No Horizon

I wake up in the morning, throw on some shit, and head out the door to practice. It's dark. I swim for an hour, get out, dry off, and it's dark. I go through the silly motions that high school has become. I'm dark. I get back in the water, because any moment that my muscles are not burning with growth is a wasted moment. I swim and swim. Practice ends, and it's dark. The sun is a childhood friend who has moved to Dover and promises always to return, but for now, I must go without. The darkness washes over and through me, always reminding me of the sleep I long for. This is swim season-- and I've never been more in love with it.

Songs of the Doomed: Verse Two

A degree of conformity is absolutely necessary, indeed. But Goddamn! easy on the popped collars and identical speech and thought. I implore one and all, from G-dub to Kanye West's friends down in Mississippi, to use the eight pound mass your skull protects to THINK FOR YOURSELF. I"m destroyed to watch many whom would rather write down an idea than process it. It'll make studying immensely easier if you understand the concept to begin with. This is elementary business, kids, and you're making me feel like a goddamn retard when I try to explain this novel idea. Ugh, I'm disgusted. Ah yes, conformity, I think it's nice that those who do read often times liken themselves to favorite characters and start a week or two of changed behavior. This makes me laugh, because we should be too old for THAT by middle school. But, we do not learn to read until the sixth grade, so it seems we're right on a proportional schedule. No one will write a book based on a character trying in vain to be the hero of a story written fifty years ago (notice vain, I do not want anyone pissed off). Take, for instance, the ancient epics. [Homer] composed the epics Iliad and Odyssey about 800 years before Jesus. Just before the turn of the first recorded millennium (b.c. to a.d.), Virgil wrote The Aeneid. The epic hero was called Aeneas, and he did NOT constantly worry "what would Odysseus do?" because he used his big sexy brain to fucking think. So stop pissing me off with your petty antish problems and oblivious wandering through the half-century or so we have left on this doomed planet. Fight the laziness, fight the trivialities, and most of all when you see some bullshit on M-TV, tell your television and anyone watching to go fornicate themselves with a cell phone or whatever those people get off on. Amate aut morite! Oh, last thing, ah shit I forgot. Sonofa bitch! Yes! I remember. Ok, last thing, I was fighting most vigorously the sleepiness in government today, so I did not express my views. But the subject of discussion was Justice, and all these religious types vocalized their thoughts that anyone who was caught drinking should not be allowed on Maycourt or National Honors Society (don't tell me there's an apostrophe), now personally, I can't be bothered to give a shit about either one of them, but I was struck by something Joaquin Phoenix (Johnny Cash in Walk the Line) so splendidly articulated to the record label guy (accurate?). He said something to the effect that those who could not forgive were not real Christians, like he is. And I'm here in Smith's class, watching all these Jesus-freaks express their wish to lock up all these Humans who drink/ drank underage. What a world has been pulled before their eyes, eh? I'm no devout Christian, for I am agnostic, but I firmly believe that I am a better person than 96.4% of those who slavishly go to worship every Sunday at nine and put their $20 in the plate. Our society has such a massive hard-on for labels, druggie, alchy, jerk, etc... Why have we lost the ability to relate to our fellows? Man, I had much to say on the subject, but I bathed in my bile and my less-than-loving thoughts have left as a result. Thus ends the Strange November.

What the heck you been doin?

Eatin' chicken.

Themes have been quiet... mostly. Furor impius has been detained, and tries vigilantly to escape and run amok along the countryside. My right hand does not allow this. I am seventeen, and my birthday is late in February, but I'm not a minor anymore. A long-standing test that I've liked to use and keep tabs on was brought into play in the Good day of yester, and the results are... uncommonly good, fantastic even. Sidonian Dido may yet live to see the new year, and only animal weakness and the very enemies of civilization will bring her Sadness and Destruction. Lucifer is an honorable man (Brutus is an honorable man). I may be forced to start lying about my age, nam it seems that he has selfish plans for me. The November strangeness has passed with the full moon. The skies are clear, and any cloud in view I have put there myself, to block some blinding sunlight, and let me have some fun.

The Search: Part One

In these, the days of no meaning, what is the mark of a person? Is it the person he is, beneath his actions and jokes? Or are these actions the definition of him? There are arguments for both sides, and I do not represent myself as having any sort of answer. All I am certain of is nothing. Everything is nothing. Perception is everything. Chemical balances or imbalances in the eight pound bullet-trap we spend so much time killing. What I know is feeling.... this feeling of unfulfillment, of boredom, of indolence; unwanted questions of what if and why not-- terribly destructive thoughts that prove I have too much time and too little to do. But better days are coming, indeed, tomorrow is one of these. I must just need sleep. The barometer is reading a flat 30.00 and dropping. Stormy skies approach, stormy skies that bring Unpredictibility, occasional Weirdness, and plenty of Fun. I'll never forgive swimming for being so tiring, and I will spend many days fighting to forgive myself for my inexcusable indolent nature. I must just need sleep. I'd like to share something with you, so if you have a file download program, I urge you to download Amazed -The Offspring. If you don't, IM me and I'll send you the shit. I live for the adrenaline, for the concrete times when people stand stiff, at a loss for what to do. I live for these times, when cooler heads prevail and rapid thought and good instinct control the footing. The fat is far far from the fire. Mental fatigue is nasty business. None of this, however, answers my question. I leave it open to you.

Update

We still have no fucking clue where this guy is.
Anyway, Devon's (Hubbs) real last name is still awesome, and his status is rapidly rising to that of Uncle Awesome, but he cannot have that title, so I'll have to think of a new one for Devon Hubbs.
Right now it is the calm before the storm, but it will not hit in one moment. No, it will hit like the pain of grabbing hot embers out of the fire with a thin leather glove.
Anyone who has read War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy) ought to contact me, because the dissimilar personalities, yet undeniable power of Anatole Kuragin and Andrey Bolkonsky over those around them (esp. women) are brewing up something noteworthy in my mind... but I like to talk about these things.
Ross I don't' have all fucking year, that's right.
I don't know what's gotten into the turkey, but he's sure gotten here in one bitch of a hurry. Seriously, what do we have? three, four weeks until break?

If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of Joe Cooper call 317.512.7502.

Matricide

It's only natural for a male who is almost on the verge of graduating to loathe his mother. It is not natural, however, to have two sisters, one and a half of whom behave in the exact same way as the hated parent. Good god I wish I had an M-107. These last few months would be a lot easier. Me negoti pertnedet.

Yes Sir, No Sir

Wow, what a mood I was in last night, eh? Ho ho, yes sir. Mr. Tatlock has always been The Man, that's right, just try it, it's spearmint! (.05%er). Anywho, I am a physical person, I like to push and hug my friends, along with similar contact with the opposite sex. Today, brushes occurred, fortifying my disposition to lean toward "I'm right, and I've always fuckin' been right," which has been proven in several instances. I also bear similarity to Franz Kafka in my relationships, which is not good, not good at all, no sir.

This here is the key. Like tetris, many things are affected by this one block falling in place. It's the difference between a high score and game over. This weekend will be different. I believe so, yes sir. I sure could do with a visit to/ from my older counterparts in Terra Haute, yes Mr. Tatlock sir, no Mr. Tatlock sir, I'm swimming. Happy Veterans' Day, and good luck to our spell-bowl team as they compete at State tomorrow!

Brush With the Complex

As a kid, I read. I read and read. I planned on living my life according to the wisdom of those old and dying, those with truly placed priorities. I know many gurus of literature and life in the Old Country, many with true grit. I have never met a wiser man than moyo deda, my father's father. I planned to have no regrets. And I didn't, for years, not many, but still, years. Age twelve hit hard, too hard. I chased what I thought was my dream, only to find that I was running faster than my capabilities could support, and crashed like a twelve year old boy who is running all too fast down a very steep hill. The point is I lost touch, as we all seem to. The trick is realization and realignment. In the frenzy to claim what I thought I should, I missed the point. I wanted results, and none could come too quickly. Much agony this hastiness has caused in the last five years, many memories I never had, and good times never shared. Like Freud, who could never master his cigars, I remain a slave to my complex. Zach says it is more the idea than the meat, which is an intensely probable brainwave. However, some days, nothing matters but the meat, and even after the release, the meat lingers. This give me more trouble than anything- because as any guy will tell you, afterwards, sexual appeal is gone, locked away until meiosis has taken place for a good few hours. Yet not this one. No, this one I want to stay, and this one remains alone there. And for this reason, I know Zach holds water, but how much, I cannot be sure, because I also hold water. I have always known the brevity of life. I was never meant to have regrets. VITA BREVIS, CARPE DIEM! Life is about love, to give and to receive, nothing is more important. These things, I understand.

Moment of Clarity in Strange Times

This is highly irregular. As some may know, H.S. Thompson is one of my few heroes. I am currently reading Better Than Sex, and during Govt. class today, I read the portion of the story about the actual election. Page 181 starts after the break: "Who knows why, Bubba? November brings the hunter's moon, which always causes weirdness- especially if you happen to be a moon-child, a dope fiend and a blood-starved whore-hopper all at once." Well, anyone who can scroll down to yesterday's post can see why my brain might be a tad twisted, like rolling a bit of your jeans in between your thumb and index finger, as if to say, what the fuck? I've also been struggling as of late with the idea of college, and where I should spend the next four years or so. Well, the fat has been cut away, Mathematics be damned! Page 181 has stripped the Untrue from the True. I wrote a month ago that I was Aeneas in Book IV, well it seems I have grown into a Book VII Aeneas, oblivious to the whole happening, but I suppose that's how these things happen. One doesn't feel his hair growing, does one? Forty Licks to anyone who correctly identifies the movie from which that line is derived. I'm talking Adam Feutz most likely. Ok. Oh and Happy Birthday Jordan Schmitt!

Strangeness in November

I noticed here tonight that things have changed from even last week. Weird times have ascended upon me, along with liberal amounts of Strangeness and Confusion. I feel as if everything I touch will break and every move I make will turn into complete Disaster. Small things cannot be completed, nor can big things even be put into the idea of being finished. Many people have gone weird on me too and I am afraid to wake up in the morning. It may be that I lack true grit, that somehow the alleles I have arisen from were somehow not meant to mix. One doesn't' breed Baptists and Buddhists, just like gays shouldn't adopt. Or maybe I just need a sufficient night of healthy, natural sleep. I like summaries. I like to flip a book over and read the back cover and know what is going on here. Though fun, I am tiring of constantly having to dig and dig and dig to the depths of a person's face to discern true meaning form their bullshit; my brain is getting tired, and my eyes are sore. I am confronted with stupid questions, questions that, apart from the fact that I wouldn't answer them for two grand, should never even have been conceived to begin with. CPU usage is running at all hand on-deck, and I need to be restarted. Oh, also, it's been discovered that the basis for much of my Weariness is the "Sad-Panda" that lives thirty feet below the waters of my consciousness.... goddamnit. Things were never meant to be like this.
Apart from this, I had an excellent Saturday night. I was able to go to Greenwood with a couple red-heads and a good Catholic friend, eat some expensive-as-shit pizza, and see Jarhead. Arrival in Shittyville was about 9:30ish, and we at Schmitt's by ten. Justin was there, and I thoroughly enjoyed three hours of talking movies and such.
Last thing, Jesus never meant for the children of the 21st Century to be wed at high school ages. Destruction is imminent, yet like an earthquake, no one knows when the fuck it's gonna hit. Trust me, I understand these things.

It Starts

Nothing changed 'cuz it's all the same. The one you get's the one you give away. It all just happends again, way down the line. We had the swim meeting after school today, because practice starts Monday and we are gonna get to business right from the get-go. This lightens my mood, because it started the Generator that is Winter. Water (time) turns the turbines that turn the gears (don't worry about that part). Every winter, things happen and unhappen, with depressing regularity and predictibility. That is the meaning behing the first line or two of this post. Because of swimming starting, it is now officially Cold, though it is almost 70 degrees up in here. I am all over the fucking place. Nothing is coming together. I suppose i can sum it up as another start to another weekend, which leaves me as apathetic as ever. I was supposed to go to IU today, yet loose lips sink ships. Res ipsa loquitur. My adventure in Bloomington was going to be the greatest post ever written by man, yet now it is currently Impossible. I fought over the title with my editor (ask if you care to know what i mean) decided that though "The Sarge Goes To Bloomington" would have been cute, Katie made it abundantly clear that "Fleeced by Ed Bradley" is the only possible title that would do it Justice. I already had the first little bit written, the pre-adventure part, but i won't post it, because i plan on going to IU, and you'll enjoy it then. Oh seriously that is such THE perfect title too..... later though. Ah dammit.

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Never in all the sixty-eight years I will live will I understand the unconditional love that many have for gossip. Only small minds talk about people. It's just too bad that 8% of the population has the discipline to simply shut the fuck up. Jesus tap-dancing Christ!

Red, Ripe, and Ridikilis

Well, the impulse I thought I cured years ago proved to be very prevalent in my subconscious after-all. Mrs. S has long been under the impression that every male on the planet will, through a Y-linked mutation occurring sometime in the early 18th century, stick his foot out as another student passes his desk. Now, it has been long indeed since I enjoyed tripping someone, and today, the pleasure was all mine. It was calculus class and the real Mandie had just turned in her quiz, I wasn't even aware of the decision, but out when my foot, and down went my prey. Bam! Like a cement block in Zelda: Ocarina of Time being pushed into place, the sound of the red-haired girl hitting the floor on all floors shook the classroom, and my innocent little mind-set; I had no intention of her actually falling. Being a politic lad, I did not laugh, and immediately (as those around me roared, herself included) demanded to know if she was OK. She was right in front of her desk, and did not stand, but slithered into her chair like a wounded, and very embarrassed, snake. Her resemblance to a big, beautiful, ripe tomato was uncanny, like comparing our president to a mentally-handicapped chimp. I denied the swarm of accusations coming at me, and beat the rap like Billy beat Gennifer Flowers. This was all well and good, until about half-way through class. D (Digression) When a volcano erupts every two months, the eruptions are fairly mild and calm, like a trouser-snake that is cranked three times a day. However, when the third leg is put into use once a month or so, the story becomes quite another tale. And just like Yellowstone (a supervolano whose biggest eruption was 2 million years or so ago and covered most of the continent in magma and affected the world's climate for decades) I burst. I laughed long and hard with no control, a sharp pain in my abdomen, and a developing stitch in my side. It made no difference, they all knew I was guilty, luckily Phares doesn't give much of a shit. Once I managed to calm down, I caught the eye of several of my buddies and round two started, and I swore I heard Rory commenting, "God bless us, every one."