Friday, February 27, 2004

Doing it to death. Cause its Friday. There's nothing better than enjoying a Friday morning with some Kool-Aid, some soon to be unfrozen Chimichangas (man, Jerm, these things are awesome!! And I bought them this time) and a little bit of blogging to be done. So what's going on today? Well, as I said its Friday. The day where as I've said on Sami's site there's no thinking, because its a day of total weekend beginning. Friday is the crucial day of the weekend. If Friday's no good, then the rest of the weekend, and therefore the rest of the week goes way down hill. Ah well, I'm keeping this short, I'll be going off to do something else. I'll lleave you with a song thats in my head again.

She said "I'll throw myself away,
They're just photos after all"
I can't make you hang around.
I can't wash you off my skin.
Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out
You won't remember anyway
I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?
It's so safe to play along
Little soldiers in a row
Falling in and out of love
With something sweet to throw away.
But I want something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live.
I want a new mistake, lose is more than hesitate.
Do you believe it in your head?
I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?
My mood?

Residuals from last weekend. Can you tell?

Thursday, February 26, 2004

Allow me to make a point. I was thinking late last night, during one of my incessant spells of insomnia (which I blame for my present mental state) and I thought of several different things. First, if sounds were images, they'd be transparent. When you listen to music, you can hear lots of sounds blending together in sweet harmoney. If you could create images from each of those sounds, the only way to really symbolize the sweet sweet harmony would be if they images were completely transparent. In keeping with this theme, I'll say my daily stupid phrase, sound waves are transparent or invisible to the naked human eye. Though really if you distort sound enough, I'd imagine its effect on the air and the particles in the air could be well documented. My other thought was my overwhelming joy in not being a "beautiful person". Fortunately, my name is not on the list, and I don't have a walkie talkie, (guess that song reference!) because frankly being beautiful isn't enviable. I guess I should clarify. I've come to theorize that there are two types of "beautiful" people in this world, (well two types I care about right this moment) and that's effortless beauty and insane beauty. You see, effortless beauty is just that. Its a person that awakens from a deep slumber and is still beautiful despite the fact that in actuality they've just woken up and their features are insanely distorted. These people take showers, shake their hair out, and walk about life, astounding us with their raw beauty. We all know people like this, people that we've never in our entire lives seen have an ugly moment. We all have ugly moments, but these peoples must have theirs early in life, so as to not have them when it counts. Bravo, I say, to these people, and I add in a very fake golf clap. You are indeed genetically superior to me in every way. Please note my biting sarcasm and my complete lack of disregard for your feelings. Chalk it up to being beautiful. The rest of us ugly gigantuan heathens get to mistreat you out of sheer jealousy and envy. Of course, that brings us to the insanely beautiful. These are similar to the effortless beauties, but they have to put forth effort. The person they are when they wake up and the person they are in the two hour time span that lapses are as dissimilar as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They all carry a cleverly designed facade to fool us into thinking they are effortlessly beautiful. But if you watch them carefully, its really rather obvious that they are not. The hypoallergenic scrub they carry in their pockets, the gel and styling mousse strewn about their personal space in their efforts to keep their hair controlled and stylish, and their inability to arrive anywhere on time. All of these clues points to an insane amount of energy being expended in order to maintain a high level of beauty. These people are the ones that order the salad at restaurants, eat half or a third of it, and then take the rest home and feed it to the dog. Or give it to me, an ugly. Sometimes uglies ascribe to be insanes, but it often just fails in a complete mental and nervous breakdown, culiminating in the ugly person being found in a pool of his/her own styling products. Its a horrible thing to have happen, especially if its to someone you know. I've known uglies who crossed the line to beautiful, and let me say the amount of dedication they put to being a beautiful is nothing short of horrendously hilarious. I find myself torn between offering them a way out of the torturous ordeal that they have put themselves through, and doubling over in gut-wrenching laughter at their vain attempts. If you told them they were an insane beauty, they wouldn't believe you, because they are so far down the path of no return, that even the blatant and honest truth could not save them. To all the beauties of the world, I'll be sure to remember my place and wait on you hand and foot as your ugly servant for the rest of your natural lives. Which for the insane ones will extremely short, or the majority of it will be spent trying to maintain that effortlessly beautiful look.

My mood?

I'm so making a point here. . .

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

Man, I feel like someone cut my eyelids off and fed me nothing but sleeping pills. Its a rough day for the Javann today, and yet somehow, he manages to break out the blog. He's such an inspiration to the youth nowadays. So what's the mind swimming in now? Other than brain fluid that is. Or wait, is there a such thing as brain fluid? Anyway, what I'm thinking about right now are all the friends that I've had over the years. One in particular was an incredible friend of mine. Definitely worthy of everything good that's happened to him. Unfortunately, I've lost complete track of him. Who am I talking about? Jacob Alexander Brown. He was such a good friend that I even know his middle name. For a lot of years, he was my sole reason for going to Tuskegee (the town in middle Alabama) and was so much so an influence for me that I no longer visit Tuskegee since he left for Bethel. He is in many ways responsible for me being the man that I am today. He definitely is the closest thing that I've had to a brother, and while others have a special place in my memories and my heart, he is without a doubt the greatest friend I've had. The crazy thing is that he lived over four hours away, and still managed to be one of my closest friends. This was in the time before the popularity of the Internet. I used to save my lunch money to buy stamps, so I could write him. I wrote him more mail than anyone I've ever known. I don't know where he is now, but I really hope that I run across him again some day. Maybe if not in this world, the next. I understand how Jonathan felt now, more than ever.
My mood?

Taking a moment to reflect before blowing some more stuff up.
I'll be sure to post again today. Anyway, call this intriguing, call it what you will here's some poetry.

Darkness falls in a pretense
As my vision adjusts to my surroundings
I notice how beautiful the night is.
Reflection upon various mediums and writers
draws me to rememeber my own musings.
Now as I relax in the grass its almost amusing.
Lost feelings are trapped
on the paper in ink waiting to burst free,
each one carrying a little piece of me.
For you to hold have or even exploit.
Is it some ruse or clever ploy,
which awaits those who care to render examination.
Their prizes are almost always consolation.
And yet they've learned everything in one instant
bowl of chicken and mushroom Ramen noodles.
As my mind rambles among my own pleasant doodles.
the faces that exist only to me in creativity.
or whatever it is I claim to express constantly.
I strike each stroke and indentify my imperfections
and then I see my own seperate corrections
I remember they're imperfect too.
but that's just life.

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Man. . .it must be the day of all days today, because, once again, sleep my every growing vice has grabbed hold of me and made me miss the morning. I seriously need to learn to fight the beast off. Ah well, what seems to be on my mind today? Well, I was thinking back to the days of smallness and helplessness, also known as my early school years. When I was in third or second grade, or maybe it was first, either way, this one kid who was a year older than me followed me home with three of his friends, hitting me across the back with a math book along the way. I endured the walk home with this happening right up till my front door, and then went in and cried my eyes out to my father, who I had to wake up since he was on night shift. I still remember that he let me cry, hugged me, and said we'd do something about it and got up then. We went over to the school found out the name of the kid's guardian and my dad went and talked to him and his parents (or actually it was his grandmother) about how he didn't appreciate him beating up on his son. Flash forward a few years, in middle school three kids jumped me, with bad intentions, and I had to literally fight my way out of it. There was noone there to help me then, and I still remember sprinting to my ride knowing they wouldn't follow me there out of respect for my parents. Flash forward a few more years, to my freshman year in highschool when the senior who had been picking on me got out talked by me, and wanted to beat the crap out of me for being quicker at the wit than he was. So I got into another fight, and I got it pretty bad from him. A few people said I won, but after the fight, I had more bruises than I did before I went in, so I say I lost that fight. No one helped me out on that one, and there was nowhere to run where I wouldn't get beaten down. Which illustrates my point. As you get older, you become more and more independent. BUT, standing up for yourself is often just standing up by yourself. As you get closer and closer to adulthood, you become more and more a single entity, one that no one wants to help, or stick their neck out for. Which is why I can understand more and more the need most people have to get married. They want to quell those feelings of loneliness that they have to contend with. Which brings me to a book I've read many times, that I'd recommend to anyone who wants an interesting read, its called, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and its a really good book by Zora Neale Hurston, who was a Harlem Renaissance writer. Anyway, in it the main character gets married three times. In the first and second marriage, she's with someone, but she still feels as if she's lonely. That's because the person she's married to doesn't fill the void that she feels in her heart. She eventually does marry again, and finds the love of her life, and they end up in a hurricane. In the hurricane, he literally supports her. Helps her along, and when she can't walk, he carries her. In the end, he literally gives his life for her, in such a shocking plot twist, I'll have to let you guys read it instead of telling you. But she supports him too, and that just illustrates my point. People look for support in life, look for someone that they can support, but will also be there for them. What made me think about this? A friend of mine is getting married this weekend. I'm going to suport him. But its not that he'll need it, since he'll have support for the rest of his life. . .right?
My mood?

Moving without MOVING

Monday, February 23, 2004

There's a video on the internet of me face down in a bowl of cereal. What did I do this weekend? Everything's so blurry, but I can gladly say that NEABOCSWPYHK day went over pretty big. Way bigger than the last time that we did this, or should I say that I did this, since last time I didn't have Jeremy to coerce the masses. This time around the cereal flowed like the milk, and the milk flowed like the cereal, which flowed like the milk. Which flowed like the cereal. Right. Eating cereal with water and skim milk in it was definitely the highlight of my weekend. Which leaves much to be said about my weekend. There was very little thought, a lot of sleep, and a few trangessions that would be best left in my head. On the plus side, the lack of sleep completely motivated my creative juices (or is it anything I think becomes creative when I've not slept much?) and I wrote a song/poem/lyrical "composition which I think is the remedy, to cure all the dance floors that are empty" (tell me what song that's from, and I'll personally mail you a CD, unless you use google. Then you get nothing, well, maybe derision) Also learned that cereal is not a social food. Don't eat it with other people, there is no good in that. Anyway, here's something I wrote last night/early this morning around 3 A.M. (American Central Standard Time that is)

Let me tell you my ideal
she's has more than just appeal,
she's got everything to convince that she's the real deal.
She's so strong,
Stronger than teflon,
Aware that true beauty isn't found in the salon.
It comes from within,
that's why she's genuine,
cause she's so aware that eventually in the end,
everything she says and does,
is exactly what it was,
she'd know complex from complicated,
intrigued from intoxicated,
and never let her ideas become underrated.
Lives well poor rich or flat broke,
looks good with or without designer clothes,
aware of fashionableness and sensible from head to toe.
Charming personality,
with a strong sense of reality,

And I fell asleep, pen in hand at that point. I'm rather proud to have made it that far. My continous struggle to sleep continues. Ah well, I'm off to the rest of the responsibilities of the day. Oh yeah, I got my Political Science test back. Stone cold ripped it. Yeah. . .that's right, call me the 10th percentile, and not the lower tenth either. Though I've been there before, and its not pretty.

My mood?


Friday, February 20, 2004

Now 25% more realistic than ever! At least I think I can say that because my particular brand of reality allows it. It's all about prescribing to what you think and not accepting anyone else's view of the world. That's not that difficult. I do it all the time. However, often times reality, the real kind, forces itself on you. Take this week for instance. It took three days less than it should have, meaning it seems like Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday blurred together into Monday. A very hectic week, for me. But come Thursday, I had a talk, and the suddenly the days seperated and forever opened up like a chasm of doom awaiting my slip and fall into said chasm. But I digress from the true purpose of this blog. What is the true purpose of this blog? If the title's to be believed, there's supposed to a peppermint and a thought included in this blog. Well, hate to say that I told you so, but this is my own little brand of reality. So in actuality, you'll get none of those things here. Because I am the thought nazi, and if I don't like what you just said, there will be no thoughts for you. Okay, every so often I go back and think about what I just said, and well, that was one weird moment in time. It was preserved so that you can really see what its like to be inside my mind. That's only a small sample of the reality that is Javann. I guess it goes back to being able to know what other people are thinking, with me, you don't have to guess with comical results, I'll just tell you. The results wil still be comical, but is that such a terrible thing? Not really. At least not in my particular brand of reality. Have I said this before? Yes. Are you amused by it? I hope so. Will you participate in NEABOCSWPYHK day? Of course. Why? Because I'm answering all the questions for you. . .actually the NEABOCSWPYHK day thing, I think you should consider. Think about it. People in several continents will be eating cereal at 5:00 American Central Standard time. To sync up with the world, hit up the official time all over the world and join us as we endeavour to do something really really cool. Anyway, there's a shower calling me, and I think I better answer, because I could really use one. Fun for all.
My mood?

Cooler than cool. Ice cold.
Thanks to Jerm for the photo.

Monday, February 16, 2004

Well, here it is Monday yet again. And I can definitely say this was one disappointingly easy weekend. Nothing too incredible happened, and I got way too much sleep. If weekend's continue in this vein, I'll probably die from complacency. I even watched an irregular amount of television, which of course killed the majority of my brain cells and deep thoughts. Not to worry, my mind is still reasonably interesting, in fact, I dare say just being me would be interesting. I'm not being conceited, because I think being anyone other than yourself and being privy to their deep thoughts would be extremely intriguing for anyone. What if you could know what people were thinking? I personally wouldn't want to, seeing how knowing what people are thinking would be distracting and distrubing. But if I could know what one person was thinking all the time, that'd definitely be a different experience. I can live with what goes in my head, (to some extent, its actually really weird) but living with thousands of foreign thoughts in my head would be difficult. Though really I think that there'd be a way to process that much information considering most of us do that everyday. Maybe it'd wear away at the mind for only so long and then you'd not have worry about it anymore, because you'd be used to it? Speaking of which, I wonder if any of us have recurring thoughts, like dreams. Things that you think all the time, over and over again. . .and if so what would trigger those thoughts? I leave you with the words to the song that's in my head, that's been in there since that weird dream last night. More on that Tuesday I suppose.
I've waited here for you
tonight I throw myself into
and out of the red
out of her head she sang

come down
and waste away with me
down with me
slow how
you wanted it to be
I'm over my head
out of her head she sang

and I wonder
when I sing along with you
if everything could ever feel this real forever
if anything could ever be this good again
the only thing I'll ever ask of you
you've got to promise not to stop when I say when

breathe out so I can breathe you in
hold you in
and now I know you've always been
out of your head
out of my head I sang

My mood?

Slapping my bass and serenading the world. . .

Friday, February 13, 2004

Friday. Is this the day of Fried Food? Or perhaps its just the day of Fry, from Futurama? Either way, it is the last day of the proverbial work week, and it finds me knee deep in a pot full of tired. Last night didn't produce much sleep for me, though I tried pretty hard to drift off. I have a test today in my Political Science course, and honestly I'm feeling the pressure of shaky ground. I can only site about five to six landmark cases and what they did, and unless the test asks about those five or six, I'm doomed. Not to worry, my backup plan involves doing something drastic, just haven't thought of it. As promised, today I'll have a frank discussion of the things I hate. I'll start with mayonaise. How can anyone like this stuff? Its a pasty white, oily, clumpy disgusting glob of malnutritious egg whites and oil blended together. It doesn't taste good by itself, and it surely doesn't enhance the flavor of anything you put it on. I don't like it on any sandwich, and the sight of it makes me gag. Another thing that makes me gag is boiled okra. I really dislike the stuff, so much so that I've been known to say, "I like you as much as I like boiled okra." Yeah I know, OUCH, to say the least. The good thing about okra is that you can dump it into your hosta plants, and then when the slugs come up to eat them, they'll be like, "oh, look, some slugs are already dining here, we'll come back tomorrow," and then the next day, with fresh okra, the slugs will think, "Oh, someone's here again, this plant is always crowded. Lets try across the street." I'm not sure why I just typed that last little bit, but I'm on to more things I hate. I hate misspelled words. It drives me crazy to see something spelled improperly, almost as much as seeing someone use words in a nongrammatical way. I also hate when I come up with a catchy phrase and other people use it poorly. Other things I detest? High on the list is Superman. He really is a poor excuse for a superhero. Maybe you remember, and maybe you don't, but earlier in this blog, I pointed out the major flaw that Superman has. (Other than wearing his underwear outside his pants) Superman is a hero and a gentleman because he can afford to be. He doesn't have to worry about the consequences of what he does, all he has to do is fly in and save the day and thanks to his myriad of powers, he can worry about catching bad guys later. What really repulses me is that he gets his own female admirer who will stop at nothing to find who he is, yet, he wears a pair of glasses, and no one in the world can fathom that he is really mild-mannered Clark Kent. I can understand the world being tricked because he's got some really good disguise he concocted with his super genius mind (which is another thing that really irks me) but his best disguise consists of glasses, foot shuffling, stuttering, and letting people beat him senseless. Other superheroes have to risk suffocation (Spiderman, Batman, HawkGirl, DareDevil, etc.) But not Mr. Ideal Hero. No such risk for him, even though really, I doubt he can suffocate. So why not wear a full mask? Because then he couldn't make eyes at the love of his life that he'll never have, Lois Lane. Not that that's a horrible thing, Lois is a tad pushy. In fact she'd probably have Superman flying all over, looking for rare items that she could write about in her daily planet. I really dislike Lois too, but I think that's spillover from Superman. I also hate when people ramble on, and, oh, well I guess I'm doing that. So I'll call this Things I Hate blog complete.
My mood?

Actively fighting someone else's ideal. . .

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

Well, its not morning, I've completely ruined my recent streak of two. Its my longest update in the moring streak. So what's on my mind? Right now I'm thinking its time for NEABOCSWPYHK day. What's NEABOCSWPYHK day? National Eat A Bowl Of Cereal Simulataneously With People You Hardly Know, that's a mouthful isn't it? What day will be NEABOCSWPYHK day? What day do you want to simultaneously eat cereal with other people? I've got a fresh (well not really fresh, I bought it two weeks ago, but I've not opened it yet) box of Wheaties Energy Crunch, waiting to be cracked open for comsumption. So what inspired this day of cereal eating? Well, truthfully, it was more or less me wanting to do something that would be cool and involve a lot of people. Someone just asked me why cereal. Because it is the medium of breakfast, and there's nothing better for breakfast than a hearty bowl of cereal. Cereal is the breakfast of champions, tastes like something other than chicken, is goes great with milk, and the only reason I consume milk. If it weren't for cereal, I'd never drink the stuff. I don't know who saw a calf drinking milk and thought they'd drink it too. Milk makes me sick. So does mayonaise. Anyway, feel free to leave day suggestions.
My mood?

Sleeping with my lights on. . .

Monday, February 09, 2004

Its Monday morning and the rain has hit my face/Its Monday morning, with memories of a life I can't erase/Oh why did I ever put my dreams on a bill/Never did like Monday mornings, and I never will. . . Yep its monday morning, and here I am. If you may not have noticed, all of my recent posts (yep all two of them) have been before 7 A.M. That's because I've found the joy of the early morning hours, the quiet tranquility of the cold sunrise. I'm sure you don't want to hear me wax poetic anymore about the morning, so I'll move on in this egocentric endeavour and tell you about my weekend. Saturday was full of video games and friends, and a lot of driving. And while that driving was taking place, Tre took advantage of many opportunities to do the evil monkey to random people we passed on the highway.

For the uninformed, this is an evil monkey. . .

And a good time was had by all. And we found out that cajun rice from Popeye's comes with ground beef, and while Tre couldn't eat it, ReG likes it and I think it tastes like crap. Saturday didn't provide much sleep unfortunately, and very little study, but not to worry, Sunday definitely made up for all the above. I learned that I like saying the word crap a lot. I also managed to eat a pound of ground beef between two buns and with cheese, lettuce, and tomato. For some reason after that I got my picture taken, and I realized that that was the most expensive Polaroid shot ever. Then I came home studied, and slept. And boy did I sleep. Like someone had slipped me a mickey. Of course, my chocolate cola did taste funny. . .but on to another thought. Some friends joked around about me having a heart attack early in life, and then I thought about my general dietary habits and they are conducive to heart attacks, at least the way I eat on the weekends. I tend to end up eating large quanitities of unhealthy food while I'm away from the good influence of my parents, (on the weekends of course) and my only real savior is I'm so broke, I can rarely afford to eat like that every day. My only hope is that I end up with a horrible job and can't afford to feed myself. That's the only way I can possibly avoid a heart attack. . .or maybe I could just watch what I eat? Nah. . .that's nowhere near as enjoyable as poverty. . . I know I'm making no sense, but well it is 5 in the morning. Sorry. I'll leave you alone as I realize I have to stay awake till my class comes around.
My mood?

Hugs for everyone!! Hey, why are ya'll running away??!?

Friday, February 06, 2004

Man its early. Unless you have a regular job at 6 or so, in which case it's actually pretty late for you. This morning has been relegated to the ultimate waste of time, and that of course is studying for an exam. Which class do I have an exam in? Take a pick. True to form, all of my classes have their first exams on the same day. If I weren't such a reasonable man, I'd swear the teachers and professors (yes there is a difference) group together and plot against the unsuspecting students, hoping to overload them with work so as to force them out of the institution they revere so much. On the plus side, I found that if you add some lemon juice to pink lemonade flavored Kool-Aid, it actually tastes like lemonade. Of course, technically, that's because it basically is, (water, sugar, lemon juice) with Kool-Aid added for extra flavor. I've been having the weirdest dreams lately, where people I know are there, and they'll be very happy, and we all sit around partying and enjoying life and then suddenly, they attack and kill me. I don't know why, but that's the point at which I wake up. I think I feel guilty about something I've said or done to them. For instance, the other night I said something pretty mean to a friend at Applebee's and I felt pretty bad about it when I got home. SO I went to sleep. That friend was in my dreams, and I tried to apologize to him, and he seemed to accept the apology till later when we were driving somewhere. That's when he pulled the gun out of his glove compartment and shot me in my leg, and then aimed at my eye, asking me if I could see the bullet waiting, etc. This of course, didn't elicit a good response from me, and after the gun jammed, I dove out of the car. Which by the way was pretty painful. That's yet another thing that amazes me about the brain, and its ability to simulate things that its never experienced. Anyway, to make a long story short, he hunted me down with a pitchfork, I tried to get help from another friend, and he turned on me to and they both killed me with a pitchfork, after which I woke up. Needless to say this completely ruined a good night's sleep and I felt even worse about what I'd said. Does this dream make sense? I hope not. If you're that friend that I said something bad about and you're thinking about how much sense this dream makes, you should tell me so I can avoid you. Anyway, I gotta head to class, so feel free to leave your own weird and/or homicidal friend dreams.

My mood?

Just Realized There's Moving Rocks In My Way. . .

Wednesday, February 04, 2004

Does anyone remember the television shows from their youth? I remember watching Pinwheel, in fact I still remember the first part of the theme song for said show. I also used to watch Eureka's Castle, (which I loved) of course Sesame Street, and this one show that I never really understood or remember the name too. There was this group of kids and they all had this mechanical eagle. And they could fly it and it would shriek like a real eagle, and I remember that its wings would shorten in length to avoid damage in cliffs and narrow valleys and such. I can't remember this show's name at all. Really its just another half-shattered memory waiting for me to regain it. So what happened to me today? Nothing worth talking about, just school and the usual. I had a really good thought for today, but I've not had the desire to follow through on it as of yet, so I'll leave you with my mood for the day, and close it out. I'm sorta tired, so I apologize for the lack of deep thoughtage.
My mood?

Actively Fighting Drapery

Monday, February 02, 2004

Monday, the day of the moon. Ironically enough, the moon isn't visible during the day, but that didn't stop the various pagans from naming our day after the celebration of the moon. What is Javann thinking this moon day? For one, I'm thinking I really shouldn't be so arrogant as to assume that you care what I'm thinking. Though, honestly, if you didn't care, why would you come here? Maybe you are like the many that stumble onto this site after an errant click or two. But really what I'm thinking, or at least what just crossed my mind is the amount of sayings I have that are borrowed from other people. It always makes me laugh to think about how many people have picked up my mannerisms or sayings and vice versa. For instance, I say "most excellent" more than I care to admit. I picked up that little gem from my good friend Jerm. I've also got the saying "stupid" from him, though its not really a saying more than it is a way of saying it. After hanging around Danny, I started saying, "Word life player," and after a few nights hanging out with Sky, I started saying, "Heh heh alright!" and "Darkside points!" I also managed borrowed a phrase from Jon, who I've heard say, "I've done many a thing on my day." Of course, I alter that a bit, according to what the thing is I'm speaking of. The assimilation of language and mannerisms is a good example of how we as humans learn to communicate from the people around us. The bad thing about this is that while good habits, funny jokes or ways of saying things rub off on us, so do the bad habits, traits, and mannerisms of others. The case in point of that in my opinion is my accent. I'm from the South, but I'd prefer I didn't sound like it. Well, since I live here, I have an accent, regardless of whether I want one or not. Another bad side effect of human adaptability and assimilation is what I like to call the mainstream. Because of humans adapting and assimilating things, the mainstream grows ever mindless and ever larger. As things are assimilated, however, the mainstream takes those things and makes it fit to how it "should" or "should not" be. Therefore, perfectly good ideas and systems of values are completely destroyed as the assimilation takes place. In some cases, the identity of entire cultures can be altered to suit someone's needs. Either way the cookie crumbles, I'll be schlepping off to do something big and incredible. If you're the type to visit links, and I know you must be, you'll notice that the Juice Mouse Zero link is gone. For those that want to know what the almighty Juice is up to now, feel free to run with knives. Go ahead, I'd normally advise against it, but this time I okay it. Just don't sue me.

My mood?

Silent Hulkish

Sunday, February 01, 2004

Sunday, the proverbial day of rest. The sun shining down on this day finds my body resting from the agonies inflicted upon it by my own high center of gravity, or as Jeremy pointed out, my body being genetically ill-equipped for the purposes of flight. I'll have to agree with him, I'm not made to run away, I'm definitely designed to turn around and fight. Even mentally, that seems to be my attitude. I'd like to believe that there is no time to get knocked down and not get back up. Somehow, I have a hard time believing I should just stay down. That might be why I have such a difficult time in many of life's endeavours because I can't quite say no. Anyway, other than this strange bit of self introspection, yesterday was full of equal parts joy and pain. The joy of the outdoors, the pain of the ground rushing up to meet my face. The joy of seeing the splendors of nature, the pain of realize that nature wasn't designed with me in mind. The joy of exploring a cave formed by thousands of years of physics in motion, and the pain of realizing that the ceiling of the cave was well below six foot seven. As I balled myself up into the most comfortable position I could after this horrid realization, I began to ponder life. It seems that the solid rock suspended above my head, and my inability to at least place the soles of my feet on the ground made me begin to realize that I'm really not that normal at all. I turned my flashlight off in the cave and listened as silence sat upon me and realized that the only way I will ever be normal is if all sensory perception ceased. Only then am I the same as everyone else. Is this necessarily a bad thing, or does this make me a creep, or some kind of weirdo? Maybe, I'm not the one to be the judge of that, but it does give me one thing that everyone wants but most are afraid to attain: uniqueness. In some pleasingly disturbing way, being unique is what drives me and what makes wonder where I'm going. But what bothers me is how often I view myself as the standard against which all else must measure. This is unfortunate because the world I view is seen as being irregular, when really I am the one who isn't normal. Maybe I'll never truly understand what I'm trying to say, and maybe I understand too well. But the truth of the matter is that being "normal" isn't necessarily a good thing. Perhaps its the struggle we get from straining and struggling past the preset boundaries that make us appreciate the few precious times when we can stand up and stretch past the given norm, only to realize that the norm is enforced on us once again, that our brief reprieve was really nothing but a chance to steel ourselves for the tiring struggle ahead.