Home

I'm home from college, and I don't really know what to do with myself. I am trying to do things because I really want to do them, not because I feel like I should, or out of habit. It has been nice to see people, in general, and I've enjoyed reading some of Either/Or by Kierkegaard, but I don't really know what to do now, when I've reached a part of Kierkegaard that I'm not that into, and no one is around to hang out with. I think I need a new book, and maybe some sort of new area of knowledge to learn. It's also nice to do nothing, absolutely nothing.

BODO

l jizz nal

In the past few days, partly as a way to procrastinate, I've been going through people's old livejournals. I don't really know what to make of this, being so fixated on the distant past as I near the end of my freshman year of college. I guess part of it is just the strange combination of emotions I feel when I read them. The livejournals make me laugh, they make me sad, they make me nostalgic, they make me happy to be older. But they don't really help me understand anything. Is that what I'm looking for, some sort of understanding? My livejournal, in particular, is completely mysterious to me. Who the hell was I in eighth grade? I don't really get anything that I don't already know out of my livejournal. But I guess there is something in its general tone, some ineffable Tommyness, that gives me some sort of, I don't know, strength and hope for the future. There is much in bushisamonkey's short-lived livejournal to be ashamed of--my feeble attempt at a poem and pretty much any time I talk about a girl potentially being interested in me, in particular--but there is a lot in it that I am kind of proud of.

As a side note, I don't think we really realized how much shit we would have gotten into if the whole You flamer thing had been uncovered. I mean, this wasn't just an online thing. It was writing in people's science notebooks, writing on people's desks; I think it really could have been called stalking or harassment or cyber bullying or some combination of all those things. I remember singing some sort of "Meat Hands" song softly to myself while walking behind Cole Caivano one day in eighth grade math, and I'm so glad that no one heard me.

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BODO

Mr. Rogers

In the past few months, I've been thinking a little bit about what I want to do with my life. It's kind of a scary thing to think about, especially because these big decisions about graduate school or careers or whatever have gotten uncomfortably close over the past few months. What am I going to be when I grow up? For a while I thought I might want to become a writer, or a scientist, or a professor, but right now those jobs seem so bland and self-serving to me. I think I want to become someone like Mr. Rogers. No, I probably don't want to host a children's TV program and put on puppet shows, but that guy was so fucking important. Just by broadcasting that positive message all across the country, that there is no one in the world the same as you, that you are strong inside, he accomplished such a great thing.

BODO

Le Sacre de l'Automne

Although the green'ry glows with youthful light,
How long remains until its shade
Is but a dream through which we wade
While lusting after gems of yesternight?
Not long from here, I tell you true, my friend,
For see you there the welkin grey?
Tomorrow I must go to pray
At Samhain's feast to welcome in the End.

Did Phaethon but yesterday recede
Beyond his door of earthy rock
And leave us here, as if to mock
Our haughty holding of eternal greed?
Indeed, the gods crave naught except to show
Their pitied creatures what they lack
And send crazed dæmons on their track--
Thus we, despaired, await the minent snow.

Then well may I ask, Why must I be present at Samhain's feast,
If all the office it serves is to welcome in some primordial, wintry beast?
Why call in a god
Who punishes my fraud
And praises not my labour in the sod?
Why call in the fay
Whose dances, happy and gay,
Herald no thing but a vault of slaty grey?
Why indeed?

And yet,
Whence come our smiles
At sighting the first snowdrops through melting piles
Of the white blanket that once stretched for miles?
For the lotus, in all his beauty sheer,
Could ne'er grow to such a state
Without the mud I curse, standing here.

Perhaps the greying of the vault will hide
The candid sun's lucif'rent hands.
But she has gone to brighten lands
And spread her holy radiance far and wide.
And she'll return to set things right,
But only once we've passed this age of night.

Lil Mugi

probably not that profound

The past always seems easy. 

The future always seems uncertain. But it is always now.

BODO

Everybody should

change their language on Facebook to English Pirate. It gives Facebook new procrastination potential.



Bootsie

Grades

I don't really give a shit about my grades anymore. I mean, I don't want to get like Cs, but I am not going to bust my ass for a grade. I am going to learn the material, and take what I need from each class, but I'm not going to lose any sleep over the difference between an A and a B. Those days are behind us now.

BODO