The love of life is something I am very familiar with. The pain of it more so. The problem is, it seems, that I keep wondering when the pain will come back even though I'm in the middle of something perfect. In the story "The Heart of Darkness," the protaganist seeks out a missing coleague who dissaprears into the African indigenous lands. When he finally comes upon his fellow reporter, he finds the man to be disgusting: and evil warlord who puts the heads of those who displease him on pikes outside his fortress. Our protaganist ends up being the only person with this dark-hearted man on his deathbed, and the last words the man utters, in a fit of fear, are "Oh, The Horror! The Horror!" I remembered this because its something that hides in all of us in the shadows. Im constantly worried that my little demon will become who I am, who I become. Its something a lot of people deal with, and suprisingly many think they're all alone. I'm here to tell you at least one other person struggles with it. I do constantly. Serena is visiting me this winter. For 12 days. The closer those days get, the more I begin to freak out. I constantly worry that something, anything, will go wrong. I can't let that feeling go... and I should. I'm sorry this is a bit of a venting post, but it needed to be said. Its not like any of my readers actually exist. Oh well... If you do exist, let me know! I'm working on a donate button, because, well, I need it. It'll be up soon. :)
The point of this post. I don't know. You all may not know me very well yet, but this is something that scares me. My life is huge now, in a daunting way. Too much to do, to aim for, too much to deal with. I never know where the next challenge will come from, and they aren't challenges I want. I want a simpler set, something dangerous and physical. I know that sounds pretty base, but I don't mean I want a fight. I want to run, to climb, to move. I haven't danced in almost a year now, and I get precious little time to do anything else either. My writing is to pot: I havent written in almost two months. I am dying in the water, and I have college to go. I need a year, honestly. I guess... I guess I need a moment, just one, that I can just let go of. So I'm going to take it, soon. I don't mean leave, hell, not even dissapear for two hours. I just mean, from this moment on, I'll look for every chance to take joy in my actions. Perhaps, just maybe, possibly, I've forgotten to do that. Thats really the point. Thank you all, in the depths of your lack of actually existing, for listening. Next post is going to be back to normal, y'all, and I'm sorry for changing on you for so long. Like I said last time, Sohneya is coming back. And he's closer than ever.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Ugh
This is a new start I hope, but I lost my muse. It ran away. It hasn't whispered in my ear for almost a month now, and I'm getting worried. Writing is what I do best, writing is my release and my own personal room. When I write I don't worry about anything else, just the words just the meaning just the truth or what I say is the truth. Thats writing for me. Its a thing that makes me cry. I have one other thing that does that for me: moving. Freedom of movement, perfecting my drive. Be it ballet or running or climbing, I can run. I can dance, or I can run, but I can't stop moving. Its the only other outlet I have. Everyone, I do mean everyone, has one. Some of us don't ever find it, but it's there, hiding and lurking deep within us.
Maybe someone out there has never even thought of picking up a flute, but if they had they would have found it strangely inviting. They'd be told "its going to be hard work!" but they didn't care. They kept practicing and fighting for it and they found the better they got the better it was. Maybe one day they sit down and play it, for no reason, and someone hears them, and the melody moves them. They can't help but bounce on their feet, and soon they can't help but dance, swaying if nothing else. They remember when they were a little kid and they, just maybe, decide to go and try out for dance classes. They step out on the stage for the first time, just as a small part, maybe Father number 3. But they dance when they can, and outshine every other extra on that stage. They keep it up, watching everyone else come and go, flit in and out. Then, at last, they get the lead role, a grand part. They step out on stage, and the music speaks to them. Maybe it whispers in their ear "wait for it, wait just a moment..." and at last they hear a shift, imperceptible to the audiance, in beat, that tells them its time to move. They move thier leg out, a slow motion, but they smile, bright and big, but its not fake, its perfect and pure. They know, is why, that soon they won't hold back. At last, another shift, and they burst open, covering the stage in leaps and bounds, leaping back and forth, spinning and twirling, no longer a human, but an instrument, a peice of visual music flying over the stage, never quite touching it. They float above it until the last beat, slowly echoing across the pitch black that they know is filled with an audiance. They know, because they hear them clapping. The walk of stage, and they don't know where the time went, two hours of moving that never seemed to take any time.
maybe someone in the audiance, a kid coming with a class, who for a moment quit laughing and got caught in the beauty. He goes home, and tries to draw it. The image is stuck in his head for a good long while, pushing around the other thoughts, never more than a moment from the forefront. The child keeps drawing, a young man now, he finishes the last stroke on a beautiful picture, deeply colored and shaded just right, rich and vibrant. For a moment, he goes back to that fateful day, the dancer floating above the stage. His peice, his final in art school, is put on display. Someone sees it, moved by the colors, and goes out to find out how to look like that. They dance. Step out on stage, move yet again. This time, more people are watching. Someone else sees it, and grows into an artist, another to a dancer, and many more to musicians. Thats the point of all of this. To make the world a place where, eventually, we all know what we are meant to do, what moves us. For me, its music and motion. I dance like I write, long and flowing but quick when I must be. I'm not saying I am the best, far from it. At either. But I have something only a (relative) handful of other people have: pure, unadulterated passion. Thats why my muse has scared me, and why she has finally returned. Whats yours? If you haven't found it, go try to! No life is worth living if something, anything, doesn't move you. What is it that, if nothing else, you know you will keep doing. Is it speaking, debate? Do you love to create an amazing peice of art? What about dance, does it speak to you? You'll know it when you find it: if its hard you keep going, if its getting good you can't stop. Its something you can't stop, something that makes you leave your body, forget your eyes, and become pure. I don't remember a lot of hours in my life. I was dancing, or writing. The four I can't ever remember, for the life of me, are the ones where I was that dancer, on stage, in my own part. I never, ever, expected that I would get it, nor that I would love it like that. But I stepped on stage, and I never stopped moving. Once. I had a part where I sat in a chair for about fifteen minutes. You know what I did? I don't know. All I know is that I did a good job, at least I was told that. I only know that I don't remember sitting down. I remember living the movements of the other dancers, feeling myself play out the part of everyone else. I never knew once I had stopped until I found myself bowing. That's what it'll be like for you, if you just look. Find it. Try things. Don't force them, but try them.
Sohneya is back, everyone. Thank you for your patience, if you are there. If not, ah well. Welcome me back when you get here. Thank you.
Maybe someone out there has never even thought of picking up a flute, but if they had they would have found it strangely inviting. They'd be told "its going to be hard work!" but they didn't care. They kept practicing and fighting for it and they found the better they got the better it was. Maybe one day they sit down and play it, for no reason, and someone hears them, and the melody moves them. They can't help but bounce on their feet, and soon they can't help but dance, swaying if nothing else. They remember when they were a little kid and they, just maybe, decide to go and try out for dance classes. They step out on the stage for the first time, just as a small part, maybe Father number 3. But they dance when they can, and outshine every other extra on that stage. They keep it up, watching everyone else come and go, flit in and out. Then, at last, they get the lead role, a grand part. They step out on stage, and the music speaks to them. Maybe it whispers in their ear "wait for it, wait just a moment..." and at last they hear a shift, imperceptible to the audiance, in beat, that tells them its time to move. They move thier leg out, a slow motion, but they smile, bright and big, but its not fake, its perfect and pure. They know, is why, that soon they won't hold back. At last, another shift, and they burst open, covering the stage in leaps and bounds, leaping back and forth, spinning and twirling, no longer a human, but an instrument, a peice of visual music flying over the stage, never quite touching it. They float above it until the last beat, slowly echoing across the pitch black that they know is filled with an audiance. They know, because they hear them clapping. The walk of stage, and they don't know where the time went, two hours of moving that never seemed to take any time.
maybe someone in the audiance, a kid coming with a class, who for a moment quit laughing and got caught in the beauty. He goes home, and tries to draw it. The image is stuck in his head for a good long while, pushing around the other thoughts, never more than a moment from the forefront. The child keeps drawing, a young man now, he finishes the last stroke on a beautiful picture, deeply colored and shaded just right, rich and vibrant. For a moment, he goes back to that fateful day, the dancer floating above the stage. His peice, his final in art school, is put on display. Someone sees it, moved by the colors, and goes out to find out how to look like that. They dance. Step out on stage, move yet again. This time, more people are watching. Someone else sees it, and grows into an artist, another to a dancer, and many more to musicians. Thats the point of all of this. To make the world a place where, eventually, we all know what we are meant to do, what moves us. For me, its music and motion. I dance like I write, long and flowing but quick when I must be. I'm not saying I am the best, far from it. At either. But I have something only a (relative) handful of other people have: pure, unadulterated passion. Thats why my muse has scared me, and why she has finally returned. Whats yours? If you haven't found it, go try to! No life is worth living if something, anything, doesn't move you. What is it that, if nothing else, you know you will keep doing. Is it speaking, debate? Do you love to create an amazing peice of art? What about dance, does it speak to you? You'll know it when you find it: if its hard you keep going, if its getting good you can't stop. Its something you can't stop, something that makes you leave your body, forget your eyes, and become pure. I don't remember a lot of hours in my life. I was dancing, or writing. The four I can't ever remember, for the life of me, are the ones where I was that dancer, on stage, in my own part. I never, ever, expected that I would get it, nor that I would love it like that. But I stepped on stage, and I never stopped moving. Once. I had a part where I sat in a chair for about fifteen minutes. You know what I did? I don't know. All I know is that I did a good job, at least I was told that. I only know that I don't remember sitting down. I remember living the movements of the other dancers, feeling myself play out the part of everyone else. I never knew once I had stopped until I found myself bowing. That's what it'll be like for you, if you just look. Find it. Try things. Don't force them, but try them.
Sohneya is back, everyone. Thank you for your patience, if you are there. If not, ah well. Welcome me back when you get here. Thank you.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Tired... worth it?
Well, its that time again. The time of the school year that your sleep deficit catches up with you and your teachers decide that, since theirs has too, they'll make it easier on themselves by making you teach yourself... via homework. Luckily mine don't do that... too much. Instead, the program I'm in (run out of Britain if I'm correct, but a world wide program known as the International Baccalaureate, or IB) has decided that, my senior year, I should have a project in every class at once.
They call them "Internal Assessment", or IA for short. I call them Infernal (removed for content purposes) for giving it too us all at once. Basically its an in depth research paper. English has two: world literature papers. Math has one. (Seriously? A paper in math?) Psychology, which is my in-depth study subject, has one. The only class that doesn't (THANK GOD) is my language class. Ugh.
So now. Here is the question all of us Seniors ask ourselves constantly: is it really worth it to go through this much hell for what we think we'll get? I mean sure we'll get credit hours, but we'd prolly anyway. 13 points to out GPA is all well and good until you remember it's 20 points lower than it would be normally. (100 point system, btw) In depth, world-minded, intellectual education instead of bland factual stuff is all fine, but when am I really going to be hard-pressed to analyze to what extent Stalin's regime between world wars was totalitarian, citing evidence from social, political, and financial development and policies in the USSR at any point in my aspiring life as a physicist? or a writer? or a politician? (When will i actually have to think if i'm a politician? Isn't that like, against the rules of politics? Sure seems that way...)
So now here is the challenge I post to my readers: do this whole thought process for your position in life. Is what you fight through worth it? If not... why the hell are you there?
Let me word that differently. If you don't like what you're doing, and you can't stand it, and its not worth what it gives you, what happened to you dream? When did it disappear, and why? Is it still pursueable? If so, why wouldn't you? What is stopping you, and are you willing to get rid of that roadblock? What will happen elsewhere in your life if you did? Is that worth the dream you have? If not, why is your dream not worth it? Do you have something you don't even dare to dream that is worth it? Make that your dream. Redo the process. It's an amazing thing, trust me.
Mine, if you so care to see:
My dream is to write. It isn't gone, its just slow to start up: a book takes a long time to write. I'm already finished with my first treatment. Maybe its good, maybe not. Either way, this highschool thing has made me such a better writer its worth every last minute. It also forced me to grow up. A lot. And made so much in my life happen. It was and is worth every minute. Now for college: not so much. Am I going? Yes. WHY: because without it, if my writing is slower than i think, I'm screwed. Instead, I work hard in college, and take physics. Why? I love physics. not as much as writing, but enough to live with it. What else could I do? Motivational Speaker. Why? Because I can speak, I love the stage, I have a knack with getting a message across, and god do I love that stage. So now, College: is it worth a backup plan? Maybe not going to MIT, but Georgia Tech? Montana University (Montana Tech campus)? California Tech? All hell yeses. and MIT isn't a definite no, but its hard as hell. Montana Tech is so much closer to Serena.... Not to mention: no on cares where you do your undergrad. So is it worth it? Yes. Is it what I want? No. But I'm doing it anyway, because afterwards, life is more exiting and possible. And life is more exiting in Montana. (State Slogan of Big Sky Country).
Thank you all for listening to my blahber. Now to language Homework, then Hamlet.
They call them "Internal Assessment", or IA for short. I call them Infernal (removed for content purposes) for giving it too us all at once. Basically its an in depth research paper. English has two: world literature papers. Math has one. (Seriously? A paper in math?) Psychology, which is my in-depth study subject, has one. The only class that doesn't (THANK GOD) is my language class. Ugh.
So now. Here is the question all of us Seniors ask ourselves constantly: is it really worth it to go through this much hell for what we think we'll get? I mean sure we'll get credit hours, but we'd prolly anyway. 13 points to out GPA is all well and good until you remember it's 20 points lower than it would be normally. (100 point system, btw) In depth, world-minded, intellectual education instead of bland factual stuff is all fine, but when am I really going to be hard-pressed to analyze to what extent Stalin's regime between world wars was totalitarian, citing evidence from social, political, and financial development and policies in the USSR at any point in my aspiring life as a physicist? or a writer? or a politician? (When will i actually have to think if i'm a politician? Isn't that like, against the rules of politics? Sure seems that way...)
So now here is the challenge I post to my readers: do this whole thought process for your position in life. Is what you fight through worth it? If not... why the hell are you there?
Let me word that differently. If you don't like what you're doing, and you can't stand it, and its not worth what it gives you, what happened to you dream? When did it disappear, and why? Is it still pursueable? If so, why wouldn't you? What is stopping you, and are you willing to get rid of that roadblock? What will happen elsewhere in your life if you did? Is that worth the dream you have? If not, why is your dream not worth it? Do you have something you don't even dare to dream that is worth it? Make that your dream. Redo the process. It's an amazing thing, trust me.
Mine, if you so care to see:
My dream is to write. It isn't gone, its just slow to start up: a book takes a long time to write. I'm already finished with my first treatment. Maybe its good, maybe not. Either way, this highschool thing has made me such a better writer its worth every last minute. It also forced me to grow up. A lot. And made so much in my life happen. It was and is worth every minute. Now for college: not so much. Am I going? Yes. WHY: because without it, if my writing is slower than i think, I'm screwed. Instead, I work hard in college, and take physics. Why? I love physics. not as much as writing, but enough to live with it. What else could I do? Motivational Speaker. Why? Because I can speak, I love the stage, I have a knack with getting a message across, and god do I love that stage. So now, College: is it worth a backup plan? Maybe not going to MIT, but Georgia Tech? Montana University (Montana Tech campus)? California Tech? All hell yeses. and MIT isn't a definite no, but its hard as hell. Montana Tech is so much closer to Serena.... Not to mention: no on cares where you do your undergrad. So is it worth it? Yes. Is it what I want? No. But I'm doing it anyway, because afterwards, life is more exiting and possible. And life is more exiting in Montana. (State Slogan of Big Sky Country).
Thank you all for listening to my blahber. Now to language Homework, then Hamlet.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
perseverence
Ah. Finally, the old internet is working again. I at last can blog in peace, tranquility, a blasting stereo playing Synthesia style music. And on time too!
Perseverence.
Perserverence.
Perseverance.
See that? What did I do when I got it wrong? I persevered until I got it right. That is an ironic but good example of perseverance. Perseverance is an interesting thing. I know I'm doing a lot on how people are and act right now, I don't know why. Well, I kind of do: 42. Thats the answer. Always is, always will be. Perseverance is a strange and elusive, and often rare, thing. The irony is just because you have it doesn't mean that in five seconds from now you still will, it can change in an instant. Perseverance is a powerful tool for good and a strangely useful one for those who do evil. Hmm. Perseverance.
This week has been hectic so far for me and Serena, but (I think) especially for me. Monday, I had no school (GO COLUMBUS! You didn't discover America, despite our schools and national holidays' claims, you found the Bahamas. Its called the Americas because Americo found it. Americo Vaspucci. A while before you sailed the ocean blue, Colum-boy-o. But anyway, you get me out of school, so meh.) And Tuesday I had a LOT to do. My Extended Essay (a long and arduous assignment that took summer and until now) is due tomorrow or Friday, and today I had a bunch of College preparations to do. And I still have more. College is a funny thing: they want you to come so badly they'll pay your way through, but they're vindictive: you have to spend hours upon hours figuring out how to get there. For those of you (nonexistant) readers who are still working on college, a great place is Cappex.com. They help a LOT. You still need a lot of information, like your GPA in a 4.0 scale and sometimes a 100 point scale, you have to have your rank, financial stuff, etc., your preferences for colleges, but it streamlines it and tells you what you need. Cappex.com.
This is what comes of procrastination. BTW, is it a disease? I haven't gotten much reply on that from you numerous (imaginary) readers.
Perseverence.
Perserverence.
Perseverance.
See that? What did I do when I got it wrong? I persevered until I got it right. That is an ironic but good example of perseverance. Perseverance is an interesting thing. I know I'm doing a lot on how people are and act right now, I don't know why. Well, I kind of do: 42. Thats the answer. Always is, always will be. Perseverance is a strange and elusive, and often rare, thing. The irony is just because you have it doesn't mean that in five seconds from now you still will, it can change in an instant. Perseverance is a powerful tool for good and a strangely useful one for those who do evil. Hmm. Perseverance.
This week has been hectic so far for me and Serena, but (I think) especially for me. Monday, I had no school (GO COLUMBUS! You didn't discover America, despite our schools and national holidays' claims, you found the Bahamas. Its called the Americas because Americo found it. Americo Vaspucci. A while before you sailed the ocean blue, Colum-boy-o. But anyway, you get me out of school, so meh.) And Tuesday I had a LOT to do. My Extended Essay (a long and arduous assignment that took summer and until now) is due tomorrow or Friday, and today I had a bunch of College preparations to do. And I still have more. College is a funny thing: they want you to come so badly they'll pay your way through, but they're vindictive: you have to spend hours upon hours figuring out how to get there. For those of you (nonexistant) readers who are still working on college, a great place is Cappex.com. They help a LOT. You still need a lot of information, like your GPA in a 4.0 scale and sometimes a 100 point scale, you have to have your rank, financial stuff, etc., your preferences for colleges, but it streamlines it and tells you what you need. Cappex.com.
This is what comes of procrastination. BTW, is it a disease? I haven't gotten much reply on that from you numerous (imaginary) readers.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Procrastination (Against Argument)
Resolved: Procrastination is a form of sickness, not of the body but of the mind.
If you recall, last time I constructed the argument on the posotive or for side of this debate. Many great logicians have said that arguing both sides of an argument, especially one you don't agree with, is a powerful tool for increasing your potency with the double-edged sword that is logic. In addition, it ensures a well rounded opinion. A radical logician (gasp!) once claimed that a marraige could be kept much more intact by occasionally switching sides of an argument in the middle of heated debate, making you see the other's point of view. Don't remember who. Ironic if they weren't married, no? But they did have a point. In addition, check this: arguing for and against an abstract generality that is usually not intended for deep logical scrutiny ("God, he's as fat as a Panda!" for example, or th phrase "bear hug") also stretches the logical muscles (and admittedly sometimes leaves them sore) in a new and stimulating way. It's like fitting a gay guy with a lesbian. Or a square peg in a round hole. It doesn't work. Just doesn't. unless the peg's diagonal (corner to corner) is smaller than or equal to the diameter of the round hole. (See what I mean? Falls apart at first sign of actual logic) Anyway, now that I've rambled, (no, not Rambo'd, ladies, I'm still beshirted and non-lethal. Well, at least beshirted... so don't get to exited) on to the argument.
My opponent attempts to make a case for the definition of Procrastination as a sickness by corralating small aspects of it to definitions, he neglects other neccesities for classification of an illness. The easiest of these to make is, of course, the idea that a sickness, in the infectious sense, is something BIOLOGICAL, in other words an organism. As far as modern medicine can discern, (and it can discern a lot) there is no such infectious agent. In addition, while my opponent cites that procrastination is a very infectious thing, he fails to cite that the infection, if it can even be so called, is something of an intellectual nature: procrastination begins and ends inthe psyche. My opponent cites procrastination as a psychological illness in the majority of his argument, however fails to keep this definition throught: if he had been reffering to only a psychological illness, he would have had no basis to make the point of infectioius properties: psychological illnesses are not infectious because their nature is in the psyche, not a biological agent foreign to the body.
My opponent correctly corralates procrastination to the definition for a psychological illness, but fails to carry forward this argument: psychological illnesses are also caused, in part, by a chemical or physical alteration in the patient according to many psychologists, citing the imbalance of hormones, adrenaline, dopanine, estrogen/testosterone, and other mood/altering chemicals that are produced naturally as the source of illness. Also, all psychological illnesses are constant in their occruance: either they are literally constant, as with some schitsophrenics and many obsessive compulsive patients, or they are instead consistant within thier trigger: they are always or almost always turned on by a position that fits an event archetype, or a general style. Examples are shcitsophrenics who hear voices in crowded or noisy rooms (both a dance and a meeting fit the archetype of noisy crowded room), all phobics (whenever the object of phobia, whether abstract or physical, is near them they become deleriously afraid), or sufferers of strange diseases such a Koro*. All of these are very specific in the generality of their causes, but procrastination is not. It can have many causes, and in some cases the same thing doesn't cause it twice in a lifetime. This retracts greatly from its definition as a mental illness, as well as the important fact that it is, as of yet, not a mental illness even in a time when worry over healthy eating is considered one^. Thus my opponent's arguments, though a valiant attempt, are not valid.
In addition, I am much better looking than my opponent and can sing better too! (had to add humor somewhere...)
Thank you for listening to my awesomely unfollowed blog. (Total visits in the past week: 3! Total visits from me and Serena, 3!!! VWOOT!!!)
Which argument is the better? Email me! Have a better one? Email me, I'll post it. Do you actually read this? Follow me, or bookmark it, and come back! I love readers. No I don't make money, but contact me about donation, and I'll gladly accept. Soon I hope to have a donations page up. Thanks all!
*Koro is a Japanese disease of the mind specific to only Japan, in which a man gains an irrational feeling that his penis is retracting steadily into his body, and for some reasons is convinced that once it does he shall die. Koro is known to cause patients to take various, often... extreme (god thats painful) measures to prevent this, from weights tied around it, tieing it to the leg, stapling it to the leg (GOD OUCH!!) hooking (yes hooking) weights to it, connecting it by tie or tied hook to the foot, routinely using something tied or hooked to it (what the hell is with all the hooks?!?!?!) and attempting extension in the same manner one might pull out a tooth, (eg. slamming a door, dropping a heavy object tied to it, etc.) with alarming regularity. It is a strange and elusive disease, and Koro patients often claim a cold or other sensation in the penis that they attribute to the "Lethal Retraction." (Sorry, couldn't stop myself from that particular movie-title-pun.)\
^ A recent release from the NPA (National Psychological Association) announced a new psychological disease defined as "worry over the health of food one is consuming" or something very similar.
If you recall, last time I constructed the argument on the posotive or for side of this debate. Many great logicians have said that arguing both sides of an argument, especially one you don't agree with, is a powerful tool for increasing your potency with the double-edged sword that is logic. In addition, it ensures a well rounded opinion. A radical logician (gasp!) once claimed that a marraige could be kept much more intact by occasionally switching sides of an argument in the middle of heated debate, making you see the other's point of view. Don't remember who. Ironic if they weren't married, no? But they did have a point. In addition, check this: arguing for and against an abstract generality that is usually not intended for deep logical scrutiny ("God, he's as fat as a Panda!" for example, or th phrase "bear hug") also stretches the logical muscles (and admittedly sometimes leaves them sore) in a new and stimulating way. It's like fitting a gay guy with a lesbian. Or a square peg in a round hole. It doesn't work. Just doesn't. unless the peg's diagonal (corner to corner) is smaller than or equal to the diameter of the round hole. (See what I mean? Falls apart at first sign of actual logic) Anyway, now that I've rambled, (no, not Rambo'd, ladies, I'm still beshirted and non-lethal. Well, at least beshirted... so don't get to exited) on to the argument.
My opponent attempts to make a case for the definition of Procrastination as a sickness by corralating small aspects of it to definitions, he neglects other neccesities for classification of an illness. The easiest of these to make is, of course, the idea that a sickness, in the infectious sense, is something BIOLOGICAL, in other words an organism. As far as modern medicine can discern, (and it can discern a lot) there is no such infectious agent. In addition, while my opponent cites that procrastination is a very infectious thing, he fails to cite that the infection, if it can even be so called, is something of an intellectual nature: procrastination begins and ends inthe psyche. My opponent cites procrastination as a psychological illness in the majority of his argument, however fails to keep this definition throught: if he had been reffering to only a psychological illness, he would have had no basis to make the point of infectioius properties: psychological illnesses are not infectious because their nature is in the psyche, not a biological agent foreign to the body.
My opponent correctly corralates procrastination to the definition for a psychological illness, but fails to carry forward this argument: psychological illnesses are also caused, in part, by a chemical or physical alteration in the patient according to many psychologists, citing the imbalance of hormones, adrenaline, dopanine, estrogen/testosterone, and other mood/altering chemicals that are produced naturally as the source of illness. Also, all psychological illnesses are constant in their occruance: either they are literally constant, as with some schitsophrenics and many obsessive compulsive patients, or they are instead consistant within thier trigger: they are always or almost always turned on by a position that fits an event archetype, or a general style. Examples are shcitsophrenics who hear voices in crowded or noisy rooms (both a dance and a meeting fit the archetype of noisy crowded room), all phobics (whenever the object of phobia, whether abstract or physical, is near them they become deleriously afraid), or sufferers of strange diseases such a Koro*. All of these are very specific in the generality of their causes, but procrastination is not. It can have many causes, and in some cases the same thing doesn't cause it twice in a lifetime. This retracts greatly from its definition as a mental illness, as well as the important fact that it is, as of yet, not a mental illness even in a time when worry over healthy eating is considered one^. Thus my opponent's arguments, though a valiant attempt, are not valid.
In addition, I am much better looking than my opponent and can sing better too! (had to add humor somewhere...)
Thank you for listening to my awesomely unfollowed blog. (Total visits in the past week: 3! Total visits from me and Serena, 3!!! VWOOT!!!)
Which argument is the better? Email me! Have a better one? Email me, I'll post it. Do you actually read this? Follow me, or bookmark it, and come back! I love readers. No I don't make money, but contact me about donation, and I'll gladly accept. Soon I hope to have a donations page up. Thanks all!
*Koro is a Japanese disease of the mind specific to only Japan, in which a man gains an irrational feeling that his penis is retracting steadily into his body, and for some reasons is convinced that once it does he shall die. Koro is known to cause patients to take various, often... extreme (god thats painful) measures to prevent this, from weights tied around it, tieing it to the leg, stapling it to the leg (GOD OUCH!!) hooking (yes hooking) weights to it, connecting it by tie or tied hook to the foot, routinely using something tied or hooked to it (what the hell is with all the hooks?!?!?!) and attempting extension in the same manner one might pull out a tooth, (eg. slamming a door, dropping a heavy object tied to it, etc.) with alarming regularity. It is a strange and elusive disease, and Koro patients often claim a cold or other sensation in the penis that they attribute to the "Lethal Retraction." (Sorry, couldn't stop myself from that particular movie-title-pun.)\
^ A recent release from the NPA (National Psychological Association) announced a new psychological disease defined as "worry over the health of food one is consuming" or something very similar.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Return of the Blogger: Debate of Procrastination (For argument)
I know I didn't blog all last week. Last week was busy to say the least. God. But it did provide a few good topics for this week. Firstly: Procrastination.
Very few of us are immune to procrastination, its a powerful force and a powerful lack thereof.
Resolved: Procrastination is a form of sickness, not of the body but of the mind.
For: Procrastination is a wide topic, ranging from putting of homework until tomorrow to leaving a bill to pass without your signature... Mr. President. The idea that procrastination is a form of sickness is a very difficult point to either prove or disprove, for a few important reasons. However, proof positive is possible providing there is a careful look at the definitions of a mental illness, an illness in general, and the effects of procrastination.
Mental illness is commonly defined as a deviation from logical or productive paths of thought or action in a manner that harms everyday life. Under this definition, its true, some schitsophrenics aren't mentally ill, but thats perfectly fine so long as they don't do anything about those voices. In fact, many writers claim that they can not only hear their characters talking to them in their minds as they write, but can converse with them and eventually have them as constant companions even when a series is finished, and yet they are not considered schitsophrenic by everyday society or many psychologists. Why? Becasue these voices, though similar to a schitsophrenic, are not hindering, and in fact the author can claim are helping, the author's every day life. Illness is something that deviates the body from its standard operation and causes negative effects. Often illness is infective, but not always.
Procrastination is a state of mind or decision that causes work load to increase later for a modicum, sometimes a quantum, of solace on the knowledge that "at least I got to have some fun first." It can not only increase work load and prevent the acheivement of awards and goals on a day to day or week to week basis, but can even do so on a life-altering scale. Examples to support this include: college or job applications, proposal to a significant other, confessing feelings to another, or completeing a graduate thesis paper. In addition, procrastination can cause other negative actions, such as smoking, rule-breaking, or excessive playing of videogames, as well as atrophy of the brain and/or body. In addition, procrastination can lead both directly and indirectly to the procrastination of others: invitation to join in procrastination direclty affects and effectively spreads procrastination, and those who view procrastnation may be destracted, as well as lose interest in doing the right thing and begin to procrastinate themselves. Thus, procrastination is infective, as some illnesses, and, as a mental illness specifically, is a negative factor in everyday life and standard functioning on a daily, weekly, and even life-long basis.
next time, the against argument. And following: more posts from last week. I hope to get back to the M/W/F schedule this week, and soon enough to gain the ability to post every day. Here's to hoping, Eh?
Very few of us are immune to procrastination, its a powerful force and a powerful lack thereof.
Resolved: Procrastination is a form of sickness, not of the body but of the mind.
For: Procrastination is a wide topic, ranging from putting of homework until tomorrow to leaving a bill to pass without your signature... Mr. President. The idea that procrastination is a form of sickness is a very difficult point to either prove or disprove, for a few important reasons. However, proof positive is possible providing there is a careful look at the definitions of a mental illness, an illness in general, and the effects of procrastination.
Mental illness is commonly defined as a deviation from logical or productive paths of thought or action in a manner that harms everyday life. Under this definition, its true, some schitsophrenics aren't mentally ill, but thats perfectly fine so long as they don't do anything about those voices. In fact, many writers claim that they can not only hear their characters talking to them in their minds as they write, but can converse with them and eventually have them as constant companions even when a series is finished, and yet they are not considered schitsophrenic by everyday society or many psychologists. Why? Becasue these voices, though similar to a schitsophrenic, are not hindering, and in fact the author can claim are helping, the author's every day life. Illness is something that deviates the body from its standard operation and causes negative effects. Often illness is infective, but not always.
Procrastination is a state of mind or decision that causes work load to increase later for a modicum, sometimes a quantum, of solace on the knowledge that "at least I got to have some fun first." It can not only increase work load and prevent the acheivement of awards and goals on a day to day or week to week basis, but can even do so on a life-altering scale. Examples to support this include: college or job applications, proposal to a significant other, confessing feelings to another, or completeing a graduate thesis paper. In addition, procrastination can cause other negative actions, such as smoking, rule-breaking, or excessive playing of videogames, as well as atrophy of the brain and/or body. In addition, procrastination can lead both directly and indirectly to the procrastination of others: invitation to join in procrastination direclty affects and effectively spreads procrastination, and those who view procrastnation may be destracted, as well as lose interest in doing the right thing and begin to procrastinate themselves. Thus, procrastination is infective, as some illnesses, and, as a mental illness specifically, is a negative factor in everyday life and standard functioning on a daily, weekly, and even life-long basis.
next time, the against argument. And following: more posts from last week. I hope to get back to the M/W/F schedule this week, and soon enough to gain the ability to post every day. Here's to hoping, Eh?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Logic, Intuition, and what you're trying to do
For the past couple days, Serena's phone has been acting very strange, and will not accept calls, only make them. Since we are long distance, This poses a problem: I can't call her, and she can't always call me when she's free. Since she can't text yet either, (stupid Phone Company!!!) I had no way of getting to her unless she has internet access, in which case I can text her google account. Yeah, the things you do when you're in love! Hehe...
Last night, I had so little homework that, before 11 my time, she and I were able to talk. The problem? When I turned on my phone I found she had texted me something along the lines of "hey hon, when should I call? I won't be able to be contacted for a few hours." Oh how lovely to find it had been twenty minutes before. Sure enough, she had left already, and my text was never received. You can see how irritated I might have been. Not at her, but at the situation. Often I look forward to talking to her at night, and sometimes it's really all that keeps me from despairing at my lack of sleep, huge number of essays, math problems, language homework, etc. as well as what I have to do to prepare for college. Ugh. But hearing her voice, or God especially seeing her face, just fixes all of that, wipes it away. It doesn't matter how much I have to do or how little sleep I got or will get, I am doing it all for her, and for that reward I'd do anything, and I mean anything. Now this little tangent is to explain this: now, I have to not talk to her because she's off doing Laundry or something? I will miss my chance to talk to her because I... I missed a text?! That seemed so unfair to me, so very unfair.
This is an example of the first part of today's post: Logic and what you've been asked to do. Ever had someone not get something that seemed so incredibly easy? Something along the lines of "God, its so obvious! You just...." comes out of your mouth and you get frustrated as they keep not getting it. That's what I'm talking about: you just can't seem to see why they can't get it. Last night I wondered why she didn't figure out that I told her "I'll get my work done and text you as soon as I can!" I wasn't angry, I was just... disappointed. But really disappointed, as if I had just gotten grounded the night before prom, after I had hired a Limo, paid for a tux rental, gotten my girlfriend's dad to let her go, and gotten her a ring. But often it does make us angry, it does piss us off like nothing else. Now think back: has anyone gotten mad at you, at one time or another, because they just can't seem to teach you what they're trying to teach? Guess what: thats you on the other side of the same situation. As human beings we have a tendency to put blame on others, but we don't realize sometimes how hypocritical we're being when we do that: if we get mad at the learner, we can't be angry, when we are in their position, at the teacher: after all, it's the learner's fault: they are the ones who can't seem to get it! Instead, we shouldn't place blame, but I can't say that I'm very good at that, and I don't expect anyone else to be, since if I can't then nobody can! (Hubris right there, for you literary buffs, for others, its called pride, and a lot of it) Anyway, remember that, and thats the main point.
Now to Logic: its our logic that gets in our way: we don't see the logical progression: we just don't see how if you know the direction a subatomic particle is moving we can't know its position, or if we know its position, we can't know its direction. Thats simple to some of us, but to others it seems to stupid and fake we wonder why Heisenberg is such a big name in physics. And other things, much simpler, fit in that example: we just don't see it. No as to intuition: that part of us that says something we couldn't have thought of. The little voice that all of a sudden, while we're doing something, anything, or doing nothing even, waltzes up and says "hey, I got an idea you don't! Listen...." and whispers in your ear what it thinks might work. That part of her kept me from going to bed last night without saying "I love you:" she felt like she needed to call me and she did, and I was happy. But what told her to call me? What tells me the answer I'm looking for when I've sat, staring at a paper filled with failed math, or scattered words that failed to make a poem because they're too shy to dance with each other? Its called intuition, and its so mysterious we don't know what it is. I'll have an entire entry on it eventually, I think, but I'll just summarize it here: its something, a mix of strange and vague parts of you, that gives you an answer you never could have gotten yourself.
Thank you all for listening, for letting me speak my mind, and I'll talk to y'all next time. Until then, remember: keep your eyes open to life.
Thank you all for listening, for letting me speak my mind, and I'll talk to y'all next time. Until then, remember: keep your eyes open to life.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Preordained Free Will: Say what?!
Perhaps we have something within us that knows what we want to do for the rest of our life, perhaps we know from the beginning what our dreams will be like. Perhaps, from the beginning, your life is defined. I don't like that idea at all. We often wonder what we mean by fate vs. free will, and philosophers argue constantly about it. How do we define ourselves, by our choices or by our fate? Are we able to change destiny or is destiny only the thing that defines us? Or is it somewhere in between? I thought long and hard about this many times, and I've come to the conclusion that its somewhere in between: our lives have things that can't be just chance, nor coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence, and a lot of people I know don't. However, something in me just cannot accept the idea that there is no choice in things, no decision and no ability to change your life. Often people double-speak themselves in Christianity, saying that God's grand plan is infallible and inexorable, at the same time as they uphold the belief they have free will (unless of course they're Calvinists), and never notice the dichotomy.
Don't think I'm dissing Christianity: I'm a Christian, devout and faithful. The difference is how I believe. I don't follow God without thinking: that wouldn't make much sense since he gave my my intelligence in the first place. Instead I try to figure out, as best I can and trying to let him guide my thoughts, what he means in each situation, in each moment. The biggest problem to me is the dichotomy of those two: inexorable plan and free will. After a lot of thought I figured it out: It's a sciencey explanation, so bear with me. It's often said among quantum physicists that time is just another of the 11 dimensions that we exist in: 3 grand space dimensions, one grand time dimension, and 7 other, undefined, and infinitesimally small dimensions we can't really see because they're so small.
My belief is that God exists within and aware of all 11, and can move about them freely, which makes sense: "I am the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end" He is everything and everywhere, and everyWHEN. Now, then, how does that explain this? He has a plan, and his plan is something he's constantly changing and reforming. He has so many possibilities planned for, literally every possibility, that in the end his plan will never fail: it accounts for every possible eventuality. Each possible universe, every outcome is in his plan and does not cause it to fail because its not outside the plan: if one person doesn't do something, he shifts responsibility to another. We each are born with a purpose, and if we do not fulfill it God works around us. The analogy I use is that of a parent who tells their kid "You shouldn't do that, you know, it'd be smarter to save it." and then lets the kid decide. It may make their job harder and less enjoyable, but they do it for their child anyway. Thats God for you: the ultimate parent. He's got the best technique of us all: the "let em live and learn, they'll help each other or I'll punish them when the time comes" approach. Just don't do that to your kids, and you'll be fine.
I know I've focused a lot on God in this one, and I don't know why, but I also know my ideas may rub some people the wrong way, so by all means disagree with me, debate with me, email me. I'll respond here online if its something good enough to keep my audiance (whoever that is...), and if not, then I'll reply to you at least. Just no hatemail, okay?
Thanks y'all, and have a nice day.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Love... and pain (becoming a Sohneya)
The woman I love is not the first. It almost never happens: the first love is the last, the woman you fall in love with at a tender age is the one you spend life with. I was hurt worse than some: my first girlfriend, a long-distance relationship, had problems I didn't understand, and she ended up suicidal. When she came back from the deep hole she had fallen into, when I and her family convinced her to keep going, she left me. The same phone call she used to tell me she was living and keeping on living she used to leave me forever. I wasn't ever the same, not for a long time. I tried to date once or twice more, but to no avail: it was too painful. Until one day I stopped looking for love, and found it because I fought so hard against it.
Her and my story is so similar, and yet so different. So many things almost kept us apart, its legitimately scary. A national competition, known as We The People, brought us together. The first chance happening: both of us almost didn't enter. The class took a lot of time, and I had ballet performances almost at the same time as the state competition in the Capitol city. She almost decided not to. When we did make it to state, my team won by... 1 point. She and I kept working hard for nationals in Washington D.C., and I worked so hard I almost failed a class: no go if you can't pass!! When I worked it with my teacher, I still had a 69.5: exactly enough to pass.
Skip forward almost a week: we are now at the awards ceremony. The dance afterwards is hoppin, true, but I have a dance partner already and I'm happy: she isn't bad, to say the least. She talks with her team leader, trying to stay longer, and to no avail: I'm now partner-less. Meanwhile my future love is thinking about leaving. She decides to stay on a whim. I look around, trying to find a dance partner, and sure enough, there's a beautiful young lady. Not Serena, but someone I do not know still. I ask for a dance, and her guy comes back with drinks. I disappear from her life forever. Another lady catches my eye: my dearest love. I didn't know it then, i just wanted to dance. We did, and then we talked. and talked and talked and talked. Someone pulled me out of my reverie with a tap on the shoulder. "Hey, you're team is leaving buddy." I bid her goodbye. I suddenly remember: her number. I ask for it, she gives it to me. I ask for a hug, and I get one. As we part, I cannot help myself: I kiss her on the cheek, nothing big, but more than I expected to do. She stands for a second, then says goodbye, and I dash off. A few buds congratulate me on the numbers I've gotten: seven. But to me, the only one that holds promise is one: hers. A few weeks later I tell her I love her. She and I are both scared to death of love: we've had too many painful nights to do it again. But it happens no matter how hard we fight: we naturally talk with each other, confess to each other, and three weeks later she says it... i hear a voice in my ear, saying the most fulfilling words I've ever heard: I love you. I remember those words like they just echoed from my phone.
Still, we are apart: we both need to finish college, and we both know better than to sacrifice our future together for a temporary present. But we meet, every once in a while, and we enjoy our time apart by talking together as often as possible.
So the lesson is: follow your instincts, listen to your heart, and you'll find the meaning you're looking for. Trust me: It'll happen so long as you don't let the world distract you. Life happens between plans, so look for it. Make it happen, and take risks. That's how things happen: you have to give them force, and they'll snowball into something you'd never expect.
Sohneya is the Hindi term for Handsome man. It means so much more however: handsome in spirit, word, manner, and deed as well as physical appearance, it's a word used for someone you love deeply, for the one you'd spend your life with. I choose this name not because I believe I deserve it: I don't think I do. But She gave it to me, and I revel in it. A favorite quote will close this post, something a bit long but just as meaningful.
"Fall in love or fall in hate. Get inspired or be depressed. Ace a test or flunk a class. Make babies, or make art. Speak the truth or lie and cheat. Dance on the tables or sit in the corner. Life is divine Chaos: embrace it, forgive yourself, breathe, and enjoy the ride." I have only one thing to add: Live and learn, or crash and burn. As Serena put it: learn from your mistakes or live in regret. Remember that always, and follow it. Sohneya out.
Her and my story is so similar, and yet so different. So many things almost kept us apart, its legitimately scary. A national competition, known as We The People, brought us together. The first chance happening: both of us almost didn't enter. The class took a lot of time, and I had ballet performances almost at the same time as the state competition in the Capitol city. She almost decided not to. When we did make it to state, my team won by... 1 point. She and I kept working hard for nationals in Washington D.C., and I worked so hard I almost failed a class: no go if you can't pass!! When I worked it with my teacher, I still had a 69.5: exactly enough to pass.
Skip forward almost a week: we are now at the awards ceremony. The dance afterwards is hoppin, true, but I have a dance partner already and I'm happy: she isn't bad, to say the least. She talks with her team leader, trying to stay longer, and to no avail: I'm now partner-less. Meanwhile my future love is thinking about leaving. She decides to stay on a whim. I look around, trying to find a dance partner, and sure enough, there's a beautiful young lady. Not Serena, but someone I do not know still. I ask for a dance, and her guy comes back with drinks. I disappear from her life forever. Another lady catches my eye: my dearest love. I didn't know it then, i just wanted to dance. We did, and then we talked. and talked and talked and talked. Someone pulled me out of my reverie with a tap on the shoulder. "Hey, you're team is leaving buddy." I bid her goodbye. I suddenly remember: her number. I ask for it, she gives it to me. I ask for a hug, and I get one. As we part, I cannot help myself: I kiss her on the cheek, nothing big, but more than I expected to do. She stands for a second, then says goodbye, and I dash off. A few buds congratulate me on the numbers I've gotten: seven. But to me, the only one that holds promise is one: hers. A few weeks later I tell her I love her. She and I are both scared to death of love: we've had too many painful nights to do it again. But it happens no matter how hard we fight: we naturally talk with each other, confess to each other, and three weeks later she says it... i hear a voice in my ear, saying the most fulfilling words I've ever heard: I love you. I remember those words like they just echoed from my phone.
Still, we are apart: we both need to finish college, and we both know better than to sacrifice our future together for a temporary present. But we meet, every once in a while, and we enjoy our time apart by talking together as often as possible.
So the lesson is: follow your instincts, listen to your heart, and you'll find the meaning you're looking for. Trust me: It'll happen so long as you don't let the world distract you. Life happens between plans, so look for it. Make it happen, and take risks. That's how things happen: you have to give them force, and they'll snowball into something you'd never expect.
Sohneya is the Hindi term for Handsome man. It means so much more however: handsome in spirit, word, manner, and deed as well as physical appearance, it's a word used for someone you love deeply, for the one you'd spend your life with. I choose this name not because I believe I deserve it: I don't think I do. But She gave it to me, and I revel in it. A favorite quote will close this post, something a bit long but just as meaningful.
"Fall in love or fall in hate. Get inspired or be depressed. Ace a test or flunk a class. Make babies, or make art. Speak the truth or lie and cheat. Dance on the tables or sit in the corner. Life is divine Chaos: embrace it, forgive yourself, breathe, and enjoy the ride." I have only one thing to add: Live and learn, or crash and burn. As Serena put it: learn from your mistakes or live in regret. Remember that always, and follow it. Sohneya out.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Let it Begin...
Thesis statement: Life is a series of small moments, all of which, on their own, could do nothing important, but when mixed create the allusive and mixed image called experience that shapes and determines a life.
Life, the Universe and Everything: What Makes Things What They Are
A life is an elusive thing, a rare and valuable object that, depending on how you look at it, is the only thing everyone owns, or something that is almost impossible to obtain. Often subdivided into different areas of application: eg. Social life, (often an indicator of lack therof is the phrase "get a life!" directed a the person in question) love life, sometimes divided into romantic and sexual, school/work life, or career, and of course physical life, or the lack of death. If you define any one kind of life as a "life", then its the only thing anyone (even the undead, because if they are "un" dead, they have at least a daily life, or work life, of finding food, even though they do not lack death) has, but, if you believe that most, or God forbid all, of the "subsections of life" are necessary, then it is nigh impossible to have them all. What then, should life be defined as? Can it be said that life is truly just being not dead? (or, in the case of the undead, still moving around?) Through a grand series of examples, discussions, answers, and basic memories I will attempt to prove that life, in its most base form, cannot be divided and so cannot be defined among these areas. To explain my point, I ask you: you and your girlfriend go to a party, and end up (GASP!!) making out in a side room. Which form of life is it? Romantic love life, sexual love life, or social life? Each is represented, and even just the action of flirting (say you didn't have a girl and were looking at the party) could be considered both social life and love life, and so cannot be defined. This simplistic example suggests the larger idea: life cannot be subdivided and cut up, because it exists only when it's going on.
For the entirety of this blog, the aim is to further this view. Should a tangent that seems to have nothing to do with Life happen to pop up, remember: thats life, and its hard to talk about it when I'm living it.
Introitus
Well, this is the first post. The original, the beginning of a great (or terrible) journey. Either this flops and I'm basically just throwing my mind at nothing, or someone out there enjoys reading this. Either way, so be it: c'est la vie, as they do say. (For non-French speakers like moi, but who don't know what that means, it translates literally to "That is life", meaning whatever will be will be.) This blog, basically, is about those small moments in life we should remember to enjoy. First off: I appreciate anything sent to me, I would love to hear your stories, comments, etc., and if I find a way to use it in my posts I definitely will. If I do, you'll get credit, and any shout-outs etc. that you want (within reason, of course), including if you request anonymity. And of course, its true, I will not always post on time. As of yet, I don't even know what "on time" means. I'm thinking probably Mon. Wed. Fri. schedule, more once i have more opportunity to go online.
My Email, as of now, is TheSmallestLight@Gmail.com
My Email, as of now, is TheSmallestLight@Gmail.com
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About Me
- The Smallest Light
- Even the smallest light can destroy an entire room of darkness. Be that light.