I look around me and see all these people, what they say, what the believe for the time; and it is the absolute truth for them? "Best girlfriend ever" how many times has any of us said this about more than one person? "You're the best" "you're the greatest" "I love you the most" is any of it true? "God is great and God is good" do you really believe that? Believe it on your own? Or has it just been fed to you since birth? Or maybe you just crave for something greater than yourself to make you feel better about being a temporary being on this planet. "I hate that bitch" do you really, or is this just some trivial pursuit for your own self-glorification and satisfaction? We make our own realities, don't we? That is, if you consider buying into somebody else's reality making up your own. There is no truth anymore, is there? It's all our own perception, our own subjective reality."I hate those fags, they're killing the country and our morals" really now? Where did you get that? Your own Holy Book doesn't mention it but a few times in the old order's laws which were basically all abolished under your faith's redeemer, then carried on with zealots sticking to tradition. Even as I write this, I fear everything I've come to believe is false, subjective, unreal, my own twisted version of the non-existent reality. I just, I love you people, and it hurts to see what you do to each other and yourselves. Is there any way to help? I'm probably just hurting the situation more, but if I don't let it out, then what will it do to me? Hurt me. Well there's a peek into my head, there's a little glimpse of my mind.

Beyond Words

She, oh this is so incredible!!!! She, she, oh I'm happy again! I'm happy! Thank you my love, thank you.

http://bestofanimemusic.tumblr.com/post/32875573203

http://thorbraid.tumblr.com/post/35122431065

She has made me happy again, because she has finally become what she can really be; one of the greatest helping hands anyone can meet.

i want to die

Poetic Analysis 1

Schoolsville-Billy Collins

The narrator of Schoolsville is a high school teacher reflecting on his past students making up a community. The grades and activities the students were involved in determine their class segregation. Judging from the final two stanzas, the narrator is rather despondent. He speaks in stanza seven that he rarely leaves his house, his car tires deflate, and vines grow around his porch swing. Then in stanza eight he conveys that his profession is a dead shell, for he now tries to keep it alive by lecturing wall paper, quizzing the chandelier, and reprimanding the air.

Because I Would Not Stop For Death- Emily Dickinson

Miss Dickinson was moderately obsessed with death poems from what I know, and this is one of her more famous poems. She speaks of dying and of Death as being not the state or happening, but rather a character or figure. She says that she is being brought to immortality by the absolution of her mortality. In the final Stanza, she comments that all the time since one day seems shorter than that one day, because it is the day she realized she was being brought to eternity.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening- Robert Frost

First and foremost, I read this poem in sixth grade during a study island assignment. The narrator speaks of stopping to see the snow fall in the woods the day of the winter solstice. There are hints of some dark yet wonderful desire to remain in the woods forever, but as the narrator mentions, he has obligations and a long distance to his destination. There is the possibility of a hidden depression, or a lacking of the simple beautiful things in the world, to the point that one may even come to the conclusion that the narrator is potentially suicidal and wishes to stop and die in the forest, but he is more dedicated to his obligations.

The Man He Killed-Thomas Hardy

The narrator is reflecting on when he killed a man in war. This poem shows that war is people dying for some cause they are not entirely devoted to, but join out of necessity, and therefore kill and are killed. The narrator shows a suppressed guilt, and he speaks of how in another time they would have become acquaintances. It shows that war is the breaking of possible bonds.

Sonnet 55-William Shakespeare

The narrator is addressing his lover, and how his poem to said lover will last forever, but that his lover’s beauty and majesty is beyond what he has written. He says that his lover’s memory will outlive death, and reach out past the end of the world. As I read this, I wonder; it is certainly a lyrical poem, but could it not also be considered narrative? After all, this is the story of how his love’s memory shall endure forever.

Two Hangovers-James Wright

The narrator has no rhyme pattern, but it has a certain fluidity to it, one that I cannot quite explain. It is obviously telling a story, making it narrative. The narrator wakes up after being drunk, and feels plagued by his environment at the time. In his frustration, he returns to sleep and reawakens to be pleased by a blue jay enjoying itself on a branch outside his window.

A Farewell

Dear Mr. Schrader:
I know I only joined last year, I know I do not nearly have the personal connection with you that the rest of my peers have, but I'm going to miss you. I know you make fun of me behind my back, I know I'm a klutz, I know I have done some really stupid things; but I hope I left an eventual positive impression with you. I'm sorry; I'm sorry for being retarded and causing more stress for you, I'm sorry for almost ruining that concert last year, I'm sorry for always dropping the instruments, I'm sorry for getting angry and frustrated and extra crazy at games. I never formally apologized, and after you leave I may never get the chance. Thank you for everything you have done for all of us. You are by far one of the most amazing mentors I have ever met, even though you were not my mentor. I'm glad you have made this decision; it is far better for you to stop being such an amazing influence on us to continue being the wonderful force you are for others than it is for you to stay here and die within the decade from overbearing stress. I'll miss you, your jokes, saying "Schrader's mother!" at the cadence halts, your methods, the way you could even teach someone with the experience of a sixth grader to play the songs this band plays as decently as I do. Remember when you wore the Callahan Auto Parts shirt at band camp and put your hair in the dyke spike to mimic Seb? It's sad that it has to be this way; I think I can tell that your heart is here, with these kids, these mentored youth who love you so much; but it is because of this love that we welcome your leave. I felt too selfish to cry, too weak to cave in when you told us. I know I don't know you as well as the rest of my friends and peers who were crying. Then I realized why I cried; it wasn't because I am losing a friend, it is because of the pressing circumstance you are in, an how this unfair situation is going to break over two hundred relationships. Please know that I am not angry at you, I do not hate you, and I do not wish for you to change your mind if it means putting your life in jeopardy. Among all this, I realize something vital; every student who has had the joyous opportunity to know you and learn from you must not quit band. We have to remain and keep this alive, we must stay in not only for ourselves, not only for this school which threw us into the morgue, but for you. I will remain in band, even though I am a weak member, because if we quit, if we give up, then everything has been done in vain, and we must not allow for that to happen.
This may sound creepy, but I love you; I love you for the role you play, I love you for what you have done, I love you for being the motivating, inspiring, caring man you are, and I know that many others love you too.
I'll try and remember to "beam down" for you,
Robert Wilt

To my Little Bear, Artemis, and to my Dark Angel

"And I find it kinda funny

I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I’m dying

Are the best I’ve ever had"

I know that you know I'm still madly in love with you. I know that you know I always will be. I weep for what I've lost, for what I broke. And now, now I'm stuck. I'm in love with you Artemis, but I'm also in love with my Dark Angel. I know I can never have you again, and it may be best for me to leave you out of my life forever; but I cannot do that either. I can't lose you; not in any way. I just, I just want to... I don't know what I want anymore. I want everything and nothing. I'm dying little one, I'm dying and I can't stop. I'm sorry; to both of you. I... I just don't know... I'm dying, dying into infinity.

Who I Am

Many think I'm some great bearing fortress capable of bearing immense amounts of stress, and this I am. I bear great weights every day, and it is a mystery how I can even get out of bed. But I'm not invincible. I'm not incapable of weeping in public uncontrollably when 
I see the worry in someone's eyes for me, when the voice of a peer beckons me to welcome her embrace, when I feel the pain of over a hundred relationships breaking, and then imagining all the broken bonds across the world. I'm not incapable of secluding myself in a dark corner of an auditorium and crying softly while companions try to get their minds off the pressing circumstance by playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I'm not incapable of shedding tears even as I type this now. I have been holding up tons of weight, and I've disassociated my emotion to someone who was once a very close friend, and if she ever reads this, know how truly sorry I am for what I can never take back. I cry. I feel. I yearn with a killing desire to stop the pain. Every tear shed that I see makes me feel every tear shed ever. Every time I apologize, oh my god I'm so sorry im sorry for everything for damaging property and damaging relationships and failing relationships and misbehaving and coming between people and for being an idiot and making people afraid and for apologizing too. I'm sorry for every apology anyone has ever made, every mistake ever made. I'm sorry for all the burned bridges of history, all the broken loves of time. I'm sorry i'll never be happy again, i'm sorry i can't forget the past, i'm sorry i'm in love with others, i'm sorry nothing will ever make up for it. i'm sorry i'm--- i'm depressed. i'm dying. but i'm caught in the middle.

Gun Control?

So, who thinks that taking away guns will stop adolescent violence in America, or at least decrease it? Well, let me make a point;

Guns are now outlawed, and someone wants to kill school students: what does he do? What to do, what to do....... Aha! Filter bleach into the ventilation system. There's one. Load his backpack with homemade explosives (not so difficult) and, oh, why not camp out at the school until only the janitors are there, then place the explosives inside the boiler? Two. Oh! how about instead, full a bag with explosives and bring them to an assembly? Three.
You see, outlawing an instrument of destruction will solve nothing, for the danger is not in the weapon in the hand, it comes from the danger in the head, and from the soul.

Terminal Absolution

            Suffering, pain, hatred, love, hope, lies; our world is filled with incomprehensible things; football jocks rape a passed out, drunken girl and photograph it. An Indian woman is gang raped, and her genitals are cut open with a metal pipe: she dies in the hospital days later. A despondent teenager murders his mother, then goes on to murder teachers and young grade-school students. In the name of their religion, rogue terrorists kill over three thousand people with hijacked passenger jets. A child murders his mother and her unborn child for still unknown reasons. Same-sex couples are imprisoned in certain U.S. states, murdered by rogue intolerant haters in the U.S.A., killed in accordance with Sharia Law in the Middle East and elsewhere. Farther back in history, it is proven that humanity has not only corrupted recently; Christianity and Islam battled time after time for a desolate desert city, claimed to be God’s land. Corrupt rulers claim absolute monarchy through divine right; oppositionists are slain. Factions attempt to secede from the Roman Catholic Church, and are condemned to Hell through excommunication by “God’s representative on Earth”, His Holiness, the Pope, and are then killed ruthlessly. Farther back; Jewish law of Deuteronomy states that prostitutes, thieves, and disobedient children are to be stoned to death in public, clearly disregarding their own commandment to not kill another human. Ancient American empires sacrifice thousands upon thousands to their gods. Any opinion contrary to that of the governing body and rulers is shunned, and the one with the opinion killed. Politicians bend the system to give themselves more power. Businesses abuse their liberties to monopolize and turn the nation into a federation. Systems self corrupt due to human nature and fail. The weeds are numerous in type, and overgrow the ground. And yet, love is still alive; Christians form a protective circle around praying Muslims during in Cairo during the Egyptian rebellion. Millions of dollars are donated to cancer and charity organizations every year. Young lovers dedicate their lives to each other. But the evil outweighs the good. There are a few flowers in the weed patch; is the beauty worth the ugliness? What solution is there for this world? There are three possible solutions; one: humans better themselves to create freedom and prosperity without greed, without hatred; two: Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World becomes a reality; or three: something more Carthaginian in nature.

            Solution one: humankind wakes up to its living nightmare, and changes. At this time, please feel free to laugh uncontrollably at this idea. Face it; humanity has been addicted to this corruption for thousands of years. It is difficult enough for a heroine addict to recognize his problem. It is more difficult for him say to himself, “Hey, this stuff is bad for me. It’s hurting me and those who love me. I’ll stop it.” Even more difficult yet is for this one addict to follow through on his decision. Now, change this one man into ten. These ten people all are addicted to heroine. As a collective, deciding to change is near impossible, however one or two individuals may try to choose to quit. Now, change these ten not into one hundred, not one million, but into a staggering seven billion and increasing. For the group to decide to quit heroine, why, it is unpractical, unfeasibly difficult. When a society conforms to something, no matter what it is, it’s stuck, and it will take something far more than simple realization and decision making to change (and this is not even addressing the fact that some would attempt to get off the drug, and some would not). Where are examples of this? In our world, religion can be used as an example. To quote John Stewart, “Religion; it’s given people hope in a world torn apart by religion.” Yes, this appears funny at first, but wait, think. Religion separates us; it splits families, nations, and the entire human population apart. Yet, when war and conflict arise due to these divisions, when pain, suffering, and confusion come from these crevasses in humanity, what do we turn to? Religion; our God; that one thing we can always fall back upon when we have nothing left to hold on to. How does a drug addict’s relationship with drugs relate to this? The exact same manner; he gets high, does things because he is high, breaks bonds with loved ones, community members. So what does he do to combat his negative position and outlook? He takes another snuff, just one more joint, one more injection. It is an endless cycle, except when society turns to self-conditioning to prevent this living Hell.

In Brave New World, almost every human is addicted to soma, the ultimate happy pill. They are conditioned and created, and almost every person is content. Obviously, some rebel. Bernard Marx and Hemholtz Watson are not satisfied with their world. John the Savage is also not satisfied with the world he is shown. They recognize that it is artificial, that is created, conditioned. Therefore they rebel. Quite obviously, this is not taken well, and they are apprehended by the authorities. In our world, these oppositionists to society would be imprisoned, forced to recant, executed; but not in this brave new world, no: here the rebels are rewarded. You believe in something else? Well great! If this does not satisfy you, we can give you your own private world away from this society where you can learn about what was; the controversy that is the constant that was removed from this society. You can learn everything that ruined the old order, and learn it because you are one of the minority who can benefit from that. This system is therefore flawless in its order. In the end, everyone is happy except for those who cannot stand to have anyone have any way that is not their way. This is found in John the Savage who was so self-conformed and convinced that his way was indeed best, indeed the only conceivable way there was, that when he could not change the society and could now not escape it, he killed himself. The real dilemma is this; will we ever reach this utopia? Unfortunately, there is one flaw in this system; it is governed by humans. Being governed by humans, someone will somewhere become greedy, selfish, and/or corrupt. One of the Resident World Controllers will corrupt, and break everything for either himself or some pitiful delusion he placed above human welfare. The solution for this is making ten Resident World Controllers, but as we know from our own world, it only takes one crack to shatter the glass.

This leaves the only possible solution for humanity; absolute annihilation; the Final Global Carthaginian Solution. In order to end this turmoil, we must end the source of our turmoil; ourselves. Humanity must play a role-play game with itself; humanity acts as Rome, and treats itself as Carthage. Humanity must topple itself to rubble on the ground, then burn the rubble, and ensure an absolute one hundred percent mortality rate; there can be no survivors to continue the system. Initially (and quite understandably), this will be viewed as evil, horrific, terrifying, psychopathic, sadistic, and an endless list of terms used to describe anything people know deep in their hearts to be true, but will deny to the point of becoming pathological liars on any matter they cannot and will not accept, consider, or contemplate. But please, let me ask; do you have any better solution? Is there any way to fix this world after so much damage, or does this wreck, this disaster, simply need scrapped, reset? Please, speak up. As John Lennon sang in “Revolution”, “…you know, we’d all love to hear the plan.” The fact is, there is no way to fix this system. There is no solution to this equation, for the only possible solutions are not feasible within the laws of human nature, our symbolic substitute for mathematics. The only way to fix this equation is to destroy it; set this value to zero; destroy the system. Call this solution the work of a sociopath, a pessimist, or a cynic; while all these things may be true, it must be recognized that above all else, this is the work of a realist. And while all of humankind may sit with their blinders on, looking only at the light they have fixed in the world, not willing to see the absolute pit of darkness around them, swallowing them; I will not follow this trail, tracing circles of despondency, nay, I shall burn this forest and all in it. Then, and only then, will the cycle end, and with it, all the destruction, all the death, the evil, the pain. Only the absolute destruction of the weed patch will kill the weeds.

However, one may argue, the flowers! The flowers in the weed patch, there is good still! Yes, there are flowers in this field of weeds, a few pearls in this swine pen. But what happens to flowers growing amongst weeds? They are strangled, choked out and killed, replaced by weeds. As the age old saying goes, what happens when you place “pearls before swine”, when you have a few gems in a pig pen? The pearls become dirty, they are coated and stained in foul shit, and then are consumed and destroyed by the swine. Are these flowers worth not burning the weeds, are the pearls worth not leveling the swine pit to the ground and then some? No, for they will die and be destroyed regardless, and without the Final Global Carthaginian Solution, the weeds, shit, and swine remain. Now please, do not think that this is calling for rampant mass murder and chaos; quite the opposite. What does killing one human solve? Nothing; more pain and problems arise. What does killing five hundred humans solve? Nothing; more pain and problems are created. What does killing eight-five million humans solve? Not a damn thing; an incredible amount of pain and problems surge through humanity. But what does killing the entire population solve? Everything; all pain and problems are eradicated, and the source of the problems with them. There is only one solution, the Final Global Carthaginian Solution; the terminal absolution.

Feedback!!!!!!

Come on readers, give me some feedback! I have comments open to all viewers, you can post anonymously! Hell, if you're still don't want to put your mind out there for everyone to see, send me an e-mail!

2the5philoso6raptor@gmail.com

Really, I want to know what people think, I want to get feedback on my "works".

The equation of life, where Epsilon is the symbol of life.

falling

Worse, I'm getting worse worse worse. My instability is increasing. My inner turmoil is killing me. My outer turmoil is not helping. I want to make something beautiful. I want to sculpt, to draw, make music- not just occasionally write. I have so much inside me, but i don't know how to show it. I want to be happy again. i should be happy, I have a wonderful girlfriend, close friends, mentors, valuable possessions, an alright life. i shouldn't be so, well despondent. I've tried everything, honestly. I tried going back to God, I tried meaningless relationships, I tried not giving a damn, I tried being the nicest guy around, I tried being the ass hole, i suppose i haven't tried being a drug addict, or a jock. I've tried to kill myself, I don't have the strength to. I'm lost, lost because I found out. I don't want to be here, I don't want to feel all this anymore. i need advice, I need something to hold me up from this dark pit. I feel it all around me, my insanity, my emotion, my torment. Lost, Gnarls Barkley has it right with their song "Crazy". "I remember when, I remember i remember when I lost my mind! There was something so pleasant about that place. Even your emotions have an echo in so much space. And when you're out there, without care, yeah i was out of touch. But it wasn't because i didn't know enough. i just knew too much." maybe i'm just an over-reactive little bastard, who the hell knows. I'm just an undead scarecrow slipping into death yet again, and i only hope i don't drag any demonic angels down with me. fuck, what if we're going down together? we need to leave, this world, we aren't for it. we don't belong here. no solution, no solution what if this was a math equation? no solution, no solution. the solution would be an imaginary number number divided by zero, multiplied by the fifth root of another variable to the seventy-third power, all over the logarithm of pi cubed. hmmmm, i'll expand on this equation and plot it out for you.

Great Expectations Journal

Chance; chance determines quite a bit of an individual’s life. Birth into a wealthy or impoverished family is chance. Birth into a specific religious or moral upraising is chance. Chance can determine who we meet, what we love, where we go, and in turn all these things make up who we become. Pip is born poor by chance. He is in his situation by forces beyond his control. In the world, we are all originally victims of circumstance; the first victimization is our surrounding from conception. 
Pip is born into a poor family, with dead parents, a cruel sister, and her uneducated husband. Estella and the upper class carry an air about them, a cloud of superiority. Manners, manners are invented rules of conduct for situations. Can one fairly denounce someone who has no “manners” because they were never raised with them? Most certainly not! What makes anyone born into a wealthy family better than anyone born into a poor family? Absolutely nothing. When you make your own fortune through your own work to buy your own nice clothes, cars, buildings, possessions, then you have my permission to gloat and self-elevate yourself above others, but at the same time chance plays a heavy role into the situations and scenarios that lead to your ability to have the said fortune. Snobby little pricks whose daddies are rich and can buy them an abundance of nice things and have a high public social standing become popular jerks, with no real regard for anyone or anything but themselves and their interests. These rich brats then gain access to the popular girl pool, most often the popular slut pool. The rich pricks are just that; pricks, jerks, asinine brats. Dickens portrays a society mindset that is still relevant today. My father is the college president, I’m a badass, and no matter what I do I’ll always be above the rest of these lesser humans I am forced to call peers because my papa is rich and buys me what I want and lets me get away with everything, so I can buy my way into every school slut that has any moderate interest. My dad’s the physical education teacher, and I’m a tough rough jock with a gang of tough rough jock friends and you better not cross us or we’ll ruin your high school social standing, and if that doesn’t work we’ll just have to beat some respect into your low class ass. These are personal examples of upper class snobbery I have experience with. With Dickens’ world, it is even more severe. I’m born and raised by well mannered proper speaking people, and I’m destined to a substantial fortune I did nothing to accumulate, so now I’ll be certain to place myself in a grouped pedestal above the rest of humanity, all due to my by-chance social standing. I’ve always been the odd one in the crown, I’ve always belonged to my own category; both in the group and out of it. Like a pomegranate surrounded by almonds, pecans, pistachios and more, I’ve never really fit in. Patrick Stump sings “Baby, when they made me they broke the mold” and I feel this way. I’m that one statue incapable of duplication, I’m the character that can’t really be mirrored exactly, I’m the drawing that can’t purely be copied. Due to this I do not align with any social grouping, I refuse to, for I do not belong there, I am not one of them. I am not afraid to stick my reputation into the line of fire and express the truth, waiting for the classes to open fire. I see the world from a different view; I see darkness in the light, and light in the darkness. I rebel against the order of this world, the authority of this life, for I see the corruption at the very root of the plant. Yes this plant may yield prosperous fruits, but they are far outnumbered by the toxic fruits, while poison runs from the very pores of the plant. The plant needs burned to kill the poison, and so I am left three options; kill the plant, leave it, or accept it, for I cannot conform to the plant, it is poison to me, and it will kill me faster than the lack of nourishment. Perhaps I’m simply deranged, maybe I’m just a freak, but I am willing to bet that I am not, I’m simply a unique operating system surrounded by various classes of operating systems, never really fitting in.