Finis

Secrets of the Universe is finished.

One year is long enough.

There are, as ever, multiple layers to that previous post. Don't look too deeply at the chemical burn scene, but more at Bob.

It's been fun, but really...

get the fuck off my porch.

Finality

Tyler Durden: You're too old, fat man. Your tits are too big. (Tyler throws his cigarette.)
Tyler Durden: Get the fuck off my porch.

The final secret of the universe:

Everything is what you make it.

High Order

Of all the troubles I've been visited by in the past few years, none have compared to those which affect the core of my beliefs, which, again, goes without saying (more doxa). Here, I'm still deeply troubled by that thing that happened at the beginning of the summer, but I made a breakthrough the other day, at my old house in Shelbyville. I was looking at pictures of Europe, and my realization was simple:


I don't give a fuck
Do it anyway.
-S

Title Unnecessary

What is the symbol of fidelity?
of Atonement?
Sacrifice?

Are these Christian ideals?

The material can only be flesh, but we all know that. The question, as always, is what. I feel that a cross meets such criteria.

We must all search ourselves and tear the evil from our hearts. Once again, I am lucky enough to have quite a fantastic vantage point.

I'm done

I finished the paper, but I won't post it. There is a vast number of reasons involved, and here are some of my favorites:
I hate you people,
its present form could never convey any of the ethos or even logos that most of my blog enjoys,
I have no desire to have so many unknown people in such juxtaposition to my heart soul
you might be in it
I hate you people.

First Gear

I have decided to sit down and write my paper today (previous post). Problem is, I'm a horrible writer when I'm not inspired or in the mood, and to remedy the situation I've been reading my blog. I love my blog. At times, I wish I would have been less vague, because some of the material I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. But, this half hour has changed my mood, and though it's not the inspired writing mood I need, it's the precursor.

Personal Trauma

I have an autobiography due sometime this semster in English 108. I have made a promise to my roomate to write the best paper that I am able to write. What else is new? I know, but this time may be different. If I'm happy with what I write, I'll post it here. He said it might be due in two weeks, or it might be due at the end of the semester, he doesn't care, he just doesn't want to rush anyone. He's after well written work, and I plan to deliver.

Ideology

Difficulty comes in sixes.

Bad luck comes in threes.

Define and why.

I was once deplored for my tendency, when searching for answers, to break down and analyze. It was always the core of my smugness and source of my logic. Then, after, it ceased to be. It was then another nasty vibration, a sickening pulse trying to throw my drummer boy off his beat. And thus it continued to be.

Until today. Mr. King's english class has become what Mrs. Schwickrath's class was in high school: the necessary aggregate of my goddamn stereobate.

Now, my questions of what, how, and why have emerged as important as I always felt.