A healthy dose.
When I don't feel like dealing with it, I suppose I bitch about it.
9/14/06 - muse
My muse is dejected and withered. Her powers of inspiration I suppress with my own muting hand. Her wings are frayed and broken, frail as I have caged her. She still sings, though my mistreatment could be expected to drive her away forever. The loyalty of some things is a curious subject.
That girl over there is hardly a degree of my field of vision. Her bones disgust me, yet my flesh gives me a sickening cushion. My fever rages hot, my eyes are beginning to water, and I am still fighting with myself. I drive my own sickness to fruition. I don't know why I still resist being sick.
I hate this place. I truly detest the subjective, stupid nature of it all. This time of day is my short period of silence. They are all still around me--these maggoty drones--but I do not now require effort to block them from my ears. They are directed (forced) to be silent, which I would protest if I didn't feel it did them some good. I would not normally forcefully silence anyone. But this is a singular part of structured, terrible days that I do not fight with futile naivety.
Most of them seem surprisingly dull and brainless. I have a personal bias, though, through my own assumed bit of intelligence. But without the incessant fixation they all seem to have on talking, most of my peers in this lecture hall seem restless and...empty. I think I may write daily to avoid my own restlessness. But I am deluded enough to think that my restlessness comes from a different reason.
This 23 minutes is mindless. This entire institution of public education is a massacred attempt to instill the average youth with a tincture of basic knowledge. The redundancy that I so dislike is a baffling result of their (being the average youth) unwillingness to retain information and put it to some useful application. These concepts could be taught to anybody. That is biased, as well. I suppose I justify my bias because I am reluctant to accept inherent potential as a factor of limitation in learning. Because I have an active drive to learn.
Knowledge of all types fascinates me. I require very little work to understand ideas, theories, philosophies, and general information about the world around me. I think that part of my useless (but present) hatred for the average person comes with my trouble in being able to fathom how any person could be uninterested in learning. Is it a vain sense in the young, of all things relevant? Is it a childish notion of egocentrism? Is this adolescence something that will smack them in the face when it leaves?
Or has the modern American society become so lugubrious that it is at a point where they will never need scientific awareness. Or common sense. Or a sense of intellectualism. Or (because my expectations are not high) more brain activity than a twitch of the nose when a fly lands on them. They could live their whole lives without a particularly individual skill. They could mesh into the background and the underground of the city life, doing things any other person could do. They could still make a decent, lazy, retarded, drudging, unsensational life.
My frustration loses steam as my hand grows tired and the minutes grow thin. Too much effort on their part would seem ridiculous. Time to sit with my muse, and look through the bars of a cage I willingly and unwillingly swing in.
9/14/06 - muse
My muse is dejected and withered. Her powers of inspiration I suppress with my own muting hand. Her wings are frayed and broken, frail as I have caged her. She still sings, though my mistreatment could be expected to drive her away forever. The loyalty of some things is a curious subject.
That girl over there is hardly a degree of my field of vision. Her bones disgust me, yet my flesh gives me a sickening cushion. My fever rages hot, my eyes are beginning to water, and I am still fighting with myself. I drive my own sickness to fruition. I don't know why I still resist being sick.
I hate this place. I truly detest the subjective, stupid nature of it all. This time of day is my short period of silence. They are all still around me--these maggoty drones--but I do not now require effort to block them from my ears. They are directed (forced) to be silent, which I would protest if I didn't feel it did them some good. I would not normally forcefully silence anyone. But this is a singular part of structured, terrible days that I do not fight with futile naivety.
Most of them seem surprisingly dull and brainless. I have a personal bias, though, through my own assumed bit of intelligence. But without the incessant fixation they all seem to have on talking, most of my peers in this lecture hall seem restless and...empty. I think I may write daily to avoid my own restlessness. But I am deluded enough to think that my restlessness comes from a different reason.
This 23 minutes is mindless. This entire institution of public education is a massacred attempt to instill the average youth with a tincture of basic knowledge. The redundancy that I so dislike is a baffling result of their (being the average youth) unwillingness to retain information and put it to some useful application. These concepts could be taught to anybody. That is biased, as well. I suppose I justify my bias because I am reluctant to accept inherent potential as a factor of limitation in learning. Because I have an active drive to learn.
Knowledge of all types fascinates me. I require very little work to understand ideas, theories, philosophies, and general information about the world around me. I think that part of my useless (but present) hatred for the average person comes with my trouble in being able to fathom how any person could be uninterested in learning. Is it a vain sense in the young, of all things relevant? Is it a childish notion of egocentrism? Is this adolescence something that will smack them in the face when it leaves?
Or has the modern American society become so lugubrious that it is at a point where they will never need scientific awareness. Or common sense. Or a sense of intellectualism. Or (because my expectations are not high) more brain activity than a twitch of the nose when a fly lands on them. They could live their whole lives without a particularly individual skill. They could mesh into the background and the underground of the city life, doing things any other person could do. They could still make a decent, lazy, retarded, drudging, unsensational life.
My frustration loses steam as my hand grows tired and the minutes grow thin. Too much effort on their part would seem ridiculous. Time to sit with my muse, and look through the bars of a cage I willingly and unwillingly swing in.