Remagine

A word or two, and then

A lifetime of not knowing
Where or how or why or when
You think of me or speak of me
And wonder what befell
The someone you once loved
so long ago, so well

My sister just found out that there was this traitorous CIA agent spying for USSR/Russia named Aldrich Ames, which reeeeally sounds like my first name haha.

Anyway, I promised myself I would at least do four pages of the poetry paper tonight, work a little bit on my senior project paper, and start doing research for the bridge report. Instead, I read half of Looking For Alaska, practiced some potential pieces for the drama benefit performance, practiced some music for the choir’s winter concert, tweaked on Facebook’s Bejeweled, went crazy with YouTube and TED.com, and went to Best Buy with my mom and sister to buy a camcorder. We were on the verge of buying a new camera, but we decided the camcorder cost a lot already. I really really want a Zune HD, but I guess I’ll wait ‘till I get a job and work for it. By then, it’ll probably drop in price, too.

I like people who are strongly opinionated because they know what they want and are willing to defend their point-of-view. I am usually strongly opinionated in both directions, and it’s quite disorienting. I should be more decisive and opinionated. Then I can work towards being outspoken, ‘cuz I respect outspoken people, but only if they’re not annoying.

Oh, cold, cold December, how I’ve anticipated your bittersweet arrival. I lovate you. Sixteen days of pure, unadulterated hell. Fifteen days of sweet, loving rest. Hmm. The hellish days have it. December, I hate you. :)

spit or fucking swallow

nihilnoetia:

You have an obligation.

Just because people are queuing up for it, just because they charge money for it, just because it’s on a hundred thousand billboards doesn’t mean we need it. Just because they say it’s good for us, bad for us, worse for us, just because it’s on the evening news and pop-up ads doesn’t mean it will ever fulfil us. We are born as reasoning, deductive creatures and we spend our lives being taught that the narrowest, most well-trodden paths are the best to travel. We’re taught that some doors should remain closed. We’re taught that diamonds are a girl’s best friend but did we ever stop and ask ourselves  why? We’re taught that we were born halves forever seeking to be whole, and we’ve been to a thousand bars and clubs and parties and networking sites throwing ourselves into a pursuit we’ve always been taught is going to be external. Every price tag should come with the disclaimer that its purchase does not come with happiness. We’ve been taught that up is up and down is down, that we can’t breathe in space, that symptoms are more important than causes. We pay lip service to commercial canticles and ask ourselves what can I do? We take the roads most traveled because we have been taught to ask why not instead of an infinitely more powerful why? We do the things that make us happy because we are told that they’ll make us happy, even if we sometimes secretly wonder why we’re not feeling it. Maybe we’re not doing it right. But we keep on going through the same old motions because practice makes perfect, and maybe it’s just easier to stop caring why it doesn’t fill us with fire instead of trying to strike a spark of our own. You should be angry. You should be furious. You have been made to feel like a leper at the first breath of a question, and you should clench your teeth to breaking before you take another spoonful of what they’re trying to feed you, no matter how seductive or persuasive the aeroplane noises they try to coax it down with. When they smile and try to shake your hand to steal concessions from you, make your hand a fist. Make sacrifices, but not on the altars of a system that needs to poison itself into oblivion and forgetfulness just so it can keep grinding its own gears down to rust and pulp. They will always be quick to condemn you, belittle you, tell you it can’t be done just to shut you up, because there’s a tiny little part of them that still screams to be heard that recognises that yours is a voice made to end worlds. They have tried to make yours a life of thoughtlessly accepted obligations; of education, of degrees, of marriages, of children, of mortgages, of pensions, crises and deaths. Set fire to their contracts and write your own terms. You want to spend your nights counting the stars? Count them. Lose count. Start over. You want to forego the canvas and toss buckets of paint into empty air? Hand me one. Invent a new language. Graffiti forgotten catacombs that no one will ever see. Dance like a moron. Write love letters to strangers on the backs of napkins, playing cards, your own fucking hand, just to let them know that there are wholes out there, sculpting their own dreams on their own terms in their own time with their own hands, their eyes set on distances far beyond the shuffling of their feet over grey, uniform sidewalks. When they try to feed you their symptom-driven, reasonless terms and conditions, you shouldn’t just shrug your shoulders and accept just because everyone around you has accepted. You should be fucking outraged. I know I am. Your only obligation, ever, should be to yourself and that bright spark that burns deepest that they will do their very best to turn to ash. Make them burn their fucking hands on you when they try.

Respect. It’s worth another reblog. Heck, it’s worth a million.