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Searching for Dead Things

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(no subject) [May. 31st, 2005|09:30 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |accomplishedaccomplished]

I now have the pungent smell of bacon permeating from my skin. Bacon is tasty in moderation, yes, but it is not a good feeling to have smothered all over oneself.

I went volunteering. The hippie-ish, save-the-planet version they held at my church. I know it's good for the ol' resume and all...and this was not as tortuous as one thinks. It was the 5th Annual Peace with Justice Luncheon. Bringing peace throughout the world...all over a BLT and chips.

Erica and her two friends and I cooked 200 hundred slices of bacon in a cramped, unventilated kitchen. Bacon is, of course, deliciously fattening and evil. I sliced up maybe 20 really fat tomatoes without gashing a vein open, something I am proud of, among other things.

And I got a certificate for participating so it wasn't all for nothing.

Yeah, this post is pointless, mostly because everything worth saying in not very interesting to most people.

You like my icon/picture? It's amusing, no?
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“Why Billy, look at this! It’s an blue-throated African warbler.” [Apr. 24th, 2005|05:58 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |draineddrained]

Today I went to the Earth Day festival downtown at the zoo. For about the first five minutes I didn’t to anything but sit on a bench feeling sorry for my pitiful self and wondering if, if, if. But after my moping session I became my amiable self once again.

It was fairly entertaining, but I was disappointed that the only really “Earth Day” part of “Earth Day at the Zoo” were scattered infrequently around the zoo at booths operated by over-friendly zoo volunteers. All they gave out were pencils, tattoos and bracelets and cheap product-sponsored handouts from companies like Waste Management and Chik-fil-A. I guess I wasn’t too downtrodden because seeing the animals is always cool.

Everyone always likes to see the lemurs, they are cute and playful enough to entertain anybody. One of them swung agilely up to the top of the cage, near eye level to the giggling crowd and stuck out his tiny hand. It’s like “PLEASE, feed me. Just one, can’t you see I’m starving?” It was the perfect begging face, and it lifted my spirits greatly.

Hey, have you ever noticed that when you go to the zoo the most people can stand for at one window is a minute and thirty seconds? Hurry up the glass. Tap feverishly so the snake will wake from its afternoon nap to look cute for the camera, if a snake could look cute. Snap a photo with the $200 digital camera from Wal-Mart and shift over to the next one. It like an assemble line, only with animals.

And it’s amusing when you see this over anxious mother trying to get her rowdy kids to look at the animal in the cage.

“Why Billy, look at this! It’s an blue-throated African warbler.”

“Mommy I want some ice cream.”

“But Billy look, look, LOOK.” She points anxiously, “He’s cleaning himself.” She holds him tight by the back of the neck. “It says here that they can grow up to 20 inches long and..”

It like reading of the zoo sign will actually make your kid smarter or something. I don’t think most parents care whether their children enjoy learning new things or even that they learn at all. Just as long as they appear intelligent so they can brag about how well they were brought up and how they always went to the zoo when they were little to learn about the animals and someday he’ll be a genius and isn’t he adorable?

There were little kids rampant everywhere. It’s like everywhere you turn there’s another one clutching a plush monkey or toddling away with a full diaper or with ice cream running down it face or running and screeching to make the pigeons fly away. I don’t hate little kids or anything, so yeah.

Oh, and when I got this blue gum on my flip flop, I tried scraping it off with a spoon and dragging my feet across the grass, but all I succeeded in doing was tripping on a skillfully hidden root that lay lodged in my path. Other than that everything went OK.
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*sigh* [Apr. 8th, 2005|08:45 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |cynicalcynical]

Kayla is pressuring my to post, so yeah, here ya go.

A charm invests a face
imperfectly beheld
A lady dare not lift her veil
for fear it be dispelled
but looks beyond her mesh
wishes; and denies
lest interview annul a want
that image satisfies.

Dickenson

Ah, too true.
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Eh, ze golden years [Nov. 27th, 2004|06:39 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |nostalgicnostalgic]

Not so long ago, maybe five or six years when I lived in Cincinnati, I attended a Catholic school situated somewhere in the midst of a “rough neighborhood”. It was pretty obvious that all the white kids went to St. Vivian Elementary and the black kids went to the public school next door. There was a line, and the line did not like to be crossed. I realize now that St. Vivian was not so much a school, but the only “safe haven” for the small chunk of rich white kids who lived in College Hills. It was a kind of shelter to flee to in the turmoil of all that is strange and poor, and….not white.

I knew that I was not rich or smart nor did I live in the rich neighborhood. But I was in the 5th grade, so I didn’t think about that quite so much.

As public school funding was cut back, more parents worried about the quality of their childrens’ education, those who could spend the $2,500 yearly tuition for private school, did. My parents scraped up three times that much for all three of us every year, which was an amazing accomplishment.

Sometime I think all that money went to waste, because I was A) a straight C student (except for art) B) got into fights all the time and C) was not a Catholic.

I thought not being Catholic would not be such a big deal, right? But somehow, it was. Strangely enough, everyone knew I was not a catholic. Sometimes you get this feeling like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, like you’ve prodded the hornets’ nest and now they’re coming for you. No body says anything but still the silence is unbearable. They get this look like, “What are YOU doing here?”.

During Monday mass, when everyone shuffled down the pews to receive communion, (I know it’s sacrilegious but sometimes those wafers sure look tasty) the chaperoning nun put her hand out to cross my exit. She slowly shook her head and told me to sit down. I didn’t know why I was so disappointed.

From then on, I sat by myself in the corner, trying to hide my head and not be seen. There is nothing worse than not fitting in. You can shake it off and shake it off, but it always comes back to you. You may think, “I don’t care” when you really do care, and all you want is to be like everybody else.

I also remember “horror stories from Catholic school” which weren’t really that bad, we just like to think they were, it gives the past some flavor. Most of them involved nuns lunging at cowering 2nd graders or a teacher throwing a student’s desk through the window (or was it the door?).

Anyway, since I moved here, I don’t think about St. Vivian too much anymore. This doesn’t really have a moral or any lesson about fitting in. I hate stories with morals. But a nun flying into a fit of rage is rather amusing don’t you think?
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Death in one sentence. [Oct. 16th, 2004|06:45 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |dorkydorky]

"If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster."
--Isaac Asimov
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Just give me some time to think. [Sep. 25th, 2004|12:39 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |contentcontent]
[music |the camera shutter]

Yay, my camera is here! Glorious and shining with its own ethereal light of heaven, I am truly thankful to the Mighty Ones. My birthday was 5 days ago, and my only present from those reliable beings called "parents" was a camera. I am truly happy, happier than I've been in a long time. Maybe since last year. It's a Nikon N75, a real beaut with a sleek contoured body and top-of-the-line quality manufactured lens. All in all, the price was roughly $300, which is enough to send my heart pounding with guilt and exhilaration. Never before has anyone indulged in my wishes to such an extent! My camera is NOT digital, much to my dad's annoyance. But a really nice digital camera located at CompUSA with all those other techo-gadgets and such, is $800, a formidable price for a 16 year-old such as myself. Gazing along that long line of digital cameras, digital video recorders, contemplating various memory capabilities, 5, 6, 7, 8 mega pixels, I realized, with my dad's help, who loves all this kind of stuff, that I must get back to reality and come to terms with my limitations. I have $300. Not that I'm trying to argue that age-old question of film vs. digital, but as a beginner, I want like the best quality resolution. As, the week wore on, I was determined to make daily rounds throughout the house, focusing in sharply on peoples nose hairs and eyelashes and such. My house is sometime too quiet, then suddenly you hear: Zzzzt, zzzzt, zzzzzttt, as the lens focuses in on my latest victim. "Ha, Gotcha! You can't escape from my indestructible lens of justice!" "Stop it! I don't have nose hairs!" Anyway, I find myself thinking of my Nikon "baby" almost all the time. At school all I can think about is getting home to my camera, holding it once more, playing with it, feeding it, burping it, what colors to paint to nursery and what not. This is truly pitiful, I know...
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A question of morals for the brave of mind [Sep. 19th, 2004|09:21 am]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |contemplativecontemplative]

A thousand apologies to those who care. This journal had been stopped for some time for reasons that don't take long to explain, so I won't trouble you there.

(Note: I don't usually like to talk about myself in this thing for the sole reason that I would try to make my life sound more exciting than it actually is...)

Anyway, I was reading my liberal magazine (The Sun) filled with short stories, essays, and poetry the other day. I was growing more and more tired as the night wears on when I came to the "Readers write" section. A question posed in one response was this:

If you were in a burning museum and you only had enough time to save one of two things before the building collapsed, which would it be?

Your choices are either a 90-year-old women or a Van Gogh. Which would you choose to take with you?

Now you may have already heard this but this is a true testing of morals, it's a sneaky Catch 22 question that makes you reveal something about your inner most character that you would rather not reveal.

If you choose the Van Gogh, you're a cruel, evil person who care's not for a precious human life, who holds art, great though it is, above humanity, old though it is.

You might argue that the women is nearing death anyway, that her life is meaningful, but the painting is more important. The painting is an immortal peice of society as it symbolizes progression of art and culture. Compare this to one old human life.

If you choose the old women, you're shockingly indifferent to art. You let the priceless painting burn uselessly and take the women, who might die of suffocation from smoke any second.

Which would you chose, culture or humanity? Culture is the product of humanity, and humanity in turn is shaped by culture.

I realize this is an extremly stupid post, but not everything is supposed to be filled with purpose.
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Hate having to deal with everyones' moods. [Jul. 20th, 2004|02:37 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |irritatedirritated]

Too many people. Too many voices. Too many requests and favors! Can't anyone just do anything by themselves! Can't anyone just sit still, shut up, and be appeased?

You lost the argument so just leave it at that. No one is as forgiving as they use to be...they just have to go on and on ranting about nothing! Some trivial little piece of nothingness! At this point, I can't possibly care anymore.

This is just one of those days when I wish I lived by myself.
No attachments to anyone. No obligations. No promises to fulfil for anyone. Maybe I should become a hermit, living on goat's milk in the mountains, play the thumb piano while I meditate and write enigmatic yet insightful poetry by moonlight...hmm maybe not.

And to top it all off, we are now getting an exchange student. A supposedly "nice and intelligent young man" who gets straight As and plays chess. I'm not kidding! His name is Yalin and he's from Turkey. He's just the kind of kid every parent dreams about...hmm, we'll see how this goes.
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I am truly enlightened. [Jul. 14th, 2004|05:12 pm]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |amusedamused]

The following is a short list of my four-year-old brother's (David) favorite sayings:

1. "Brb. Hey, I just burped in a nasty flavor."

2. "Do you want a piece of me...pinkie!?"

3. "Get away from me you...you stinker-winker!"

4. S: Liar, liar plants for hire...
D: NO patrick its called "pants ON fire".

5. "Victory screech! Loo a loo a loo!!"

6. "Butt for sale! Only 57 dollers!"

7. "This cheese taste like hapiness."

8. "Ahh...it burns! It burns, it BURNS. IT BURNS."

Wow...so simple and yet so profoud, prophetic even.
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All good things don't last as long as they should. [Jul. 10th, 2004|11:41 am]
Searching for Dead Things
[mood |satisfiedsatisfied]

Have not written in a while...have been avoiding computer at all costs since last time it threaten to suffocate me with a pillow in my sleep.

Just arrived safely back from the cross-country trek through the great American midwest. All is well now that I'm back in my natural habitat.

Went on a road trip for two weeks to eventually meet relatives (I only have five) in Illinois, the absolute best state in the US.

Champaign (where they live) is a rather small university town where people ignore you when you wave but make funny, sarcastic comments to themselves during the screening of Fahrenheit 9/11.

Have found out that aunt is a very self conscience person. She lives in a very pristine, old-style neighborhood. Unfortunately for her our car was leaking oil and billowing smoke after we parked it in her drive way. Then the alarm goes off.

Happy vacation feelings start to fade. "I'm on the phone!", she screams. Her eyes get really wide. "You know, YOU people might get to leave here but I have to stay and DEAL WITH THE NEIGHBORS!"

Oh well, she'll get over it. I just hope I still get a birthday present.

Ugh. This candle smells like some chemical you would preserve your grandma in...
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