and all your food is frozen, it needs to be defrosted

I don't know what I was expecting but this, I believe, is Exactly it.
(the last entry would make more sense in this ones' stead)

I ask myself "Frinny, did you really think they'd accept you into the their company?" and, when the tinyiest little voice in the back of my head squeaks "yes", it breaks my heart anew every time.

*sigh*
Two weeks.
9:30 am, November 13th.. then I find some answers.

You'd think the world was ending right now...

There's no such thing as time; it is a human construct that doesn't truly exist.

The Truth is the Truth no matter how many believe the lie... [or is it?]
The universe as I see it is my own construction. Yes, there is R.W.O.T., but even so, I have the capacity to believe (and delude myself) it into being anything I wish...
I create my universe as I see fit.

So why don't I? Because I still perscribe to the beliefs of others...
The societal trap.
To escape and be (more so) alone... or remain trapped and unhappy.

"People are just people. People are just people like you."
[Are they?]


I... don't have the answers. Not the clear-cut ones I [perhaps impossibly] seek.
Tonight, frustration triumphs. (the battle, not the war)


Chin up man. You're hungover.. and I'm just odd. Between us, we have semblance of youth, pretentious tendencies and varying levels of whacked-out brain chemicals.

Science fiction, double feature

"Society kept forcing them into these categories that I don't think they really needed. And that was so destructive."


Self: Not that there’s much to be proud in anything we do. Finished school? Yes well so did all the other kids. Played sport? Ooooh, you too? Well, being pretty I suppose is something. But I rather gather it has more to do with genes than any natural talent, so pride probability isn’t so fitting. (Pause) ah well, perhaps it’s for the best. They say, well I’m not quite sure who it was, might have been Aristotle, could have been the bible, but they say something of that sorta that ‘pride and a haughty spirit go, or come, or something before a fall’. The point is pride is bad. So, I’m not proud. But I’m not really anything. I’m nothing kind of. I’m shrinking. Today I’m sure I’m a size smaller than yesterday, and that’s what happens to old folk before they cark it. Shrink and die. Shrink to fit into the casket. Shrink, like a brand new shirt someone’s going to taint by wearing.

Your body is a battleground. Or at least that’s what they tell me. A kind of war where the things fought out and the things fought for aren’t at all the tangible ideals that we’re used too. I’m not fighting for food, or for love, and I’m certainly not fighting for human rights. Nobody’s violated the Geneva Convention here in the last five minutes, and nobody here is in a position where they’d have to go without. It’s not that kind of war. It’s an inner fight. The sort you have with yourself when you’ve just stolen a five cent coin from your mother’s purse and you’re torn between spilling it all and never saying a word. It’s a battle of conscience. Except now the halves of my self have their own little halves and so on and so forth and it never really stops. It’s constant. A never-ending fight within a fight within myself between all the little things I’m meant to be. Because that is what divides us, really, when you think about it. It’s the pressures and the expectations; when you’re with Mummy you have to be a daughter and when you’re with mates you have to be a friend. And when they meet? Well you’re stuck between the two and it just leaves them upset. But mostly I’m okay with that. Until now I could handle. I was fine. But lately, lately I’ve been submitting more and more to the stereotypes, the clichés of people. I’ve been sleeping when I should have been awake and, sometimes now, I’m finding it hard to get up at all. It’s a battle. It’s a battle with my self, and all my selves, and all the other selves that everyone else thinks I should have, and, it’s getting to be a bit too much. They tell me that my body is a battleground. I won’t argue with them. But you see, the thing is, I’m just a little scared that I might be losing. That… I… might have lost.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick

Sitting in a tree, thinking, watching the clouds... Breathing.
It started with language... how our sense of reality is linguistically constructed; the mediator of meaning is language. Concepts are based in thought, and thought depends on diction.. Creating solid concepts requires expert control of text... and so on. I was thinking about teaching, about how the use of language means the difference between effective learning or misunderstanding.
Thinking then about how human activity is thus constructed and how knowledge, "truth", values, morals are fluid. How people interperate language based upon their own existing understandings and bias' - how children think themselves a part of the entire universe and how, as they grow older, they think -are taught- that they are separate (apart. Ironic that 'a part' means together and 'apart', though the words are combined, means separate). Things happen outside of themselves.
A realisation: -Content to die- My existence means that other things cannot exist. Must occasionally die. I am ok with this. I would do the same.
It then moved through cognitive dissonance (and how this does not happen to children, but becomes a more frequent occurrence in the adult brain) and all through Hermeneutics and all sorts of Literary Theory that I once knew. New Critics... Michel Foucault.. Poulet (I have no idea how to spell their names any more, this is guesswork)..
Finally, what we see depends primarily on what we are looking for/seeking.

Still thinking.
Still looking.
Still seeking.

"Die Knowing Something."

The wold spins 'round and the people fall down

Two Reasons:
*Zen
*Kaylie

You

laughed
cried
yelled
sat
walked
smiled
called (the police)
hurt
attacked
kissed
mocked
protected

Me

Then said "Never again" [save those two reasons]


For the record: I didn't lie.