High School (full version)

High school: all the things you hate about your life spawned into reality. It's a bit like an acid trip, but only some of the people are on drugs. The noise can get deafening, time seems to freeze, and, of course all the equally annoying things you learn to ignore. They kind of become the melody of daily life; buzzing, slamming, people talking at, instead of to each other. That reminds me, have you noticed the temperature is never comfortable? It's like a real version of Goldilocks without the talking bears.
This education, deemed necessary, becomes a place to practice your survival tactics, in a manner of ways. You rush through it half-heartedly, oblivious at times, often intentionally.

It becomes a way to numb yourself through.

If you do stop for a moment, say, as a way to take as long as possible to get to your next class, you begin to notice the things you tune out. Graffiti, unidentifiable substances, and mysterious odors, suddenly spring out at you, as if waiting in the shadows for you to notice them. Then you spy the sickening glare of the fluorescent lights on the tile. You question why they bothered to use tile in the first place. Cost effective, or as a way to enhance the dungeon-esqe feel?
You suddenly snap out of your reverie because some oaf with an over-active pituitary gland slams into you and, without hesitation, continues on his way.

The joys of daily life.

So you advance to class, with your newly bruised shoulder. You couldn't care any less about this class, but you care about school so you attend it. So you sit slouched and listen to a man as old as the history you're learning about, talk about something you don't need to know. Shifting a bit, the seat won't give. Oh, right! No freedom to move in those horrid desk-chair offspring. Something guaranteed to drive you mad.

Or has it already happened?

pt.2

Cynical. That’s how I’d describe myself in three words or less. I observe though. I sit and I watch. Or I crack jokes that get the nerdy kids to break a smile.
I don’t look forward to anything, and no, I’m not suicidal, abused, or anything else for that matter. I’m sorry I don’t fit your teenage stereotype. I’m just who I decide to be that morning. Keeps things fresh. I shock, I amaze, I just plain freak the hell out of people at times. It gives me my kicks.
Yes, I’m still stuck under the fluorescent lights that could make Heidi Klum seem ugly. Or whomever you want, you get my point.
That oaf who crashed into me the other day, I saw him again, near knocked over one of the freshman. Poor kid. And of course he kept on going, like nothing happened. I hope karma bites him in the ass.
Yea, I sound harsh, whatever. I can’t be bothered to spend all my time self reflecting. There are too many tests for that to happen. Ha! Standardized tests are to blame for society’s inability to give a shit. Sorry. I’m in a weird mood. A weirder mood than usual that is, not that you can tell.
I gotta admit, I’m jealous of the people who complain they are normal and boring. Ain’t nothing like my friends. The art freaks. I have a love-hate relationship with this bunch. Lately, they have just made me queasy. It’s nice being able to have an innuendo free conversation. Then again, art and insanity seem to go hand in hand. I wonder if it’s possible to be creative and not cut your ear off. Okay, so maybe not that drastic, but all the famous artists were either blind or insane. And most of them got famous after they died. How bleary.
So I guess my plan is to act like a nut, paint melting clocks with my mustache, if I can grow one being a girl, then die poor. Or something like that. That’s what I’ve got to work with so far. Yeck!
You’re wondering why I talk this way about art? Well I already told you I’m cynical. And there are only so many times you can watch people stroke jars of applesauce or have knife fights in the middle of the art room. Sounds fun to you doesn’t it? Madness is amusing.
Gahh! I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I’m getting pressure from every source because I don’t know where to go to college. And then there are the ACTs and the SATs. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.
You’re not listening are you?

I fall in love with the wrong people.

"You know want I want to do? I want to join a monastery. I want to join a monastery and bake bread."

"You'll have a red light moment. You'll be at a red light on County Line road, at one in the morning, coming home from a wedding. And you'll have a moment of insight. Email me. But you have to be in your twenties, mid to late twenties. Just say 'Mullen I get it.'"

Does knowing the truth really matter?

Implications of an existence with no meaning?
Purpose. Value.
Objective order of purpose and value. An existence without value.

No fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

Camus says life is absurd. We must create the meaning.

Love sucks.

Yet can be simaltaneously amazing.

Middle School → Havenofun Middle School
High school → Haveadrug High School

I have never condoned being off topic in class. Now I am doing it myself. Damned hypocrite. It's been a long week.

What have I learned? Everything is absurd and that there is only a point to something if we find it. So I have yet to find a point ot all of this. We have choice, supossedly. I guess I chose to go to class, but do I benefit?
I'm more lost now than I ever was before.

Do I write? What's a plausible career for an economic time such as this? This country is one that does not value art. Frustration. Worry fills me too. How did I do on my SATs? I need to clean my room/house/mind. It's intense.

I never have time. I say that, but I do have time. Time where I sit and think about how I am wasting my time. Things die out but you still have to go on. Give me two weeks and I'll have forgotten most things. Except more of the embarassing things I have done or encountered. I ramble. Again. I also talk to much. Maybe I'm trying to say something valuable and only crap comes out.

I think about earlier, talking to someone who lives in a house of free and open conversation. How our lives are contrasted.

Looking over my laptop, I see my philosophy teacher imitating how a punk band would cover Britney Spears. Amusing. My day is like a sandwich. The bread, the first and end class stink. The middle classes are great. Art and philosophy, how much better does it get?
Hugh and What Army, a great name for a punk band, apparently.
Says the man for Havertownia.

Well, I guess this counts as a circular free write. I need to work on more actual stories. Hah, now there's an unlikely occurence.

Since I have set this tone as random, here is a thought I am brooding over ( as I try to spiff up my vocabulary). If we are all human, and all have dislikeable traits, why do we dislike our traits? Isn't it ridiculous to dislike one for one's action, when we ourselves do things bothersome too?

Now one could argue that cursing some one off for cutting in front of you is annoying, but we all get angry at times. We enjoy flicking through channels but when someone else does it, they are a pain in the ass.

Scarlett
Violet
Natalie
Sophie
A list. It rhymes.

Self reflection and change are two entirely different things.

Teenagers point out the absurdities of life, while adults become encompassed in them

Today I destroyed the best painting I ever made, and in my agony, I realized I am a writer.

I'm sitting here, trying to figure out when my mind went blank and my life went full speed ahead. I have SATs, yes I said it, SATs to take this weekend, and I'm moving away over the summer.
I'm stumped over it all. When did I turn 17? When did I loose my free time? I don't have time to read or sew; to write or draw. I take what I can, and I usually end up grasping at an object in the darkness, just out of reach. But I know it's there, so I long for it, day in and day out.
The rare occasions when I find myself with free time, is when the trouble begins. Thoughts I push out of my mind, creep back, taunting me. Worry. Anger. Regret.

Memory is a bit like a pencil with a cheap eraser. You can try to erase your mistake until your arm is sore, but traces of graphite remain. Your mistake is still visible for others to see, or even if they aren't paying attention, you are.

They say life is short. I'm beginning to see why. It seems as if someone has pressed fast forward on my life.
Job. Eat. Homework. Sleep. School. Repeat.

Maybe humans live so long as a punishment. They have to get to a certain level of pain and regret before they can die. It sounds morbid, but I wouldn't be surprised.
I guess there are enough good points to keep us from going off the deep end. Laughter and falling in love.

Laugh till you fall on the floor.
Then you calm down.
And burst out laughing again.
By now you are doubled over and turning an impressive shade of red.

Or

You do something embarrassing but hilarious.
And you have to join in the laughter.
Laughing at the moment.
And the incurable stupidity that links us all.
Makes us human.

It's my job to love you when the world has turned it's back on you.

bits off the top of my head.

"Well, here I am. What do you want?"
"Everything."
"Seriously, cut the crap."
"Hahaha. Alright."

I sat on the subway. My head bumped against the window with each turn. I was in no mood to move it. One of those situations where you are too fed up with life. I guess the science-y people call it inertia. I guess.
The setting wasn't helping. Some hotshot decided to scratch something crude into the wall. The fantastic chairs that were molded to fit no one's butt were causing me to shift constantly. And the window was covered in years of grime.
So I'm pissed, fitting into society's view of a typical outcast. I'm in Fuck Everything mode. Nothing I do or anyone I talk to I like. It came so suddenly to. I was sitting in English class, tempted to slam down my books and barge out the door. Fuming at nothing.

Well, I'm staring at this one guy in particular. It seemed as if life beaten the crap out of him and spat on him afterwards. Yet he had this smile on his face, like he knew the world's greatest joke or something. So I figure, ah what the hell, I may as well talk to the guy. Lord knows I could use a good laugh. So I call him over.

"Hey.. Hey you. The one with the black jacket."
He looks over.
"Come here a sec."
I can sense his caution. I'm not the world's most approachable person. I had fun with piercings, and eyeliner. So I'm dark. Is that a problem?
"I don't mean to be rude, but you seem like you've been.. I dunno.. abused by life. Yet, you've got this look like you've found meaning in the small stuff. So I figured I'd ask what was up."
"Hi, for starters. Yea. I guess I gave up on my appearence. I'm not about to launch into the sorrows of my life, you haven't committed any crime worthy of such a punishment?"
"I hope not. Care for a seat? Where ya headed?"
"Until I decide to get off, or if they kick me off"
"Me too! I just need my head to clear. Things have been odd for me lately."
"Well, I sparked your interest with how I look. I'm doing the bohemian thing at the moment. Living poor and living free."
He chuckled to himself at that point and it was then I investigated him a bit closer.
His shoes showed a great view of his socks, which showed a great view of his toe poking through the hole, and it was all done up with duct tape. Everything was ripped or tattered. He was gaunt, exhausted...
"So how are you free? I didn't think poverty meant freedom. at least that's that way I've seen it all these years."
"Sleep alludes me, hungry invades me. Yes, it would appear I have every oppurtunity to be miserable. I learned wealth causes more harm than good, so I'm trying to live the side of life people generalize but don't experience. Like they say, freedom is just another word for nothing left to loose. When you loose it all you get to focus on the important stuff."
"Philosophical. I like it. I'm Sam by the way."
"I'm Eli. Pleasure to meet cha"

right, I might continue with it but I needed a break point.