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AznDesperation
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read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Grim
Birthday: 6/6/1966
Gender: Male
Interests: What? Interests? Who do you take me for?
Expertise: What? I'm a dumbass.
Occupation: Operations
Message: message me
Member Since:
8/31/2003
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| RegardsIt's interesting what boredom does to the mind. The only reason I seem to be writing this entry seems to stem out of my utter boredom. Somebody save me....bleh | | |
| Hong's White RoseThis profile pic.... hmm..... a moment in time, the folds of the rose
against the darkness, the black backdrop. Yes, the purity embodied
within this rose only fully reveals its true potential in contrast to
the darkness surrounding it. The Taoists of China believed that there
is no good without evil, no love without hatred. As such, they almost
say that love, hate, good, and evil are all the same thing. Why then do
humans go about labeling everything, dividing everything into one or
the other? Is truth one point in space? Or is it a line? a plane? a
dimension? a gateway? What do you see in this picture? Without defining
the line, you would see nothing, as there is no difference, no
existence. Existence comes out of definition? Maybe love, hate, good,
and evil are actually all different. To say they stem out of the same
thing is almost synonymous to blurring your lines to justify atrocities.
This white rose, trapped in a moment in time, yet it exists now,
appearing on this computer screen... what doth it portend? From back in
a time of innocence, of free conscience. Were this rose to follow us to
this world, even the whitest bleach cannot halt the spread of the blood
that would soak it.
The blood- the loss of innocence. The blood- the defining
characteristic of human life. As humans, life is never truly innocent.
Our blood defines our guilt, our lost innocence, and it flows within
our veins, draining with each pass of time, forever, forever, summoning
us into the abyss of death.
This rose is from the days of high romance. Days which have been
replaced by your fickle, superficial, daily, vapid relationships.
Quite the disappointment.
A judgment passed from one who steps from within time, back a step, to
compare this context with what has already occurred, and to ponder what
has yet to occur. This is the judgment from one not fit to judge, the
judgment from the arrogant, haughty, prideful, Monsieur Hubris.
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| The lumbering behemoth returns.
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| "There once was a genie
with a ten-foot weanie,
so he showed it to the girl next door.
She thought it was a snake,
and hit it with a rake,
and now it's only one-foot four." -Ray.
And now, that's going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Rejects of
the world semi-unite! And give me comments for my sad posts. (Note:
Xanga is so pointless it's got the lowest priority of depth amidst my
many online journal thingies)
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| A Little Story....
There was once a little boy who was extremely romantic, thoughtful, and
idealistic on the inside. The kid sought to understand, and attain to
the fullest degree love, righteousness, justice, peace, patience, and
blah blah blah yaddie yaga- yes, all those good ideals our parents tell
us about. (What a fool to think he could become the purity of all) Yet,
being born as a kid, he wasn't mature enough to "properly" address his
feelings. So as the kid grew up, he was drawn into the systematic life
of this world. As an infant, he lived in the fostering arms of his
mother, his father, whom he believed loved him, and his older brother.
They spoke their own language, but as time went on, the kid subtly felt
that his parents no longer had the ardour that they had had previously.
As a young child, though, he never quite understood love. He was told
by his mother that she loved him, but he could not see love. Love was
but a desirable ideal driven for by his parents. He never paid it much
thought.
He
entered elementary school, the gateway to the pollution of his heart
and mind. He was isolated, and drawn by the decadent waters of this age
to compromise himself. At the coming of age of his elementary school
years, there was a lecture on puberty, and the kid believed that he
would be able to learn enough, and to grow up enough to be an adult. In
his fifth grade year, he learned to develop deeper affections with his
friends. He had his first crush on a girl. But the girl manipulated his
feelings, twisting him into a buffoon. First, she conspired with him,
to have some "fun" with others, but subsequently tossed his confession
aside, tore up his heart to shreds, and forgot him. Subsequently, their
lives parted ways. The girl's life went on, and the boy went on,
shallower, having a taste of passion and its foul aftertaste.
In
sixth grade, he learned to isolate himself from others once again, due
to his foolhardiness in his younger days. The isolation and denial were
the psychological states this kid used to combat his inferiority
complex and a lack of truly grasping the words: "success". Two years,
would break down that wall,however, as again, he tried (to no avail) to
satisfy his passion for another. He was quite the fool. But he was too
cowardly to approach her. Around this time, he was forming deep,
life-long friendships. He always sought to confess, but he believed
that ideals are more beautiful to absorb from afar. He and the girl
parted ways, without ever expressing himself. The ideal he had of the
girl was utterly devastated when that foolish boy discovered that the
girl was far from his ideal, which he himself could not quite define.
That occurred right before they parted.
Religion grabbed his
life without him ever understanding it. In the last years of his
sub-collegiate years, he attempted to establish bonds yet again with a
close knit group about him, seeking in his best years of his youth to
finally understand what there was in life to look forward to. But the
fool never learned. People just don't quite think the way he does, that
little fool of the world. He's quite funny when you look at him. He had
a crush, he lost the crush; he questioned the intentions of his crush;
subconsciously he grabbed in the dark for that crush again. The fool
never learned to let go. Well, what happens after his high school years
(in which he lived through the long illusion that he sought to love
with a "pure" love), was that he went on to college, Rice, by the way,
was accepted into the Baylor medicine program. He finished his college
courses in quite a short time, due to his extreme allocation of effort
devoted toward his studies, disillusioned by the lack of reality behind
the ideals, and all the while his health suffered. For a boy who has
never known love, he died in a car accident earlier this year. What a
pathetic fool to believe that he could learn what love truly is.
This
is my post to pay respects to a fool who better portrays my argument
that the world has no ideals- a fool whose life was not in vain, for
now I reap his benefits, and I will, unlike him, let go. | | |
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