Saturday, November 13, 2010

   Prose
There's a shirt that says "Think: It's not illegal yet."

That makes me wonder, for some odd reason. Why would thinking be illegal?

What harm can thinking do? Descartes did some thinking, and do you know what he came up with? "I think, therefore I am." I love that phrase. Not because of what elementary school teachers do to it ("I _____, therefore I am.") but because of what Descartes meant by it. How do we know something is real? Like this computer sitting in front of me as I type. How do I know it's real? I can touch it, feeling the warmth of the circuits humming. But how do I know I'm actually touching it? I could be hallucinating. Same goes for sight and sound. It could all be in my head. And that's exactly what makes it real to me. I think about it, I interact with it, I believe that it's there. The concept of this computer is in my brain. And through this, the computer exists for me. That, of course, raises the question: How do I know that I exist? Well, I think, don't I? The concept of me is in my thoughts. My thoughts prove my existence to myself. Therefore, as long as I think, I exist.

How could something that proves my very existence be dangerous? It proves the existence of my best friend, it proves the existence of my mother. But it also can prove the existence of the likes of Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.

And since thinking is not illegal, people like Stalin were allowed to think. And they thought and thought and thought. Their minds dreamt up whole worlds, horribly twisted and disfigured worlds, but whole worlds nonetheless.

But where does that leave you and me? We're not thinking up ways of genocide (hopefully), so why is this a problem?

Let's take a look at me, shall we? What do I think about? Well, I think about school, my friends, my boyfriend, my writing, my artwork, myself.... Like most people, I have a variety of thoughts. But lately, my thoughts are all muddled and huddled around one twisted thought: food. How do most people deal with the thought of food? Probably as tasty, or something they eat to stay alive, or something they cook up every night for their families. But my mind.... it doesn't take it like that. My mind glares at the thought and reaches out to strangle it. It hisses the calories and the fat that it has, how it will all go to my hips and ruin my hopes for a perfect body. And I retreat into my mind and surround myself with these thoughts, these ammunitions and I tear down what I know as food in my head. And as the thought of food dies, so does my perceived reality of it. And my reality warps just as my mind warps the way I think and feel until I am sickly and thin and beautiful in my distorted eyes.

And what about you? No, you don't necessarily hate food. You could love it for all I know. But all humans have innate tendencies, and violence is one of them. Imagine you walk down the street and you run into someone you hate. Not someone you dislike; someone you despise with your whole heart. And imagine that they're with their hideous/stupid/annoying cronies and you overhear their bland/snide/neanderthal-like conversation. And in their conversation, they are talking about you. No, not just talking. Gossiping/trash-talking/bashing/lying/spreading rumors about you. They're saying all these awful things about you, and it makes you angry. Scratch that, you're furious. You want them to drop dead on the spot, you're so angry. In fact, in your mind, you are imagining their untimely demise. You can see the way their faces will distort in agony and fear as the life rips itself from their bodies. And in your mind, you've killed them. So what's to stop you from doing it? Just a few laws which really mean nothing. What's time in a bland room to you? It's just another spot to exist in, to think in. Because your mind conceived that beautiful plan, and even if you never act on it, those people have been murdered in your mind.

So what does thinking get us? Anger, eating disorders, depression, suicide, murder, genocide.... the list is endless.

"Think: It's not illegal..... yet."
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Monday, June 14, 2010

   Almost freeeeeeee
One day of the schooling left.... Then I am free!

In eight days, I'll be off to Europe! Woohoo!

And in bad news, my phone committed suicide..... again. Luckily my phone carrier will replace it since my phone is freaking defective, but will they let me get a new one? nooooooo! @^@
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Thursday, February 18, 2010

   Huh
Wow. I had almost forgotten about this site. >< Silly me.

For an update...

I've been dating a guy for... 4 months? He's... something else.

Urm... hit a writer's road block the size of Kentucky.

..... Got epic drawing pens. The smallest tip size is .005 :D

Yeah. Message or comment if you still love me, folks!
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Saturday, July 4, 2009

Peanut butter power (a snippet from my novel)
The next morning Arana woke early, went downstairs and found Korbo at the kitchen table, watching Zech run about in a panic. “He overslept,” he explained to her as her brother whimpered and ran upstairs to frantically get dressed.

Wordlessly she walked to the pantry, pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. “Can you go into the fridge and hand me the jar of peach jam?” she asked Korbo, who quietly complied. “Thank you,” she said, opening the jar of peanut butter and slathering the bread.

“No problem,” he replied nonchalantly, and began to cover the surface of the white bread with a thin layer of jam.

Contrasting his modest spread, Arana was laying on the peanut butter so thickly that it was the same thickness of the bread. “Arana?” he queried, and she looked at him, indicating for him to ask with her eyes. “Don’t you think you have too much peanut butter?”

“No,” she replied flippantly. “I like peanut butter.”

Korbo persisted. “Isn’t that sandwich for your brother?”

For a moment Arana was quiet, before she slowly picked up the piece of peanut butter drowned bread and said in a calm voice, “You shall not mock the power of the peanut butter.” With that, she firmly stuck the slice of bread to his cheek, peanut butter acting as the glue.

Entirely stunned, Korbo was dead silent as he dipped his hand in the jar of peanut butter. “Power of the peanut butter, huh?” he asked, smearing the peanut butter across her face.

“Indeed,” she retorted, dabbing some on his nose.

“I am afraid I will have to challenge it’s authority,” he said in diplomatic tones, rubbing it along the bridge of her nose and on her forehead. In an act of daring, he ran his peanut butter coated hand along a single strand of her gold hair.

Eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, Arana hissed, “It’s war.” Getting two handfuls of peanut butter, she rubbed it forcefully through his hair. Mouth in a perfect ‘O’ shape, Korbo stared at her in awe. Satisfied with her revenge, Arana wiped the extra peanut butter off her hands. “You have a bit of peanut butter in your hair,” she commented, grossly understating the fact. No longer black, his hair was simply peanut butter colored now.

As Korbo opened his mouth to retort, her mother walked in the kitchen, busied with her purse. Looking up, she dropped her purse with a shriek. “What did you two do?!” she wailed.

Like most humans, Korbo was susceptible to laughing at precisely the wrong moment. Doubled over, he fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Arana’s mouth twitched upwards as she fought the urge to join him.

“I fail to see the humor in this,” her mother hissed.

“Fail to see the humor in what?” her father asked from the hallway, entering as he fiddled with his tie. Stopping as if he had been shot, he stared at his daughter and her friend, faces slathered in peanut butter. Smiling so broadly that Arana thought his face would split in half, he chuckled.

“Erik!” her mother cried. “How can you just laugh?”

“Oh, don’t be like that Danielle. They’re just kids,” he said soothingly to her irate mother. Turning to them, he addressed them with a faint smile, “Go get cleaned up. In fact, why don’t you just spray the peanut butter out of your hair outside? I don’t know if the shower can take that much peanut butter.”

While her brother left the house with her mother, Arana stood outside, gently hosing out Korbo’s hair, occasionally taken by a fit of giggling at the sight of Korbo, head drenched as he tried vainly to scrub the peanut butter out. It took them a little over a half hour to do so, but they didn’t mind too terribly much.


Yes, this is the typical relationship between Korbo and Arana. They're both very odd sorts of people, but it's mostly because Arana's very intense about the oddest of things. Like peanut butter. Luckily, Korbo adores the people who are out there.....
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Sunday, January 11, 2009

Eyes full of love
My dove, you look at me so sweet
Your breath tickles my ear, make me laugh
I will forget my troubles, they fall away
As you take my hands in yours
I can imagine us together, forever
my heart belongs to you, beating fast
whenever your lips brush mine, o!
I feel faint, my head swims with joy
and the rest of me swims beside you in ocean
this water is warm on my skin, salty like tears
I have not shed in a while, nor do I want to
I feel so happy, let me lie in peace
Love, where you are is my delight.
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