Friday, May 2, 2008

29220d (701280h)

i know it's not "me," but do you think life could convert to some sort of video-game version where you can gain levels and experiences and things and go back to them at any time? so i could go back to '05 and get into this before anything could change what i was and confuse me out of the so-called counterculture and prove myself better by becoming what they were?
it's rambling and nonpoetic, i know. but i'm not in much of a mood. i'm not in much of a mood lately, actually. the minutes pass like liquid. a river of time. an ocean of hours.
do you realize how many days you live? really, do you?
there are 365 days a year. think about it. three hundred and sixty five days to exist, in just one year of your life. how can every day be separate? how can they not bleed into one another with non-waking and non-sleeping and the polar hours they've got up and down? are days defined by the hours or by your schedules? when does night become morning, and what is the cutoff limit for bedtime?
what the fuck does it matter?
is everyone in the world simply there for the pontification of re-hashed arguments, styles, opinions, ideas, so-called advancements? is everyone a reincarnation of past living idols, legends, casualties, civilians? the world, in all the disarray that it continually exists in, seems to function despite the hypocrisy of the act of existence that it thrives through.
why be so focused on fast pleasures? a sign of weakness, a sign of thrill-seeking simplicity in the mind and in society. physical appearances are not to attract such as in animalisic instincts, if we're really so truly evolved from what we were however long ago, according to what you blindly trustingly believe in. if we are evolved, our physical statements should not cause so much attention and mean as much as they apparently do, according to various statistics and the obvious status they have, which can be seen in any supermarket aisle, mindless repetitions of 'headlines' used to make you cycle your money into the wheel of their own fortune. physical statements should be what they are called. used not to draw attention, used not in pure vanity as they are so often used in accordance with those possessing the highly coveted in various rings of marylin monroe impersonators gene; the pure essence of narcissism. for protection against basics, used until they run out of their own cotton-fueled steam. there is no need for fashion, there is no need for such high importance to be placed on the entire stylistic world.
if this is what society is crumbling towards, we may be very well at the end of the world.
if you're scared now, just wait and see.

too much reading of certain subject matter, too much used in the past week, too many stories and too little freedom in such a useless education-filled five-day week. more time spent on punishing us for things we haven't done than praising for what we do. whatever. sound the cry of the poor little high school student. i don't care. this is real. and i'm going to get in on it, even if it kills me. which it might.

"there is nothing you can do that i have not already done to myself."