Stephanie: "Can I go out with my friends?"

Parent: "No."

Stephanie: "Why?"

Parent: "Why should I? How would that benefit me?"

Stephanie: "..."

Stephanie: "So that forty years from now, when you're old, weak, and vulnerable, I won't leave you in an old-people slash invalid's home to wallow in lonely self-hate while suffering the consequences of your prior decisions to ultimately aggravate me during my childhood without reasonable excuse?"

Parent: "Ah, fair enough."

Ah, Kylie my dear, I miss you. We should hang out sometime; your '96 minivan sounds positively splendid: very childless-soccer-mommish.

What we absolutely should do together is set up a table/booth in some public area and brandish a sign titled "Free Conversations with Kylie and Stephanie, Will Talk About Anything With Anyone."
Talk about replenishing one's creative vocabulary (:





I'm very uninspired.
So I do one of these:


1. If you were a fly for a day, how would you spend that day? (You have your mind, but you're a fly.)
Eavesdrop on strangers. Eavesdrop on non-strangers. Find rude customers in restaurants or food courts and land in their food, leave something behind if I can. Hover around a couple having sex so that they get annoyed and start trying to swat me away until eventually one slaps the other across the face (an ordeal from which I will fly away, unscathed).

2. Make a virtual sandwich. What's on it?
Whole wheat bread, chipotle mayo, bacon, lettuce, and the dreams of children when they aspire to be something great so that they may grow up to be cynical and hopeless bastards.

3. What famous person have you found yourself attracted to that you were shocked upon realizing this attraction because that person isn't your type?
Natalie Portman. Yeeah, that whole "having a vagina" thing.. not really my thing. But come on. Have you seen her in Closer? or in V for Vendetta? or when she raps?


4. What unlikely thing breaks your heart?
Lonely and senile old people, especially the ones abandoned to die in convalescent homes by their children.

5. What's the most unpleasant mess you've ever had to clean up?
A relationship.

6. Are you a mod or a rocker?
Neither, I am the offspring of a three-nippled gorilla and a goat.

7. Describe the body of your perfect dream lover.
Legs, limbs, and good looks be not necessary, but two heads most certainly are. One for thinking, and one for, well, y'know. When neither of us are thinking.
I'm not a particularly picky person when it comes to looks. Good looks won't have interesting conversations with me or give me the happy, warm fuzzies.

8. What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?
Pressure-cooked oxtail and peanut butter served over rice with a side of smelly pureed-shrimp paste.

9. Remember that time you climbed that thing and were kinda high up? Tell me about that.
No.

10. How do you eat a small stack of Oreos?
I scrape the icing off of every cookie with a butter knife until I have this mushy pile of white lard accumulated in a bowl: half of which is then applied evenly over my face so that only the pupils of my eyes are the only part of my head that doesn't appear white, and the remaining half is used to style my hair into liberty spikes. Then, I find all the dirty and mismatched socks whose pairs have been devoured by my abysmal washer/dryer, fashion a knee-length dress out of the cloths, and put it on backwards. You will be able to tell that the dress is backwards, because it will be the fuzzy insides of the socks showing on the outside, and not the opposite. Usually, I end by stuffing as many of the black, icing-less cookies into my mouth as I can, chew without swallowing, and then run out onto the streets and flash black&white smiles to strangers while whispering Buddhist chants into their ears with my mouth full.
It is only after I have done this to seven people that I will proceed to finish the last of the cookies in a humane manner: with a spoon.

Or, y'know. I sometimes do just bite into the cookie and wash it down with a swig of milk. Fuck taking them apart and licking the creme before eating it. That's just weird.










There were twenty other questions to this survey, but I found something more interesting to do on the internet in another window, so I just stopped.

Have a nice day.

This staying-at-home-all-day-most-days ordeal is proving hazardly.

I'm out of clever things to say.

It's two in the morning.
I've got headphones on with someone shouting into my ears, and still my room feels so disgustingly quiet.
I feel like I should make some noise. I feel like I should shout. I should shout.

My restless legs don't seem able to settle down unless I close my eyes.
I think I'm tired.

Posting just for Kylie :D
I could accidentally run over a little old lady
with my shitty driving one day, watch Kylie laugh on these videos,
and still feel like laughing myself.
Oh, Imma miss you, lady-friend.

Ortiz mentioned something about how we should have used remote mics for these videos.
Goddammit, Ortiz will always still be Ortiz.

I once told a friend that most of the wisdom I've attained on life as I see it has come not through experience, but through observation: the consequences of the mistakes my friends have made, and the rewards they've reaped from the opposite.
He told me that by doing so, I wasn't living life the way I ought to.

I argued by asking, "Then in what way 'ought' I to live? The trouble of using experience to navigate my way through living is that the effect of my decision-making comes first, then the lesson; not always will I have the ability to fix the first of the two."

He then responded, "Then, what right do you have to wish to exist as distinctly independent, if the life you choose to live is not your own?"

The good things in life are not things.

We, a sea of uniform purple gowns, passed through the main halls as students for the last time.
If my peers eventually come to understand and accept the impermanence of all things, perhaps we truly might be able to make society a better place, just like they told us.

My heart panged for the poor guy on the right.

Oh; we're all on uneven beaches of white, combing the grounds for forgotten valuables with metal detectors at hand,

standing atop millions of abandoned rare diamonds
buried from sight not even a foot beneath the sand.

These motivational posters these days: usually the words you'll read beneath an irrelevant but still colorfully beautiful photograph are the postermaker's definition of strength: "Don't give up. Never give up. Keep fast, keep strong, keep vigilant, keep persistent."

It wasn't until this year that I'd encountered people who, with their lives and stories of sad ordeals, their trials and their ne'er-fore revealed personalities, have unknowingly taught me that sometimes, it's true strength that's needed to let things gently go.

MY CHANGES, FROM THE BEGINNING OF HIGH SCHOOL TO THE END:

pre:

near-post:



Heck, what did high school do to me?
No, what did I do (or not do, hehh) for myself in high school?

Not a damn thing.

FUTURE PLANS AFTER GRADUATION:

- Get fit. Find an active sport I enjoy playing, hire a trainer, or blackmail a friend into joining my struggle. Maybe I'll stop procrastinating.
- Care about school. It's not free anymore.
- Leave home. I'm sure the world is larger than I imagine it must be, still figuring out how to sever the umbilical cord without committing unintended suicide.
- Manners? Hm. Usually only applies to 35+ adults. Lower age line?
- Care about things. Because I find that I usually don't.

That fat, grey cat that lives underneath my porch came out today.
I returned home; as I was turning the lock on my screen door I spotted it, out of the corner of my eye, squatting on one of the wooden steps by the back gate.

Didn't even run away as I moved to step inside.
Just stared at me with those unblinking, catty eyes.
I don't feed it; I wonder what it eats so much of to be so fat.

Tell them they are under attack, denounce the pacifists for leaving them vulnerable,


and they will do your bidding.

Yesterday evening, I stepped out of the house to find that one among the dozen-ish birds perched upon the pole wires above had decided to leave its legacy on the ass of my car.

I looked up at the bunch of stupid flying things, cursing whichever one had released its large, unholy splatter of white and purple.

All these damn birds had wings that enabled them to fly above the rest of the world, to see the lands from a perspective those without wings could not,
yet it was here, of all places, that they had chosen to seat themselves.


"But what right did I have to mutter indecencies at them?", I ask myself now.

I wonder: are the trivial things we forget forgotten over time, or all of an unnoticed sudden?

When despair at last floods your heart,
you will fall to your knees and look to the heavens with tears in your eyes,
screaming in voiceless agony, "What have I done to deserve this?"

and the voice that you've always prayed would respond to your sorrow
will still prefer to remain silent.