So, September 5th has come and passed.
Run: C://Windows/Programs/School.exe
Duration: 241 Days
Execute Y or N ?
Is ******** that a valid answer?
Response "******** that" not valid, please try again.
Fine, Y....
Haha sucka, I got you for the next 241 days beotch!
Thats pretty much how my morning went on the 5th, I do this chore of school because I must to move on, and that's fine by me. My classes are pretty cool, I really like my AP Language and Comp. teacher, Chike, she'll probably be hard, but I still think she's among the smartest people I've met, and thats from three days of exposure. She had me doing a good deal of introspective thinking about existence, and as such, my current MSN phrase is the semi-cryptic passage that follows: What is concienceness but a broken reality?. Its true you know, what that means is that we are trapped in a distilled version of reality we created to cope with the grand and surreal existence that is our world. It almost made me laugh, she said, as an enlglish teacher mind, that in writing, words are our greatest enemies, that we will constantly search for the correct word to describe emotion, and texture, color, senses, that which is true reality, and never find that which will satisfy us. This is, she says, what writing is, the hunt for the perfect word, and the perfect set of words, to be able describe as best we can what we feel in our life.
Deep s**t, I know.
We also read a piece of philosophical work called the Allegory of the Cave, which essentially explained the same thing, really cool.
There is a downside to school being in session, the Drama is back, drama I wish to give you a horrible burning, acidic death full of rats and plague. Also, I swear that if "J" does a ******** thing to "The good J", I'll ******** kill the other "J". Call out to all you "J's" out there. Peace my bruddah.
And now, musings.
Edit: I thought about it for a while, and, the only fitting title I can give this poem is simply...
"The Man in White and Red"
______________________
What was that gentle soul,
Dressed in White and Red.
Perched upon grassy gnoll,
Surely that soul will be dead.
Found quite alive and well,
the man in white with misty eyes,
Ponders of an inner hell.
Fine is the dream in those eyes,
Of a past free of misery.
Waiting for the dawn,
He marches like all soldiers past,
What is past is gone,
And his future short to last.
Final steps upon that Hill,
Not a marked man would envy him,
Martyrdom his lives end,
And soon his world's .
But a dream! A hope!
His sight clear from the haze,
Takes aim, shots rope.
Saved is life, let endure yet again,
The anger, joy, pride,
The reality and pain.
Solace is found in this word,
The man in White and Red,
Purified of his discord.
The man in White and Red,
Eyes blue as a bold steel,
Sets down the hill.
Words ring out across the valley;
"Live life, be happy! Feel!"
That was fun.
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Good eye, sniper, here I'll shoot, YOU run.
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