EPTIf you're unsure of what this blog is about, it's just generally food for thought [of my day] so 1. ease back and get out your utensils, 2. don't fill up on bread and 3. tip your waiter with your own thoughts or sentiments.
Thanks
Winter Parmesan and Myself, Tortellini
Killing newfound flightless friends: Part 1
I've been holding back writing this blog post. Purely because I wasn't sure how I want to write, in what direction and angle. Something fictional?
Then I just told myself "fuck it", I'll just write it like any other usual day and incorporate them all as small bubbles or tangents of (hopeful) interest. All in all, if you don't like reading long drivels of one's day, alt-tab out!.
Where to begin? Okay, going to type it one go, got my soda (it has cane sugar in it, quite a unique and sweet Black Cherry soda taste), got some of these cool ranch Doritos and the drive to write something to a small audience who has the attention span of about 15 minutes (which is about a standard game of Starcraft 2).
Nonetheless, I press on. Onward we go, onward I think as I type each case preempting a step forward into an unwinding of today's knotted days of ideas, views, values and thought-process equal to an adolescent's first boner: everyone's thought like or of this before.
In any case.
I arose today, groggy, tired and completely confused on what I did last game. From the edge of my bed was this crystallized coldness, white and frigid. One step outside, I saw the weather:
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P8290042.jpg)
Not quite dog-sledding season, but it was a mix of snow and rain
How exactly did it reach my room? As of the previous week. I met a new friend (which explains the title). He's a shy fellow who purely reveals himself at the very moments where my eyelids become stubborn for sleep and my yawns are longer than Mariah Carey's whistle register (the real shit, back in the early 90s guys). His schedule and daily doings usually revolve around 11 a.m to 4 p.m. Sometimes he stays longer if he likes the music, the movie I'm watching or better yet...
The TSL
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9230074.jpg)
Yes indeed gents (and sparse women who clearly have nothing better to do). For the past week, I've had a little Robin, potentially JWD's cousin [see his icon on the forums], build a nest right by my window sill. At first, I didn't think of anything, in fact, I don't recall a nest being built at all, just pieces of dead grass, maybe some sticks and twigs, then, the next thing I know. A robin is swinging by when the Jazz is loud, my body is restless and my computer screen is the only haunting light before the sun dawns its magnificent and almighty presence.
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9220065.jpg)
Have I grown fond of him? I actually have to be honest, yes. Maybe not of him personally, he does have a rather strange chirp: a sort of gargled strained prolonged tweet, like a dog whistle gone awry and wrong. Though as a child, I always wanted something on my own, a symbolic natural form of progression, change and life. Speak fucking English, what the fuck are you talking about? I mean that I always wanted something small: some seeds, a pot of rich soil and water. Something small, yet full of potential to rise into something strong, so long as the watchful eye of its beholder cares and tends to it. I've considered taking up gardening and other activities often stereotypically reserved for the elder, the patient and the environmentally-friendly, but I couldn't hold such an interest for too long. When we were young, what we did had a consequence of an achievement or reward: you learn how to use scissors, you can now cut cardboard paper. You mow lawns, you show you are responsible and hard-working (and you get a dog or a monetary reward). These are problem worst and most generic examples; all I am saying is that our childhood was so simple, do X get Y. Want Z? Follow the steps of ABC and you'll achieve/obtain it. But now, as we grow older, we come to see that out fruits of our labor aren't always clearly directed or guided towards a progress in whatever we hope to succeed. We work hard on a project and the project leader gets all the praise, we study hard for that exam and somehow, we miss that mark we thought we could aim and achieve for.
True, there's still the basics of working hard gets you paid, but there isn't any satisfaction in it. You don't personally see any prosperity (besides the accumulation of money through saving and proper investment) of your work, at least not for me and there are those collaborative efforts/projects where things do change. But, for me, personally, it seems everything is clouded. Where I do what I feel is adequate or more than sufficient and the outcome is off the mark, smudged by a detail or bureaucratic standard set for those who weren't even trying at the start anyways. Just seems the idea or sentiment of honest work we hear often in fables from Aesop is no longer apparent or clear-cut as one would hope nowadays. At least for me personally.
Okay, I'm done verbally trying to cover my ass with the likelihood or possibility of exceptions that (successfully) undermine my initial point. I was just inspired, proud and happy that a bird saw an opportunity with my bird leaving my window open. That the natural state of animals still functions (to some extent). Bird starts to build a nest and finishes with a home:
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9220068.jpg)
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9220067.jpg)
He doesn't get angered, bothered or annoyed by me getting up. Waving or putting my hand on the screen. I waved him a good-bye, got ready and left. I was happy, relaxed and pleased at the constant mental note above, wondered if God had something to do with this. What the fuck man, you're religious? No, not really, but more to the fact that I enjoy the idea of an ominous being realizing my insecurity of not achieving all that I thought I could realize and sending something that still reminds that aspects of my life are still plain and simple. It makes these sorts of matters a lot more human, emotional.
In any case, the rest of the day was blatantly boring. I'm taking three summer courses: Classical Sociological Theory, Sociology through Film and the last one I can't recall (which I will be starting in July) but they all revolve around philosophers you could know if you took a general interest. So far we looked at Hobbes, Locke, Kant and Herder, but my classmates don't delve farther than the material, asking questions like: "was Hobbes gay?" Really? A contemporary sexual-oriented issue on the man who wrote about the Leviathan perspective? I wept even more inside at how a lot of my peers felt the Leviathan theory made a lot of sense (essentially it's how there is a being that offers security in exchange for all of your individual rights, we do this because we cannot trust others and we are greedy beings. In conclusion, it's just an exaggerated social contract theory). I'm fine with differences in thinking, with people agreeing or disagreeing with different valid theories or ideas, however, when you agree and your sole explanation is just a rehashed summation of what the teacher says, I get a little bit red.
The one thing I can't stand about my major is the fact that it feels like a worthless pseudo-science. I'm majoring in Sociology right now and my desire to further this major is slim, almost none. I'll get into my whole education issue, but not today. Just to say, I hate this major because of how everything can be the answer. I absolutely despite the idea that any answer or theory could be the reasoning as to why a people or even person does XYZ. An example? You're in a street gang because of A. learned values set by your parents, B. absence of parents, C. resentment of society and thus learning values by new figures found in the youth of sub-culture that deviate from the norms of society, D. Self-identity issues. So many fucking possibilities and they can all be true. I wish there was only one truth, where things were clear-cut (there's that word again). Maybe I'm in the wrong field(s), I don't know. I'd do Science, but my math is terrible for starters.
The second thing I hate about this major is that it is essentially the shovel for leftover students who just want a degree, further discrediting its worth in my view. Whenever I walk into a classroom, there is no individual thinking or even enlightenment of figuring one's own logic and basic common sense (Kant?). The teacher says something, dips her feet into the water of inquiry: "Does anyone agree? What do you guys think?" A couple of hands soar into the air, not anxious to be noticed, but neither timid to speak their mind. Unfortunately, their mind ranges between: "How can I make myself appear like a droned student who accepts everything the teacher says" to "How can I suck up to the teacher in the most blatant and evident manner without physically sucking her abstract dick or crawling directly into her asshole". Call me a cynic, call me a whiner, I'm in Sociology, so I fit in anyways...
In the end, I just hate myself for sighing unbelievably loud and letting these people say what they want with 0 contestation. That's what I probably hate the most, if I say something, I can't say she's wrong or that my peer made a ridiculous compliant move. That'd be disrespectful and against the underlining of the institution known as "university" (despite the fact that it no longer pertains to its original sense, a vast and major shame).
Raced home, skipped my previous class, too depressed to go through another ordeal of metaphorical circle-jerking to have another popsicle: A God has struck fortune on me again:
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9220070.jpg)
Two extra peculiar formed discs of flavor! The sun not yet clearing, I sat back and just reflected how I was going to write this. Does anyone else get that? The narration wheeling in your mind, fitting cog pieces of your day so it sounds intriguing, beautifully and accurately described and with a confident voice?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JPOoFkrh94
Everytime I play this, I get this urge to write a long diatribe of anything and everything
Everytime I play this, I get this urge to write a long diatribe of anything and everything
Perhaps it is just me and although I like to feel I am not alone, accompanied by violins stemming from the very video noted above, I do not digress nor stop until I am done, even if I am, currently, feeling unhappy with the quality of my writing at the moment.
I think I will stop today and post the rest later tomorrow. I started out feeling strong and now I feel my writing has become inadequate, cheap and unlike how I originally wrote these blogs. I reread it, for once, my first blog and just couldn't feel that emotion I felt when I wrote that. All I know is that I was in a state of utter turmoil that just had me easily pour out words I had never read or seen before, yet somehow understood at least the minimum of its basis, validity and significance. Sometimes I wish I could just invoke that feeling each time I had the desire to write and maybe one would suggest to consider memories that were strong to you/me. But alas, to be able to do so, would cease the power of those emotions and their few blooming seasons and make them redundantly generic as time passes.
On that note, I believe it is time for bed.
Here is my bedtime snack:
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P9010062.jpg)
As for a song?
Edit: No wait, this one stands out for me more
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_RpuUZd3_g
There are other songs I would suggest above this one, purely because the pace of this song is difficult for most in my opinion. The beginning is incredibly slow, drawn-out, yet... peaceful. It trickles violins then begins droplets of the piano before all the other instruments strum an ocean of sound, beauty and introduction for Matt Dusk's powerful voice. Soft, strong and kind. The lyrics are just beautiful, simple, yet the scenario it paints is gloom and saddening.
And when the refrain plays, ah...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uO-X22mYkNo
Have I shown this one? Have I portrayed my reveling with this song. A remake from the Beatles and although many would say that The Beatles are sacred and thus so are their song, I hear this and just feel laxed. I feel this seamless docile nature surge from somewhere I can't pinpoint, but nor cease (and how could or would I?). A young Canadian Jazz Singer who truly stands out from the many simple and bland singers I've come across. But that's Jazz, it's one slice of good cheesecake and the rest just seems inadequate for that one special eater/listener.
When I hear Matt Dusk, the gateway to my Jazz fondness back when I was 13, I don't ever forget what set this genre apart from all the others...
*Part 2 will come later tonight/today.
