quixoticelixir

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quixoticelixir

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(no subject)	[Jul. 11th, 2009\|12:21 am]
I don't write in this journal anymore, but I'm going to keep it for memory's sake. Peace!
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(no subject)	[Jan. 16th, 2009\|12:58 am]
Current: Listening to music, playing too many video games, recording a lot, writing a lot of poetry, prose, etc... because of my Creative Writing class, sleeping at 1 AM, waking up at 8 AM for school... having buses run out of power... read Darwin, fail to read all of Darwin, think too much, waste time, sing too much, work out Need: Be a scholastic nerd, get more sleep, get a job, waste less time, stop playing video games too much, finish reading everything I love you all!
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(no subject)	[Dec. 23rd, 2008\|01:19 am]
I'm starting to lose my sense of wrong and right.
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Insufferable Noise	[Dec. 15th, 2008\|10:17 pm]
Sit. Listen. Let every tolerable noise become intolerable. Let white noise be black noise. Let the noise that sits in the corner of your consciousness stand up and be fully realized. Do you hear it? Do you hear the faint rustling of paper, or the whispering hum of your computer's cooling fan? It's like the music you hear at a party. Someone hears a song they like and they slowly turn the volume up. Let the whirring, scratching, and whizzing noises be that music. Feel it fill the caverns of your eardrums. Now. Do you really hear it? Do you hear the daily cry of a babe wanting and wanting, never satisfied, its needs magnified? Then there's the mother's pains, the firstborn's complaints and the father's restraint. Usually, when someone hears that their voice is getting insignificant, they start raising it. The pool of sound just gets bigger. Keep listening. Do you hear the moan of lovers, the whine of the melodramatic, or the protesting yelp of a man who can only speak and not act? Then there's the janitor's mop, sloshing, squeezing and dripping, working to clean what would have been dirty anyway. The businessman who hired him drives his Mercedes, burns his fuel and with a flick of a thumb burns his lungs instead. But the cacophony of his next conference call is microscopic in the sight of the modern man's king, dropping black fire and setting loose steel hounds on warlords and foreigners who won't keep their mouths shut. The king must have peace of mind, and to have peace of mind he's got to silence the noise with the spectre of death, booming with ghastly winds as he works. Don't plug your ears with your hands, hear it all before you run away. Try to hear the murmur of a starving child begging for fulfillment, or a student's anguish of failure, and the subsequent cry of triumph from his competition. Try to hear the desolation of a broken heart's soul. Try to hear its helpless screeching, its restless running and screaming, conflagrated by the wrath of a fellow human. Try to hear the slowing heartbeat of a once-great, old man. Try to hear it even slower still ... but can you hear it stop? Can you hear the emptiness that follows? Is it too much? Are you tired of listening? Try to find one more sound. Listen for a straight, pure tone. It sounds like old music. You can hear the aging wood of the sound resonating. You can feel the air of antiquity feel your lungs. It doesn't feel right at first, but you know that in some way you belong to it. Think. Try and find this sound. Split apart the web of noise with your hands, and dig deep. You'll find that this old sound lies at the root of it all. It's been there since the beginning. Can you feel its vibrations in your veins? You feel compelled to listen. To you, it's the most natural sound in the world. Then you realize that the heaping mound of noise that lies on top would not exist without this earthen serenity. You've forgotten that. But with every new noise that you make, to your ears, and to your senses, this only gets quieter. It doesn't help that you're used to speaking up when you're not heard. You're used to talking louder. You're used to yelling along with everyone else. With everything else. You're standing in front of the beautiful sound you just found again, and you see that it stands alone. You're with the other innumerable, somnambulant screamers, but none of your insufferable noises serrate you from your slumber. Soon, the sound will reach the end of its beautiful decay. It will run out of breath. The straight, pure tone, the oldest music, the sound that infuses your blood, will find its end -- and so will you.
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LiveJournal Study	[Nov. 25th, 2008\|07:07 pm]
I've always kind of analyzed livejournal and some of its structures and how you can tell how someone is when it comes to responding to their comments. I've always thought that (disregarding the mood of the original poster) certain types of comments are easier to respond to. Contrariwise, some types of comments can be viewed differently, and are a little tougher to respond to, thus there are no responses (again, disregarding the mood of the original poster AND the relationship of the original poster to the responder). Scenario: Original Person posts about his day. Goes on about Stuff, talking about Topic #1. Talks about Topic #1 at length, then talks about Topic #2 briefly. First Responder comments, asking more about Topic #1. Second Responder comments, commenting on what they said about Topic #1. They argue against or compliment what they said about Topic #1 (what is being talked about is irrelevant, it could be something about a Cat, and this responder says ... "Your cat is awesome!" or "What you said about your cat was really meaningful!" ... or it could be about their political views of Mr. Rogers, and about the Second Responder thinking that their views suck, or whatever). Second Responder doesn't mention about Topic #2. Third Responder comments, asking a question about Topic #2. Fourth Responder comments, talking about how they have personal experience about Topic #1 and #2. *Question: Which Responder(s) do you think Original Poster will* reply to? Which one will he reply to with a more detailed response? Why or why not? The answer may be obvious to you. Either way, reply to this post with an answer, tell me what you think. In the cut below is my prediction. This isn't meant to be an empirical study, I was just kind of pondering about the social mechanics of LiveJournal. ( Analysis )PLEASE NOTE:** Again, this isn't meant to be a post meant to dissuade people from commenting. I was just thinking about how these things work, and I wanted to share it with the world. Tell me what you think. Don't see it as a sly way of grabbing your attention and enticing you to reply to my livejournal ;) I'm open to argumentation.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 24th, 2008\|05:43 am]
Hmm. I need sleep.
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change	[Nov. 24th, 2008\|01:39 am]
I sometimes see life as a ball of velcro. You can throw it down a path of uneven, random chaotic fuzz, and you sort of get attached to the things that you don't expect. You end up liking those things, and the hooks on the ball of velcro are your passions. But then something comes along and pushes the ball of velcro along, and you have to painfully detach your hooks from the awesome fuzz. And it makes a really nasty sound. You only wanted to hear the sound of the ruffling of the fuzz, but here you have this loud, scratchy and generally unpleasant noise that you don't want to hear. Christmas is coming. My parents aren't putting up a tree, and we're not buying each other presents. It's change for practicality. Sometimes the hooks on the fuzz just slowly detach without a sound, and you only realize that that patch of fuzz was 5 years away, behind you and over with. You're not saying that because you're not attached to that anymore, your ball of fuzz will whip it away. Your hooks are hooks, not baseball bats. They accept what comes, if it's alright to you. And the people who saw you change the most, who saw your hooks detach and were the cause of you deciding which kinds of fuzz you like and why, their spot on the fuzz patch starts to grind behind you. You're detaching from them too. Some stay behind... but some, even some that you'd really like to stick with, because of all the good times, contribute to that ugly, painful noise. Scrrrrrrratchhhhhh. And then you see your hooks on the ball of velcro attach to patches of fuzz you'd never thought you'd ever touch. You said before that that patch of fuzz is seriously fucked up, and you'll never come near it ever. But you make that nice peaceful roll on top of it and your hooks are deeply enmeshed in the chaos. So you just keep on rolling, and being rolled along the immense patch of fuzz that is the universe. And all you hear is the rhythmic scratching. The painful detaching. Heart smashing. Treasure catching. Lovers laughing. All those beautiful -- and ugly -- things. And you hear the rhythm ... it's a scratch, and off the scratch is silence. That silence is your movement. It just kind of becomes music to your ears. Until of course, your ball of velcro starts getting dull. Your hooks stop being sharp, and your passions dwindle and the patch of fuzz seems smaller to you. You start not to care about a lot of things, your movement slows down. There's less rhythm. More silence. You feel the edge closing in. Then you look where your hooks are attached to the fuzz... and the fuzz looks familiar. You feel it. It feels like its decades old. You've made a lot of noise, a lot of music, and a lot of silence in your movement ... but yet, there are some bits of the fuzz that seemed to stick around to the same hooks, that whole damned time. And you keep holding on to that 'till the ball stops rolling.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 16th, 2008\|01:09 am]
perfection arrives at my best wits at the eve of my arrival... though i feel not my lingering fingertips i feel the broiling of my uncooked thoughts... these thoughts that deserve to be consumed and regurgitated by all man so that all will taste and see what has become of me. my footsteps echoed in the night -- echoed of the night's discontent and unbridled agony; unbridled retching and the newness of becoming. becoming something new, unfurling one's wings and trying on new rings that do not belong within one's budget but within one's dream, as if one did not have the socio-economic constraints that are given us by the selfishness of the culmination of this world. at this point is where i do not feel nor think but i merely partake in the process of movement, movement forwards, sideways, and in a spiral that does not go forward nor backward but into the deepest recesses of space. my eyes burn with the desire for rest and contentment, that the joy of closing my eyes and opening my mind to the beauty of dreaming will be the extinguisher to the flame of my fury. maybe movement will take me somewhere where I will forget the morass and mire of my constant twisting and shifting of my mind, where i take a step forward but pivot my other foot and actually take a step backwards simultaneously. i never truly follow the gravitations and movements of the sun and the moon, and of the ultimate control the cosmos has over all life. i surpass and override that subconsciously, in the hopes that i may find a control that makes me better than human. superhuman -- is that my true goal? or is the beer finally getting into my brain and through my numbing, wispy cloud-like fingers and telling me stories that I want to hear... which is that everyone really likes me, and I'm a good writer, and I'm a good musician, and I have no problems at all.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 9th, 2008\|02:52 pm]
It's ten to 3, this is the worst I've overslept in my life. hahahaha. I have to go to church in 3 hours, and I'm probably gonna have to ditch my friend who's going to a jazz show. Lame. I did have some wicked dreams, though. 1) I was in some weird Watchmen universe ... I was some kind of Rorschach, and I was carrying an important briefcase with a mangled hand attached to it. I'm running around in the dark trying to evade some government agents trying to catch me, but because I'm Rorshach, they're having trouble. But I'm also trapped. Then all of a sudden, my secret father Rorshach (totally random, not actually in the real watchmen) shows up with one mangled arm missing a hand, and he removes his mask revealing a sultry Tom Cruise face. Apparently, he's my father. I give him the suitcase and we both disappear into the shadows. Cut scene to a highway chase, where I'm driving around and evading everyone. I lose the cops, and I enter a Dunkin Donuts drive thru (which is probably spurred by me telling everyone yesterday that Tim Hortons in the US was trying to compete with Dunkin Donuts). I see all my DOTA buddies, and we're all having dinner there (who has dinner at dunkin donuts?) All the servers are assholes, so the lines are super long, so I go to the bathroom to check on my mask and stuff. Then, I leave, and I want to get a donut, and all my DOTA friends are in line, so I just kind of budge in there. But when we try to go back to our table, it's been taken over by Sarah Palin and repertoire. Lamesauce!! At this point, I woke up, and it's 12 Noon. I write it all down, and I go back to sleep. 2) This time, I'm with my family, the San Jose family. We're all rich and well-off now, and my parents are retired and I guess my brother and I ran out of ambition. We apparently live in San Francisco now, and we're getting ready to go on a yearlong boating trip, so we take our boat and we ride it down the hills of San Francisco in the hopes of getting to the beach (I don't know how much of the boat we damaged or how many people we ran over). We get to the beach by nighttime, but it's super dark, but there are SO many people on the beach. The beach doesn't have sand, it's all gravel, so my parents tell me to go find an area where we can sort of embark. I fast forward to us being at home, in this big big big house by a river that connects the entire world. My parents are telling my Uncle Ogie how to lock up the house and how to take care of it and stuff, and we got a new, bigger boat (like seriously, this is like a cruise liner boat) and me and my brother just sort of explore. It's got a huge navigation console, and some crazy looking fishing poles in the back. There are tables and junk for people to sit in, and seatbelts and lots of stuff. It's really really cool and vivid. But then I hear yelling, the boat embarks, and I wake up. I love vivid dreams. Edit: I remember one other part -- (this is the part that actually happened in real life) This girl told me on MSN who she liked and started going out with, and that I told her that he was cool and I approved of him. In the dream, she was telling me how crazy she's gotten with her new boyfriend, how much of a lightweight she is and stuff, and it turns out to be some other guy that she ended up with that I don't really approve of. And I wonder why she lied to me about who she started going out with, but apparently she didn't, and so I'm really confused. And I end up driving to UBC without my parents' permission (I don't have my N yet) so I turned off my cellphone to avoid their wrath.
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I am a Dreamy Idealist	[Oct. 7th, 2008\|03:24 pm]

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