irony!). You can claim your beliefs are unique, sensational. But chances are, someone else has already thought of it. We can never truly be original. Even the Constitution was adopted from various other historical documents and other values. The Magna Carta perhaps? Maybe Protestantism? I laugh at the emo kids trying to be "cool" by dressing up in all black, pretending their poetry is self-expressive of their "pain" (I can say with some certainty that at least my poetry isn't as lame as theirs).

That brings me to another point - acceptance. We do all these things, going back to the emo example, those kids dress like that, behave like that, listen to the crappy music to gain acceptance among their peers. Acceptance makes us happy, it lets us know that we're doing something right, it's just "invisible positive reinforcement," so to speak. And that's fine. We all want to be accepted, pretending you don't care what other people think about you is a load of bullshit - even if you claim that, on some level, you will always yearn for more.

What I find funny is that everything we do is to gain some small sum of acceptance from someone. I believe the sociological concept was the "Looking Glass and the Generalized Other." The Generalized Other is the vast accumulation of other people's opinions on us, and we consult it unconsciously. When you look at a mirror to determine whether an outfit looks good, and we ask ourselves "Does this look alright?" we aren't asking ourselves. We're asking the Generalized Other, the opinions of people, of everyone else. If it looks good, that means it's acceptable to others.

I suppose my point is this: we cannot avoid being conditioned by the values of our culture and we can never stop yearning for the acceptance of others. They go hand-in-hand, I suppose. Hell, I am definitely playing by those rules, despite my vehement declarations otherwise. Well, that was cathartic.

Run, Forrest, Run.

Fun times. Highlights:

Starting the morning off with a healthy bit of diarrhea.

Finding a cowbell and growling at passerby

Yelling the word "shitty" to Nina in front of her Christian friends two seconds after she tells me to behave myself.

Trying (and failing) to start a mosh pit in the little concert hall.

Screaming "Fucking fuck fuck me fucker fuckity fuckshit" while going on Flight Deck.

Crushing Nina on the Centrifuge ride.

Crushing her hand during Drop Zone.

Swearing extremely profusely on rides with small children present.

Watching Austin and Kyle and some other girl swing back and forth like a horrifying human pendulum. I got it on video, whoop.

Talking about how Benjamin Franklin was an asshole to keep Austin awake as we drove back. Reasons: He dropped his Grandma's turkey and kicked it, choked their dog with a bone, flew an electrified kite into my house, force-fed me peanuts, spit on Martha Washington's food, and ordered a cease-and-desist on Chipotle's operations because he found an irregularly colored pepper. What a fucking dick.

Good fucking times. I haven't been this happy in a while :)

And all that shit comes crashing down with school tomorrow. Hopefully Bardell is particularly exciting in lecture and Prateek dies in a freak shampoo incident.

Every day I'm hustlin'

On top of my regular duties as well, you know.

As opposed to me proposing an issue or something interesting to debate, I think I'll just turn this blog into my new, little diary. I've got no problems, but it's cathartic to write about a load of crap that nobody cares about except me. And maybe a couple others ;)

I'm a bit confused at the moment. There's a whole lot of shit I need to wipe up, or consider beginning to wipe up. But most of it is nestled, tucked away in a forgotten corner of my mind. I need to consider starting up college apps. I need to consider the SATs. I need to consider getting more community service hours. I need to consider the format of my next project. There's just so much I need to do, but have no motivation to even attempt. I mean, once they loom closer, like a homicidal robotic falcon flying in closer to deliver a payload of bullets and death, I'll have more incentive to run away, but I think I've just convinced myself to believe that it's too far on the horizon to worry about. I need to get my priorities in order.

Despite my confusion, I've managed to stay happy, outside of a few nitpicks. My play has been well-received from the people who I've allowed to read, I'm staying on top of my reading list, and I've managed to work in a decent amount of exercise. Football has also been extremely fun to watch, even though the Norcal teams are so unbelievably awful that Joe Montana would be ashamed to even be once affiliated with the 49ners. Go Chargers, even though their defense may be weakened once Merriman goes into surgery. Sorry.

That being said, there some things I could do without. For one, indulging the company of parasitic asstards is about as appealing as clipping my nails with a chainsaw. This is why I hate taking classes with people, though there are exceptions. They gravitate towards me, eat up my notes, and leave, but not before farting in my face as thanks. This time, I get to have all that but also have to sit next to a smelly, greasy, annoying Indian fuckstick. Even after class is over and I hint that I want to be alone to do my work, the twatface insists on following me wherever I go. I can understand if it's a friend, but this guy is not my friend. Never will be. I'm probably making a big deal out of this, but I'm going to have to deal with this for the next fourteen weeks. That's why I'm making it a big deal. I won't have my olfactory sense after that time, man.

I walked into the semester with the following mentality. "Oh man, this semester's gonna be awesome. I'll have an awesome history teacher, a great math teacher, I'll be able to write some ace papers, and I'll learn about economics and music." Turns out my semester is equally counterbalanced and I have no English class.

My history and math classes are awesome. But my econ and music classes are as exciting as playing with toejam. The Persian/Eastern European/Brooklyn whatever-the- fuck-she-is reads right out of the damn book, and the music class is boring to the point where you'd rather learn the Soulja Boy dance or learn how to tie a hangman's noose (like some people).

Like I said, small nitpicks, I just like being descriptive with overlong metaphors.

Fun fact: I'm doing horrifically bad in the Kaplan course. I haven't been completing the homework, and during class, I'm more interested in looking up vocabulary words I don't know the definition to (I've only found one, "obfuscate." Then I realized I knew the answer to it and felt dumb). My actual SAT score has been higher than all the practice exams, it's pretty funny. But also quite sad.

But we are fast approaching the end of the week, which seems to be loaded with fun throughout. Burn After Reading, another Coen Brothers movie, a comedy in contrast to the dark masterpiece that was No Country for Old Men. It looks excellent, and like The Dark Knight, I plan on seeing it more than once. On top of that, a friend (who better be reading this blog) is returning from Santa Barbara for a week up here. So I plan to school him in the art of Soul Calibur 4 and watch the premiere of House.Also, some Forrest Gump run thingy at Great America.

Like Brad Delp of Boston once said, "Takin' my time, I'm just movin' on."

I'm not dead yet

The first week back at school has had an adverse effect on my mental health. Constant stress over my English class finally came to a head when Brosamer kicked out all the waitlisted people. But I shot him a nice, buttery email, which should hopefully help me out, if he likes me at all. He fucking better.

Everything else is good though. Bardell is as hilarious as ever, O'Connell the same, even though he's pretty scary when he gets angry. Mosleh's Eastern-European, Brooklyn, Californian, Persian hybrid accent is bizarre and the class seems extremely simplistic. I just activated my music course, so I'll be working on that, along with the mountain of math homework O'Connell assigned. Ugh.

But enough about silly school. Let's talk about something else. Once the school year started, I began to reflect, in my spare time, while waiting for class, about my summer. I realized it was probably the most productive summer I've ever had, in terms of experiences, accomplishments, and just general happiness. So obviously, the only thing to do is list it out on my blog (It's more for recording purposes, the probability that I'll forget the nuances is quite high).

I recall kicking the shit out of my finals (except one) and just kicking it for a while. I also recall getting accepted to RYLA, which seemed so far off. So then I take the SATs and get a pretty dismal score and play and beat Ninja Gaiden 2 and Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots, the former causing me to rage out several times. I also went to the midnight launch of the latter, which was pretty fun. I also marathoned MGS4, because it came out three days before RYLA. I actually pulled it off, good fucking times.

So then RYLA came along, and with it a maelstrom of emotions, revelations, and new motivations. This blog is a direct result of RYLA; that camp inspired me to write every day to whet my skills. Motivations shot up in every area: I wanted to write for papers, be active in Interact, what have you. It was a brilliant experience; I would kill to relive that week. The place changed me, not to a significantly frightening degree - not Dr. Jekyll and Joan Rivers, but it chilled me the fuck out, opened me up a bit, showed me that the world isn't always dark and miserable, although it most often is. Let's just say it eroded a bit of my cynicism.

I also enjoyed learning. I didn't just learn from the Trig class I took at the end of June till the end of July, but other things. More experiences, so to speak. I observed and made notes (not really, but you get what I mean), on the relationships of my friends, to make myself a more knowledgeable person. And maybe apply that practical know-how to maybe get myself one of those "relationship" thingies. Yeah, it didn't work, but that's ok. Live and let learn, right? It's probably a good thing, my attempts just made me grow closer to the two people involved - the consult and the target. And to be honest, that's more important than any successes. On second thought, maybe Trig was more important. ;)

The other RYLA functions, AIDS walk and the beach reunion, served as nice get togethers, pleasant and hilarious. Walking six something miles with awesome people, screeching Journey at the top of my lungs, and explaining point-by-point why 10,000 B.C. sucks to Justin never gets old.

As we come to mid-July, thus began the Great Reading Journey. I had nothing to do, my 360 was broken (still is), and I had nothing else to do, so I found comfort in books. It was alllllll good. You know what else was all good?

PANCAKES!!!

Outside Lands Music Festival (Even if I nearly dropped dead, was buried by a crowd, and barely recognized half the shit played)

A Journey to Bethel Island (Nothing like nearly drowning to make you appreciate life)

Watching The Dark Knight in the first 24 hours.

I'm not sure what else, someone please remind me of things I overlooked. I gotta remember this shit, you know?