Apparently Religion and Psychosis Don’t Mix Well

Hey you.

I spent the last week at LDS girls camp up in Big Bear. I went as an “adult leader.” Mostly, I “cooked.” And used finger quoties. Like “this.” Or “this”.

It was amazing, of course. The girls were sweet and hilarious and a total blast to (“not”) hang out with. According to one other cook, who shall, regrettably remain unnamed (regrettably, because I know if I told you, loyal readers, an unnamed particular among you might bump her off for me. Thanks for the offer anyway! I think we’re good!), I shouldn’t have been hanging out with them. Then everyone else told me later that I should just ignore that one old hooch.

Of course, being the loner that I am, I had to wander up the mountain and have a good cry first, and seriously consider going home, even though it had only been one day. Instead, I cursed her out…(in my head), and stuck with it.

The other ladies were really great, even though most of them were old enough to be my mother (and even grandmother!). This one woman kept trying to convince me that her son (whom I have never met) and I are perfect for each other.
Yeah.
And she kept saying what a sweetheart he is.
Yeah.
Apparently she thinks her sweetheart son should spend eternity with a sunshiney psychopath. Crazy…?

No, really, she was an awesome lady. I’m glad I met her. But religion and psychosis don’t mix.
I was reawakened to this notion early Friday morning. This was after spending a few days feeling wonderful and spiritual and having girls tell me they love me and having my testimony of the compassion and divinity of women reaffirmed. And then the evening ride down the mountain with my former bishop and his wife, with them telling me what a wonderful young woman I was and all that ridiculousness. They made me feel all silly and weepy, making me consider whether I’ve had such a positive impact as they say on the kids. I’unno ‘bout all that. I hope I’ve changed them for the better.

Yeah’anyway. I went and saw THE DARK KNIGHT a half hour after I got home, my hair still up in braids, finger nails painted a ridiculous color, no shower, no make-up. Oye, was I adorable!

The movie was… It was…

No. I can’t do a critique. It inspired me. It helped me get a read on the crazies in the audience. It made me want to build some kinda non-graven imagey tribute to this guy ----------------------------------->
But I came out pretty messed up after. Talk about an emotional overload. Within a few hours I had sat through a spiritual testimony meeting, a tiny tribute to my past goodness as a human being, and one explosiony, mind-deranging, I-was-afraid-to-laugh, semi-depressing film that I proceeded to see again 36 hours later.

Driving home, I was sobbing. It’s these moments, people, that make me think I’m a freak...like this guy!--------> I can’t tell you why I was crying. I think maybe it was just all those conflicting feelings inside me that I didn’t know quite how to deal with…? So, if any of you are ments (psychiatrists), feel free to give me a salty analysis. Cause this was a bit disturbing, this crying at 3 in the morning for no apparent reason.

Okay. So, I’m tired. Insomnia sucks. I’ma leave you alone now. Go see Dark Knight. It’s violent and disturbing. Don’t take anyone younger than ten or eleven, people, okay? Unless you want them turning out like this guy.
Which brings me to the theory of how he got those scars…

Nah, I won’t go into that now.
Sweet dreams 8/

I Celebrate My Independence By Hurling Myself Down Mountains and Such

So I’m home. Sure felt like a longer trip than it was. And I would have stayed longer if it had been up to me. Spent a few days in Las Vegas. I slipped into a Jacuzzi the first night. These two little girls made me their new best friend against me will. I don’t know why children are so attracted to me. The four year old kept trying to sit on my lap, while the six year old kept playing with my hair and necklace. I kept trying to casually slide away, but they cornered me! Asking me all these questions and telling me every single thing they did, ate, saw, said, and thought in the last week. They were totally adorable. I talked to them and made them laugh. I knew they must have had parents somewhere, but I never saw them. It was pretty uncomfortable.

The view from our fifth floor room of the Cancun was awesome. We faced mostly the South Point, but when I looked left, I could gaze upon an ocean of lights. Really, all those sparkly orange lights looked like the shifting sea. There was even one of those oscillating lights of an airport right on the brink between darkness and sparkles. It looked just like a lighthouse perched on the edge of a dark mass of shoreline.

When we got to Cedar City a couple days later, I was attacked by more small children, though small children I actually knew. Like the Jacuzzi girls, Amalia and Donovan insisted on sitting on my lap or holding my hand or tickling me or playing with my hair. I swear, I’m about this close to pulling a Spears and shearing it all off.

No, I talk about the little uns like I’m ninety and constantly crotchety, but I really love playing with them. They’re tons of fun.

I got my cousin Holly to start reading through The Story. It’s so exciting to talk about it with someone who is so smart and helpful! She seems to genuinely enjoy it so far. I really needed a fresh perspective on it, and motivation to work harder.

I got to blow some stuff up on Friday—which is always interesting with my family. Especially when my uncle who blew his finger off with a cherry bomb when he was a boy is present, carting a few hard core (illegal) fireworks with him.

My cousin who’s my age and I’ve never really liked and is pregnant and it makes me hateful in a terribly jealous sort of way was flaunting her big beautiful belly. Whatever. I don’t want a baby.

Saturday was the start of the real adventures. First, there was climbing through the Mammoth Caves. I got to drag myself, belly sliding on dirt, legs squirming through a few narrow lava chutes. It was so awesome! The first one we went in was really long and big, with high ceilings and real slimy mucusy mud EVERYWHERE. Only my cousin Holly and I ventured through the muck to reach the rocky climb out. At the foot of the last ascent was a pile of ICE water that I, of course, stepped in. Granted, I didn’t have a flashlight. I was relying on the occasional shadow-casting glow of Holly’s light in front of me. I’ve never been in such darkness in my entire life. There was this one point where she rounded a corner and climbed up and over a jut, and I was standing on this slippery rock in the pitch black, surrounded my pools of mud I couldn’t see. It was so awesome!

The second shaft was the best. It had really small openings, and ceilings so low that we had to drag ourselves across the cold ground with our arms. This one wasn’t wet like the first, and it was just Holly and I because no one else could fit. So I got my own flashlight J It was so awesome!

The last one was like the second, except it was shorter and really rocky and there were a bunch of other people in there, too. I bruised my hands pulling myself up over the rocks, and Holly knocked up her shins real bad. We were so amazing when we got out. We were covered in mud.

Then we stopped by the creek and I learned how to fish on a river (and wash out my shoes!). I didn’t catch anything (I only cast five times, and one of the times I got stuck on a rock). But my dad’s last cast caught a little guy, and he let my real it in, and let it loose, playing around with it a bit until it got off. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. The sensation was strange, what with those tugs on the pole, and me caught up with how the fish might be feeling. The spot was beautiful, though. I may proclaim disdain for Utah now and again, but I can’t bad talk those streams and wildflowers and quaking aspens against that mountain backdrop.

After some questionable grubbage on pork sandwiches (ick!), we began our biking down the mountain. Once we got my brakes working right, I was really enjoying the downhill flight, rocky trail and all. Then a damn rock had to go and attempt a homicide. Yes, that’s right, I crashed mountain biking for the first time in my life. And I didn’t even have some of the excuses of previous trips, like last time when I had no shocks and my hands bled most of the way down, or the time before when I had trippy brakes and had to drag my feet on the rocks to stop. No. I had my gloves on, brakes fully functional. I just caught a concealed boulder cutting across the trail. I twisted sideways, three-sixtied on my bike, flung it in the air, landed on my left hip, tucked my head between my arms and rolled. And rolled. And rolled. And rolled. And rolled. Then another rock stopped me.

So, I laid there for a bit, because my left side was ON FIRE. My brother Kyle, who was just behind me, took the bike from off my legs, while my dad told me to just lie there, and my uncle said to relax. My dad rushed over and checked my head, while I told him I was okay, I was okay, I was fine. Then they all laughed, and Holly took a picture on her phone. Wonderful people, huh? I excused myself behind a bush so I could check if I was bleeding in my crotch, because it was stinging so badly. Miraculously, no broken bones, no blood. Bruises ALL OVER my body, nausea for the rest of the day, but I sucked it up and finished the ride. I think I got whiplash or something, too, because my neck STILL hurts.

Pretty exciting, eh? Did you actually read all of that? What do you think of this post? I don’t really like writing about things that happen to me. It’s boring. This is why I don’t write in a diary, either. I usually prefer writing about ideas and feelings and opinions. But I haven’t posted in so long, I just wanted to assure all you faithful readers that I do indeed exist, and I lead a rather dangerous and engaging life. Really. I do.

Ta ta for now. I’m off to exercise my independence in another semi-suicidal way.

Obligation...? Cannibalism!!! Eh, "poem."

I feel obligated to make an update. No reason, really. Although I know my blog posts bring a vital shot of sunshine into your day. If not for my profound words, your life would be bleak and pointless.

Heh.
Ha!
...
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Ooooooh, funny.
No, you're right. I'm not funny. Don't think I don't know it! 'Cause I don't! You got me? *intimidating glare*

Ye'Anywho. I have nothing interesting to say. Good night.
...
Or not. Apparently the Satanists who control the cyber-realm won't let me post.

Ah. I see.

They tell me that there's no available wireless connection.
...Bastards.

This is why I haven't been posting/communicating with anyone/being a real person for the last couple weeks. No Internet= Me in Zombie-like State.
'Cept without the eating of brain-age bit. Haven't stooped to that level.

...Or some might say I haven't climbed to that level.
Sorry. Just trying to appeal to my cannibalistic readers, tha'soll.

Still no posting. Hummmmmm...

I wrote a poem a month and a half ago. Back when my new life was ending, at the close of my first year at BYU. I was going to one of those wonderful poetry things Ethan held. It was twelve or so hours before it began.
Late at night, or early in the morning. I dunno which. And I was suddenly desperate to have something of my own to read to them. All those amazing people I would never see again! But I was so tired. I just went to bed instead. "Stuff it, muse!"
My head played around with some phrases until my limbs were so agitated they were dragging me up out of those blankets, over to my glasses, scrambling for paper and pen. I wrote this.

I never read it at the "Super Awesome Fun Fun Time" thing anyway. I spent the early evening with Mindy, Scott, and my cool aunt+cousin+Scottish husband of cousin who still hasn't realized he married the wrong cousin ;)
Anyway. Different story. I only ended up making it towards the end of the Fun Fun Time-ness. Ethan and the amusing-and-talented-friend-of-his-whose-name-I-can't-remember were playing their guitars and singing and entertaining a much larger group than I expected. So I enjoyed myself, stuffed the "poem" into my back pocket, said some semi-awkward goodbyes, and went back to my relations.

Then I proceeded to accidentally wash said "poem". I knew instantly what it was when I picked it up from the bottom of the washing machine. My inner-surgeon took hold of me and, fortunately(?) saved the wrinkled, eroded, smeared work from utter oblivion.

And now here it is for you today, cannibalistic blog readers of mine!



____________________________________________________

"Poem" (Creative title, no? I've been thinking of renaming it, "Cannibalistic! >:D" What do you think? ...I'm not funny.)-4/19/08


I’m not a poet anymore
Though I was once so sure I was one
At 14 or 15 when they joined together to say such beautiful things
“Oh, your poetry-!”
I’d blush and smile
And feel my insides turning on me
My soul retching.
I thought myself a poet once.

That me, that once, has little hold on me now
Like the fleeting moments of an embrace, or
Or sandprints lost to the sweeping of an ocean’s wave

But those are clichés, huh?
Perhaps that’s all my life has ever been. Clichés,
I’ve got a whole lifetime’s collection in my room back home
Taped up in a cardboard box filled with seashells and old photographs.
I’d burn the thing, but there are already too many others
Burning their boxes. Ash is not a friendly rain,
Everyone is tired of the orange haze beyond the gray.
Those clichés need to go.

And the photographs, too. They’re not pieces of my soul!
Besides, I need room for the new ones.
I’ve taken so many, of all of you.
They’re sharp now in my hands
Cutting my palms, my fingers
I need these hands to live!
My voice cannot sustain me
My insides are more useless still
I’ll place the hurting photographs in the box
With the clichés and seashells.

The scars make my hands stiff
So hard to move
Looking will be easy enough at first
Your faces will be clear awhile
Then I’ll start seeing you through a fogged window
The scars itch
I clench my hands
Still ache, though
The clarity is gone and I must wipe away the wet
I must see you again
Not want—must!
And in one uncontrolled jerk
The wetness is gone

But so are your faces.

__________________________________________________

Thank Marissa for These Giggles

1. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name)
Raye Enoch

2. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother's dad, father's dad)
Ray Alexander [I know, right? Totally!]

3. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Holkr [Meh. Sounds more like a planet than a person. Or maybe a really ugly alien...?]

4. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Green Lynx [The eco-friendly Private I!]

5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Alice Fontana [Holy schmokes! Awesome!!!]

6. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Indigo Italian Creme Soda! [...yeah, lame.]

7. FLY NAME: (first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Kres [You pronounce it, z-EH-m. Yeah. I'm THAT fly.]

8. GANGSTA NAME: (fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie)
Cookies 'n' Cream White Chocolate Macadamia Nut [fo' shizzle, mah nizzle...?]

9. ROCK STAR NAME: (current pets name, current street name)
Shadow Oleander [You. are. jealous. Shadow 9th totally works, too!]

10. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy)
Blank Skittles [You want her. You know it.]

11. PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on)
Coco Oleander [No joke. We did this in a creative writing class, combining the first pet with the street, and then we had to write up a character profile for the name and share it with the class. I was the youngest in the class by at least five years. So I stood up to present what I had written: "Coco Oleander. Hooker--" The classroom walls were shaking from the noise. The old guy behind me was laughing something loud and terrible. They were still laughing a whole minute later, so I just sat down.]

Okay, Wheezy. Your turn.

Blog? Footcial.

I was called out of my cave earlier this evening. I happened to have been playing around with the lovely pictures you see on the side here. So I schlumped out into the living room to face a parental unit.

Parental Unit: “So what have you been up to all night?” [“All night” as in, the two hours of early evening when, 1.) My family members become vegetables in front of the television; and, 2.) I am said “bitchy whore.”]
Me: “Working on my blog.” [Trying to upload pictures, but I can’t hook myself a wireless connection. All locked. *shakes fist at her selfish neighbors*]
P.U: “What is a blog anyway?” [Yeah, she’s old.]
Me: “Well, uh… It’s, um… A place for people to write things…? About themselves, or their…um…opinions…?"

…I know, right? That’s all I could come up with. I laughed about it a minute ago, what with it being the time of night where everything is hilarious. But even if I had been prepared for the question, I still wouldn’t really know how to describe what a blog is. Because a blog is whatever the blogger makes it to be, right? It’s...personal publication on the web…?
Oye, I dunno. I would have advised her to Wiki it, but when I told her a few months ago about her nephew having a Wikipedia page, she asked me what Wikipedia was! =: O

And now for something completely different.
…Hopefully sunshiny different. I’m sorry for going all political before. That must’ve been depressing. Unless you took my well-intended advise and just skipped over it.

Right. The sunshiny different bit now.

I got my first footcial. Or…whatever they’re called. Pedicure.
It was…pretty awkward. The girl was sweet, but didn’t speak English. And I don’t speak Korean. So we just kept smiling and making gestures.
In my head, I had this image of the awkward turtle frantically waving his little flipper-arms. He was desperate to escape, but I couldn’t help him! I was trapped in this vibrating chair, and the girl had my ankles clutched in her iron vice fingers, and besides, my feet were covered in this gooey stuff, so if I had tried to make a run for it, I probably would have hurt myself.

The girl time was nice. I was invited by my sister, my "replacement sister" Amber, and this sweet lady named Elizabeth from the singles ward. Too bad the sane people I was with weren’t seated even close to me... I had nothing but the Korean girl to distract me from the idiocy of the other customers, who were, a.) Fussy, older, high-maintenance ladies that I consistently wanted to smack in the Botox-injected faces; and b.) Girls my age with fake tans, blonde streaks in their flat-ironed hair, low tops (“thanks for the boob shot, ho-bag!”), and freakishly long fingernails. You know, the real clacky, I-could-tear-out-your-eyes-with-one-fatal-jab ones? So I spent most of the time thinking about the Story, watching my feet get all ridiculous, and wondering what kind of creative material I could get out of the experience.

I also saw the girl I hated in junior high while I was there. She was getting her nails done. Probably in preparation for some soul-tearing-out-through-chest…? She was pregnant. And wearing very little clothes. I couldn’t hide my smirk, so I just tried not to look at her. It was easy enough, because the lady next to me, who was trying to suffocate a little dog in her purse was trying to speak Korean to the woman working on her feet, and it sounded like a trashed Southerner attempting to teach Russian to a small African child while crunching on ice. The girl doing my feet was unsuccessfully stifling her giggles.

Anyway. My toes are now green. For what purpose, you ask? None, my friend. No reason. Women are stupid creatures.

Thanks to Amber, for paying for my foot pampering. She insisted, since it was my first time. Unless I actually end up sitting next to someone I know next time I go, or learning Korean, or not perpetually being surrounded by plastic retards, I may never pay for a footcial myself.
My toenails will cope.

WARNING: Political Crap--Just Skip Over This One

I watch "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson" almost every day. I find him highly entertaining. Also, it sorta, kinda keeps me up to date with current events. Kinda.
Okay, not really.
"No! No! No!...Yes, yes. A bit, a bit."
I watch him because he makes me laugh so freely. He seems truly comfortable with the insane person he is. He is also widely accepted and admired in society. Gives me hope for myself.
If you’ve never watched him, you might want to try it some time.
Then again, you might not think he’s funny. He certainly says and does things occasionally that I don’t find funny. Funny is really relative, too. Eh. I recommend him :)

Except for the other day...This Craig Ferguson man, he said something on his show that’s been bugging me. He declared that it was un-American to not vote, and that if you didn’t vote, you had no business discussing politics.
Okay, Craigy. Listen here. I’ve never voted. Granted, I’ve never been of legal age to do so. But I will be in this upcoming election. Although I’m registered to vote, I don’t plan on voting. My vote is pointless because of the two-party system, and the Electoral College.
I actually wrote a paper about the Electoral College back in November for my English class. If you’re not interested, just scroll down. It's boring. But it does explain why I don't believe in the individual vote. I think it's justification enough for not wishing to vote.

_________________________________________________________________
“Does My Vote Even Matter?”: A Debate on the Electoral College (10/27/07)
People of our nation have recently assailed the Electoral College with criticism. Whether it diminishes the individual vote and puts too much emphasis on the swing states or not, the current method of the College has enough defects to merit reformation. While the Electoral College is necessary to put a check on majority rule, in its current form it incorrectly represents the views of the American people. Though some argue that the Electoral College should be abolished altogether and that presidential elections should rely solely on popular vote, a proportional vote rather than the current winner-take-all method would maintain separation of powers and checks on the majority while providing the individual vote with appropriate weight.
On one hand, many argue that eradicating the Electoral College would promote democracy and take disproportionate power away from the swing states. Those who are against the current system argue that the Electoral College diminishes the vote of the average American. If it were abolished, the rightful politician—one elected by popular vote—would take office. Instead of all the campaigning and focus of interests being wholly centered upon the swing states, election by popular vote would equalize the political power of the individual vote regardless of state citizenship.
While these are valid points, there are still major flaws in trusting the appointment of the president of the United States to majority rule. By taking the power away from the states, the balance of powers that our nation relies upon for stability would be corrupted. Collective thinking and the roar of the populous would silence the voice of the minorities and smaller states. Our nation would centralize into a massive government where the concerns of the minorities would not be heard over the majority. Rather than heightening democracy and giving value to the individual vote, this would lead to a polarizing of political power and representation, where the concerns of the majority would overshadow all else.
The proposition of proportional vote would solve these problems by limiting the majority and bringing more weight to the vote of each citizen. Democracy would strengthen because each vote cast in the Electoral College would count independently towards the candidate rather than all of the states’ Electoral votes going to the winner of the plurality. The importance of each state would once again return. Rather than a Democrat avoiding campaigning and caring for the Texan voters because of the certainty that the Republican candidate would win the state, the Democrat could benefit from the voice and vote of the small collection of Democratic Texans. The concerns of the minority would be considered instead of ignored simply because the method of voting made the entire state solely Republican.
Unfortunately, this concept of proportional vote would be nearly impossible to implement because the Constitution gives the states the power of determining and altering the purpose of the electors. Many states would lose their influence and power within the Electoral College by allowing the proportional vote, and would therefore never agree to it. One suggestion is for the legislative branch of the federal government to intercede and write legislation that would bind all the states to this method. This act of Congress, however, would take too much power away from the state governments. Rather, each of the states would need to take the initiative to change for the good of the nation instead of dwelling on how their own authority might diminish. However, this would require states with contrasting interests to sacrifice certain advantages to one another, an act so selfless that it will never be accomplished, especially on such a grand scale. In order for this to be accomplished the people of the United States must use the power and rights that they have been endowed with to petition to their respective states to make this change. Through earnest and catching effort the American people can make their democracy truer to the people as a whole, and benefit their nation.
Regardless of practical impossibilities, this change in the Electoral College is necessary in order for our nation to overcome the injustice and misrepresentation of the current system. The College must be altered to provide the individual vote the power it needs to be properly representative of our democracy. Without this revision, or without the College altogether, America cannot rightly claim to be a nation founded on freedom and equality.
________________________________________________________________


This next bit is from a 20-minute freewrite I did for that same English class. The topic was Barack Obama. (9/26/07)

“Thinking about politics and politicians makes me hate America. Scratch that: it makes me hate humanity. I feel only frustration and anger towards politics most days. And the media. I hate the media in general. What a horribly polluted, twisted, contorted, perverted medium. We have so much at our access in America, and almost everything comes to us through this horrible filter, all junked with prejudice and bias and corruption. Ah!
Anyway. Barack Obama. He’s a good example of this. Haha, his name is all underlined in red. I love it. I love that it isn’t recognized by Microsoft. I hope more things extend beyond the reach of Microsoft. Haha, Bill! Take that!
So. “Obama ’08! Hell yes!” ...Or is it, "NObama '08"?!
Do you know what I’ve heard about him from the media? Retardedness. That’s right—retardedness! It’s a word NOW Microsoft, so TAKE IT! Agh! Heh.
Hey, what the--!? "Heh" isn’t a word?! It so is Bill!… it so is.
Yeah, Barack smoked marijuana. That’s what I know. He did crack. Woopdeedoo! He did crack in college. I don’t know why people give a damn. And I don’t know why people are making a big deal about not giving a damn. Why do I not know where he stands on abortion? How come I don’t know if he cheats in poker? Does manipulation come naturally to him? Is he good to his family? Is he polite to strangers? Well, I’m sure he is now, since there’s always a camera or a reporter, but does he actually mean it in his heart when he smiles? Does he have to practice? Does he plan on continuing this reckless killing of Iraqi civilians? Wasting away our natural resources? Continuing our dependence on foreign oil? Is he willing to put away stupid American pride? Does he want to downsize the glutton that is our society? Is he willing to put his heart into America until it is twisted and torn by the disgusting realities that we as a whole ignore, or are so immune to because of the crass media?
Not that I know much about politics. I usually prefer ignorance because most of it disgusts me so much, but that ignorance is just as stupid as… oh, I dunno what it’s as stupid as. It’s stupid and irresponsible. But I do know that hiding my head and turning away my eyes and plugging up my ears only makes America worse that it already is. What have I to hide from? Is it simply the foul state of things? Is it the lies and the hatred and the ignorance and the warring and sickness and greed that bothers me so much? Is it because those Democrat Congressmen and Republican Congressmen quarrel and throw immature words at one another and hate each other so innately that makes me want to vomit all over America?
Obama. What could he possibly accomplish becoming president? One man really can’t make that sort of difference, be it president of America, or a homeless girl in India. I dunno where India came from. That’s pretty random. I don’t know much about India.
But seriously. Even if Obama had all the right ideas about the environment and energy conservation and foreign relations and stem cell research and gay rights and capital punishment, he would never be able to bring these labors to fruition, would he? There are so many things to fight through in the US government, and so many other people to influence him, and there’s Congress and everyone else—agh, you know, judicial, executive, bureaucratic. And the damn media!
What does me worrying about these issues accomplish? Rizor used to try and convince me of how important it was for young, intelligent people to care about these problems. I have trouble believing that I am one of those intelligent people, let alone believing that I even have a voice. I know, I know, I have freedom of speech, but do I really? I can pretty much say what I wish, but other people are free to misrepresent those things, or shoot me because of it. They can use all the corruptive tools they’ve honed to utterly obliterate people’s perceptions, and they can just ignore my words all together. We claim that we are all about freedom and equality, but where is the equality when so many voices are silenced? Or go unheard because of age, race, religion, socioeconomic class, occupation, location? When ideas are quelled before they even reach the lips—! I have no idea how this is an argument about Barack Obama.
Obama. I think if I vote, I might just go for him. I don’t want him to be president, but look at the bloody options!!! And when people ask why I’m voting for him, I’m gonna respond with “He did crack.” That’s what I know. Obama did crack. Do I do crack? Am I crack-head? Am I druggy? Do I support illegal drug use? Well, none of that matters.
Should I be fitting into some stereo-type? Ah shoot, aren’t I supposed to be a Republican? I am Mormon. Wait, no, I’m not Mormon. Mormon is a dead prophet. That’s a ridiculous thing to say. But I don’t do drugs. Ooo, bad bad--Drugs?! No, never. Seriously, though. Labels aside, I know wrong from right. I don't support illegal drug use. But I’m voting for a guy that did crack in college...?
Yeah, maybe. I think I agree with his views on alternate energy and ending wars and giving people health care and letting those poor, twisted gay people do what they want cause they really aren’t hurting anyone. They really do tend to be good, good people in their hearts, just confused. But no, they shouldn’t be free. They’re different! Oh, hell no! Different!? Shoot ‘em up! Right?
Unpatriotic? Yeah, I guess I am. Why? I won’t push this off on anyone else. I may be young and easily influenced and corrupted and ignorant, but I’m taking full responsibility for this one. I kinda do hate America, and I really love America, and America makes me shout “Hallelujah!” and vomit and cry and want to defend her and want to slap her in the face and pull her hair and praise God every day for her. I’m just so disappointed in what her people have made her. She doesn’t feel much like a great nation right now. I think mostly because she isn’t reaching the potential that I know she can, that she should! She’s falling short, and it burns and tears my soul up when I think about it."

Sorry 'bout that. I just needed to vent a little. Or...a lot. I feel better getting it out here in cyber realm. Somehow, it makes more sense out here, than in my head/laptop. Wooooo.
No more of these ugly posts, alright? Alright! Good.
Again, I apologize. Come another time, won't you?

My Gratitude to Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs 5/22/08

I’ve never been good at writing for the sake of writing. This might be why I’ve never been fond of writing in a journal. Also, could be the cause of all that animosity I felt towards Ethan’s freewrites. I felt awful every time I sat down to do one, even when I felt that the finished product could be promising. There’s another reason why I started this blog. I need to develop that talent, of staring at a bright, fresh page without anything in my head at all, and then looking up twenty minutes later to find myself.
Writing has always been that way for me, of “finding myself.” A way of dealing with my feelings, my desires and despairs. Usually, they come out as fiction, or manifest themselves through my characters.
Okay, I just said “my characters,” but I don’t mean it. When I think of them in my head, they’re not characters. I’m not going to screw with you, anonymous reader. I’m all about honesty in this, my sunshiney psychosis.
They are real people. Or perhaps, they’re symptoms of my multiple personalities. But again, that’s giving myself too much credit. Each one of them is a part of me, but they are more than just me. Sometimes they show me what’s up, teach me what I’ve got to learn. I guess they’re kind of like children in that way. And I know, I know, they’ve been described that way before. I didn’t understand before. I figured I did, but I didn’t really. I do now.
They start in my head, formed from some raw materials of my personality. Then they develop personalities of their own. They gain insights beyond my own. They experience things that I could never even imagine on my own. If they’re lucky enough, they even get speckled into writing.
No, you’re right. Speckled isn’t a verb. I’m making it one. Speckled, as in, only bits and pieces of them make it onto the page. Tragic, I know. And I am wholly to blame, not them. It is my ineptitude as a writer, and as a human being, that leaves them deformed and wanting. Trust me, no one is more sickened by this heinous crime than I am.
So, here is another reason I’m trying out this blog thing. Because what I’ve been doing, sitting down with the speckles and thinking that I’m somehow magically going to have the power to make them whole—it’s just not working! Gah! This, this thought binge might help, though. At least it helps me better understand what I’m feeling. Or does it cast further confusion in my mind…?
…Hmmm…
Yeah. Yeah, it does.
Both.
It seems that when I face my emotions, and come to better understand them, it is those moments that I catch light in those blank spaces of the characters. I know them better. So, if I’m writing those realizations and understandings down, maybe I can start getting those people in my head down a bit better on paper.
Right. Well…no. Honesty again. It hasn’t helped yet. I did the freewrite thing for a whole semester. And the story? Totally blocked up. No progress. You know what has helped lately? Recreational reading. Which wasn’t doing the trick during the last few months. I went nowhere with the story in the last six months. (Six months! Ah!)
I got distracted at the bookcase a few days ago and ended up sitting and reading through the third Harry Potter book for the, erm…two millionth time?
No, sixth, actually. The most I’ve ever read anything. Even that hungry caterpillar book! Yeah, Azkaban’s my favorite. I’m not ashamed. I’m just finally starting to understand why it’s my favorite. I’m coming to terms with the emotions it makes me feel. Azkaban in tern opens up those emotions within me, so that I can see them in my characters. Then BAM, I finally understand the tension between these two people in my head, and this big dark spot in their histories finally brightens up, and I see that their histories, which I thought were separate until later, are actually crossed way back here, ah! And everything makes so much sense! It’s so brilliant!
You must understand, this is the biggest revelation I’ve had concerning these people for months and months! I was starting to think I wasn’t meant to tell their story. I was beginning to move on. Move off of writing fiction altogether, actually, I was that frustrated.
So, my gratitude to Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. I owe them so much.