Good Night (a 2 minute drill)

I haven't passed the window in days.
The mirror is lucky to be a stranger to me.
I don't have enough strength within,
I can't leave the thinking to the side of my sin.
It's true I don't practice traditional ways,
But it's another route that let's me see
The things I've lost in my life,
But it's all right,
I can still say good night.

Blind (a crappy mind-dump)

You can't make up your mind.
Everything in this world confuses you.
You don't care what people think about you (That's a plus).
You break away anytime something good happens between us.

You don't realize I hold ties to no one.
You don't understand that I care as much as you do.
Sometimes, it's not that much.
You can't fathom the greatness we can have.

You don't drive me crazy.
You think you're different from the rest,
But you're not.

The real difference,
I'll tell you;
I still enjoy your company.

You don't realize I don't care what happens.
**********
to be continued...

Memo For Them Asses

First things first; to those legitimately liking my blog, many thanks. I haven't responded because I have been very busy, what with a new job, changing my life, identity, and life-level all in less than 24 hours.

Not bitching, just stating facts.

Bitches.

Next, today isn't the same as yesterday, and tomorrow I'm in for the worst. I have a disruptive kid coming in whose reputation precedes with: She snapped out the principal.

Just letting you in one inch at a time.

Please be on the lookout for the return of my 2 Minute Drills. If you don't know what that is, worry not, everyone will find out soon, and come to the realisation that some sick, smart, twisted genius is in charge of your children's futures.

For now, anyway. This job is anything but permanent. My past still needs to catch up with me. I can hear it huffing, grasping for air, but eventually it crosses the line, destroying what small surge of happiness I'm riding at the time.

And I'll just pick myself up again, and again.

You can't kill what has no heart.

If you want more of my writing look on my space. The name's David, my blog is under sweet insomnia; I forgot how My Space works their crud. I got sick of that place and left, returning only for music now and again, and to talk to my friend;
and when I say friend, I mean actual living, breathing, I can reach out and touch her type of friend. Not those bullshit trophy pieces the sick jibblets on that website collect, displaying like a safari trophy.

Why are you still here?

Read at Your Own Risk

How can you open the eyes of the deaf in front of a window and make them listen?

Their sight, must make them here.
Their consciousness needs to rise.

It wasn't horrible. I know the worst is coming, but there's something here.
I actually feel like I can contribute, which sickens me because I would prefer to be the laziest bastard this side of the moon's ass.
That bastard is LAZY.

I need to travel.
Soon, soon, and then forever on after.

What the hell are you still reading this for?
I nodded off in the middle of the rant, so I have no clue what I just wrote.

Transition continues...

Transition In a Cacoon

These kids are bad, but not lost.

Not yet.

They need competition.

NOW.

Brain would prefer being lost on fun-junk right now.

CRUD

I did not see this coming. I woke up this morning, expecting and interview, not a complete, life-overhaul.

I will begin a new job tomorrow, the first "adult" job I've ever had, and no, not porno. That would be easier, but silly me, do I like things to be easy.

NOOOOOOOOOO.
Because I'm stupid that way.

Life has just gotten harder, and the real world is nothing like it was before. Now, it's surreal, and I'm about to get the biggest reality check of my entire life.

I need this. I need to prove it to myself that I can do this; I WILL DO THIS.

What hurts is I must tell the group of people that I've just become centered with that I must leave them in a lurch, which was exactly what I didn't want to do, but progress, evolution, niether waits for personality. Just because you want to be proffesional and borderline nice doesn't mean you'll be given the opportunity.

I hate this.

Tomorrow, perhaps I'll feel different.

I need clarity, preferably with a side of Jack Daniels.

My brain shrieks.

Brain-Paste

I've found myself surrounded by idiots, lately. I would like to stomp their heads and make brain paste all over the sidewalk, but in my mind I realize that certain governing authorities in some countries would consider this illegal, including the one I currently reside in, unless I'm getting paid for it, then, it's okay.

I am doing my best to lose these surroundings, and these morons with it, but I find that in order to subtract the moron, I must understand the moron, and then make brain-paste.

Screw the morons.
Let them figure it out.
I just wish they'd keep the hell away from me.
They're good to drink with.

No they're not.

But that brain-paste sure is fun.

Bastard of a Rough Draft

This is my piss poor, bastardized version of a rough draft
--------------------------------
Bartelby worked for a dead letter office before gaining employment with the lawyer on Wall Street. The dead letters were full of written documents, cherished jewelry, and donations to charity that would never reach their intended destination. As the lawyer pointed out in his narration, “…on errands of life, these letters sped to death.” Placing these letters of hope within the fire left Barelby empty. He changed, and in changing he became discouraged with the world and with its people. As a character he was dynamic, changing after his hiring at the law office on Wall Street. He became Byronic as he grew sick of working, ill of speaking to anyone, and his self-starvation led to his death. Bartelby followed existentialism and saw life without meaning, without hope; that even his own life was impassive and unimportant, but he fell off when he decided to do nothing about it. He allowed the numbness that he felt to consume him, and he could not change. This failure to change destroyed him.
While his last effort in changing killed Bartlely, there was no encouragement from his co-workers, nor any motivation from his boss, the lawyer, to take notice of the world. Taken from the lawyer’s point of view this assessment could be refuted, but looking at it from Bartelby’s perspective, as a man who lost faith in humanity, had no desire to live because in the end everything meant nothing, there was no compensation for living. Looking at the people Bartelby worked with, you could take the lawyer, his boss, and notice that yes, the man tried to aid Bartelby, giving him extra wages if he would only leave the office, offering Bartelby shelter at his own home, but because of the man’s unconsciousness of existence, he made no progress with the conundrum that was Bartelby. The lawyer preferred life being as easy as possible, rarely taking any chances, and avoiding serious confrontation. He remained static as a character, never changing because he did not want to change. The fear of change, the taste of something different was too much for him, therefore, only through money, and material compensation did the lawyer have an idea of how to help his ailing employee. Unknown to him, however, Bartelby had given up on all of it long ago; given up on man, possessions, and life. The lawyer never became anything either. He failed to become enlightened by Bartelby until the end, when he realized what Bartelby’s true pain was, but by that time it was too late.
---------------
That's about as rough as it gets. I do not like it, I loathe it...

"DUHHHHHH, ohhh, don't worry, David, it's just a rough draft, duuuhhhhh."

SHUT UP!!!! before I get blind monkies to perform visectomies on you all.

None of this turned out the way I had hoped, there is so much left out, and yes, yes, yes, rough draft, I know, but I don't like it. I will put it away for now, seeing as how it's about to give me a nosebleed, and in turn I will run outside and give other people nosebleeds.

That's part of the journey, really. You never know where your brain will take you, and sometimes your even more frightened after you've been there than before you left.

Now my headache is gone. I'm going to rest, regroup, and tackle it again once I've pounded some fun into my system.

Go away.

Because I don't feel like using Word

What am I going to write about? I liked Bareltby, The Scrivener because, yes he refused to change, but ultimately, that was his downfall, same for Emily, same for Abner. None changed, and when I think about it, Emily and Abner were the only two that were clueless how to change. Bartelby was the only one with enough consciousness, which he freely relinquished, but enough none the less to change, though he became a victim of his working conditions.

I suppose what I'm saying up there is that it took a change in Bartelby so that he may reach his demise whereas Emily and Abner were doomed from the start. Why? Abner had no smarts, no intellect, no idea that he needed to change, no formal education, no scholarly background what so ever. Emily, she had the best in the south, here family was wealthy, but because of her father's stern vigil, she being kept in the back, hidden from the world, why, because, according to her father, the world was not good enough for her.

If I narrowed the topic down to Bartelby and Abner or Bartelby and Emily I could focus more on what changed, the people or the places, but I can't do this as a compare and contrast piece; it has to be subjective, with whatever elements of psychology, history, I think, some other fields, but I can clear that up on Tuesday.

I would like to talk about the atmosphere around them; bring in other characters who emphasize the worlds they live in, both characters.

And then there's Krebs.

The war changed him, and he could not return to his small town roots. In fact he came to despise his people, and even himself. It seemed he was going the path of Bartelby, only he actually did things. Rather than starving himself he stuck with routine, and that alone is death.

Narrowing down: 1.The living elements 2.What changed them. 3. What didn't change(?)

Bartelby: Worked in the dead letter office. All of those unheard prayers he was forced to burn turned him inside out, shutting him down, throwing himself into self-alienation.

Krebs: The war broke him down. When he returned home he had no hero's welcome, no grand parade, and his father still used the mother to wear Krebs down. Krebs was no longer connected to anyone in his home, but he still loved his young sisters, the last remaining innocence in his life.

I'd still like to stick Abner Snopes in there somewhere, but I don't want to weigh down the paper. It needs to stay simple, too much and I'm in over my head.

Thesis:Bartelby and Krebs were both victims of their social constructs, forced into self-alienation (or something like that).

IT'S A FREAKIN' START, DAMMITT!!!