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Lurking in . . .
"From the darkness, sleeping light." Formerly luminus dormiens. Lux pacis, light of peace.
Quote: "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." --Bill Watterson, cartoonist, Calvin and Hobbes
He just laid there, splayed. I had the sense of autumn, with all its fallen leaves of gold, red, yellow, and other colorful hues. I am too cold. There I saw in his eyes multitudinous fires, recalcitrant to my winter. I urged him from my bed, but with protean charisma, he instead drew me in. I was trapped. He is an enveloping all, and I am just the snowglobe. When I am shaken, I display the wintery scene, but I am important nothing. I am losing my will; I must resist. Even then, I feel a certain something below my navel. A pressure. And below that area, is of course, the "(@(&." It grows too big for the britches.
He smyrked. Myschyevyous Puck. "Come on, no need to be afrayd. Y'll close mi eies yf iou don't want me to look. Just put mi hands where iou want them," he sayd. Y gaped and nodded. "Y am naked. Iou are clothed onli below. If iou want, Y can touch onli iour chest, and never venture to that nether regyon untyl iou consent to dyrect my hands where iou wyll.
He closed eyes and moved to lean on his side facing me, his hands outstretched. He began humming a tune to which song I do not know.
Where that brash nation, whose twin brothers fell,
Many foes and allies therein enrage
Stands 'lone, in pits of coldness that is hell.
Look, those whose natures are so-called conserved
Have lied, mischief of factions now supporting
Here now, the largest state trapped and unnerved
Making democracy fail, now deporting.
We must then pray for that each clank we hear
Each bang, each crash, each vote to hereby show
That the governing remains, allays the fear
That the system does not know where to go.
Such is government, clueless what to do
With us the governed, and including you.
Part 3 of 3 is coming up, but for now, I will explain what is happening to me right now.
I am taking two classes for the summer: US History before 1877 and Intro to Photography. I do not find History particularly boring (depends on the teacher, I suppose) because history sometimes enthralls me. Learning about photography is not necessarily what I really want to do, but I thought it would be fun, and best, that I learn. After the photography class, I plan to grudgingly take a course in modifying images. After the basic courses, I want to go into further study in arts such as drawing and painting. And that should be it.
I am thinking of majoring in either Biochemistry or Environmental Science. I really want to take some philosophy classes because I think the realms of thoughts that philosophers have written down for millennia to attempt futilely to explain the many great mysteries of life fascinate me a lot. Questions such as "Why are we here?", "Why does God not show Himself?", "Why are there perverts and imperfection in the species of human beings?", "Why are we blessed with language such that our imagination soars, our constructions of skyscrapers and destructions of mountain and rivers lend tribute to 'the piece of work [that] is a man,' that we split atoms and bring animals to our dominance?", "Where are we going?", "What new problems will exist in the future once old ones fade away? Population boom? Endless government control? Restricted birth? Collapse of the Earth? Final (though highly unlikely) discovery of some kind of warp drive/wormhole/hyperdrive system to colonize other planets? Discovery of hostile/benign/benevolent extraterrestrial life? WWIII? Artificial Intelligence?", etc.
Somehow, I don't think either scenario of the future, utopia or dystopia, will actually happen. 1984 seems too farfetched and unsustainable to serve as anything more than a dire warning. Brave New World seems capable of being true, if you can ignore some things that are obviously disproved scientifically. The Giver seems equally possible as BNW, and has a depressing ending. Star Wars and Star Trek are both more hopeful scenarios, but I quietly suspect that the universe is a lonely place. There are life out there, I will believe, but whether intelligent life exists is doubtful. If they are like us, then whether they have destroyed themselves or not will determine whether we make contact with them.
Yay, the Harry Potter's fifth book in the series came yesterday! If you don't have it, buy Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix today! I'm so exited and devouring the pages. Yesterday, I spent all day with my parents at the Alameda County Fair. There was this one pendant I really wanted that I thought'd look cool on me, but in compliance with my nature, I did not buy it. As you can tell, I have a too-high self-doubt. My mother was not helping, saying that it could make me look like a gangster, or that it will turn black because the metal is not of good quality and oxidizes very easily. Very well, then.
Part 2 of 3
Of course, the drive past the damned gay street into Beverly Hill took only five minutes, not an hour or a whole day. The problem is that the biochemistry of my body does not decompose the adrenaline, the flush of chemicals that make me want to run, very quickly. So the effect of that passage lingered all day. Not until two nights of sleep would we truly be flushed of that disgusting feeling of slithering slime and green, gritty goo. My darkest hour. Someday, I'll look upon these passages and laughed at my own insecurity, but not now, not now. Now, I must hide and find comfort strange online.
It was the most depressing street I ever watched my mom drive through. I wanted to be alone, to avert my eyes from my mother's and spend the day alone. I must not expose her again, it is too much for me and her. I am not strong enough and don't think that I have some secret and hidden pool of bravery that I'll inadvertently summon up to ravage against her. The fact is made, what's done's done, however unintentionally.
I need someone to read through this most personal and private parts of me. I need a boy to hug who knows and understands me. I have not felt so alone.
H. Sapiens is so complicated, full of complex emotions and fervent imagination that I don't know how we managed to survive where other hominids didn't.
Right now, I feel so lackluster in profanities. I have no anger in me through which I must cuss, dirty my mouth with vile words from my too vile thoughts, and explode and litter these pages with things for which my soul is probably already burning in hell.
I believe in souls because of the restless mass of unnameable emotions, imagery, and words within me that I cannot seem to define.
Now that I have confessed all these offenses that I have made, let us move on to a less depressing parts: Disneyland, Universal Studios, and Hollywood.
We spent an entire day at Disneyland, starting around 10 and staying until midnight, at which time they supposedly closed. We rode on many boat tour rides, introducing us to the many houses, animals, and other things that were in Disney movies. We rode on some mildly thrilling rides, such as Indiana Jones and Pirates of the Caribbean. I am a moderately sensitive person who cannot handle roller coasters or rides in which I must go down any more than 2 feet very fast. Of course, it wasn't until very recently that I learned to scream and flail my arms and legs to alleviate my anxiety about falling down very fast. I know the rides are safe, but I could never handle gravity's force.
To Be Concluded
A Preview of Part 3 of 3: The time I spent in L.A. was delightful. Sometimes I wish I could have stayed longer, especially since we received a parking ticket for 35 dollars. That parking enforcement official should puke horseshit. The powers that be in Los Angeles that decide that 30 minutes should be the time limit for parking should stick some goat's poops up their noses.
Sojourning in L.A.
Part 1 of 3
Starting on Sunday at 10 a.m., June 15th, my mom and I began the long journey alone to Los Angeles. The trip was our first without Dad, who was usually the driver and the chaffeur. He opted out of the trip because he lived in L.A. before and didn't like the smog and hazy atmosphere. For five hours we shared the task of driving to L.A. Today, we shared another five hours to return home at 9:35 p.m.
The introductory paragraph is intended as a backgrounding to the hilarity, humiliation, and nerve-racking days at L.A. It's so that you won't feel so thrusted unprepared into what happened.
While we were still in L.A. today, we were trying to find Hollywood Blvd . . .
[to be continued at a more opportune time, i spent an hour typing a letter to a friend]
. . . for the Walk of Fame. And I had the serendipity to take my mom smack-dab in the middle of the gayest street of West Hollywood. Who'da thunk it? I have not been so embarrased, humiliated, shamed, stifled in silence, beet-redded, and discomforted in my life. It wasn't something I intended for my mom to be exposed at all. I am just not ready for my mom to know full well (even though I came out to her once before and she engaged in this whole argument where at the end she believed she convinced me that I was not gay but just a Johnny-come-lately to the world of heterosexuality). Guess what, Mom? I'm a homo! Of course, I would say this only on the beloved Internet, but in real life, I am still prudish, timid, and intensely pedantic.
But I digress . . .
So, having down this misdeed, I just want to repent most severely, crying in pain and for forgiveness from the Almighty who sits on the throne of Heaven, who guides the eye during the day from dawn to dusk, who does many miracles. What, this is most strange! I am not even Catholic, and barely Protestant. I did go to Chinese Christian School, but who'd say I learned a lot? I transferred from there by fifth grade. And yet, I want to burn in delicious fire, purge my memory away; but interpersonal communication class has taught me, and I take it at heart, all forms of communication, whether verbal or nonverbal, intended or unintended, are irreversible . . . and undeniably dangerous.
So perhaps, "serendipity" was an inappropriate word for me to use. I have a knack for leading my mom into my personal hell. I supposed in some ways that we are intangibly connected because I was born in her womb, nursed, and raised for oh-so-many years. It's the thought that I cannot ever please my mother's eyes, where instead of an apple, she received an eggplant. It's the thought that if I marry a poor white trash of a girl, it's much, much, better than bringing home a rich, preppy, and successful boy.
I regret that all these life experiences are scarring me to make my sexuality that oft-touched, most intense, dark, and deep brooding of all my prose and poetry. I would like that what I write would offer a more eclectic variety of topics that critics will have such hard times picking a topic on which to do a treatise, that they would point more in awe of my knowledge of literature, arts, history, natural science, and social science, and much, much more. Instead of the sex, sex, sex, sex, gay sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay love, everything gay, anal, man on man, man on man on man . . . bondage! torture! S&M! flamboyancy of thoughts, language, and action repetition of thoughts unoriginal though appropriate, old, stock and egotistical. I don't want to become those dancing faries who make references to some cinematic figures that nobody heard of.
Who knew that Santa Monica Blvd. was such a disgusting place, full of rainbow flags and posters about HIV and AIDS and full of gays and lesbians, fags and dykes, queers and transexuals? So embarrassed and ashamed was I, so humiliated to the deepest extreme. I know someone on the Internet has posted about going through the same experience as I have, but as long as I don't know them, I stand alone.
To Be Continued
A Preview of Part 2 of 3: Everything seems to be reaching out for me to come out to my parents and my friends. I mean, this weekend is gay pride parade for S.F., meaning that all those rainbow flags are hanging out there on Market Street but nobody is talking about them. When I googled on the Internet with my mom looking on, the search brought up some links to gay resource websites. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn . . . Just let me go down to hell, oh Lord! I pray that I do what you have destined for me to do, which is to love, give love, and pray for ends to all sufferings. I am a non-believer, but what do you risk by praying? I am superstitious, but when does logic govern the mind?
--My goal is to use all the words in the English lexicon.--
Today, I watched a movie about two (straight) teenage boys' crazy sexual romp, with all the sex, blowjobs and masturbation that could easily qualifies it to be a softcore porn movie. Amazon.com: DVD: Y Tu Mama Tambien (And Your Mother Too) - Unrated Edition (2001) is very unwatchable for me, probably because I am prudish and unused to seeing this kind of debauchery. I guess I understand why the film chose to be unrated.
The setting was set in Mexico. The story began with a very explicit sexual intercourse between Julio and his girlfriend. Julio made his girlfriend promise not to engage in any sexual activity, and yet in a sort of hypocrisy, Julio and his cousin, Tenoch already began to talk about getting other girls in the sack. Eventually, they, who are 17, meet a beautiful 28-year-old married woman, Luisa. At first, Luisa was unwilling to spend time with the boys but changed her mind upon getting a call from her druken husband telling her that he was cheating on her. This happens in the middle of the movie, which is two hours. The time made toward that middle is spent in disgusting fart jokes and swimming pool masturbation where the boys masturbating separately in Tenoch's home call out names to get each others off.
After the middle, revelations are made and tensions revealed. At first, I thought all the purpose of the movie was for gratuitous sex with a very limited plot, but the story found itself almost redeemed at the ending twenty minutes of the movie. The climax that I was mildly surprised, though not unsupportive, to see. The boys were stoned, but if you want to know more, email me. They engaged in something mild that raised issue with their sexuality and broke their friendship forever, never seeing each other again. Although they were in a liberated state of mind, the experience was not something they would forget nor cherish. And as for Luisa, her tragedy helped to bring the film to a little more enlightened though sadder value.
I wholeheartedly did not enjoy the film as a whole, but felt that the ending was absolutely endearing. So until the climax and the scene before it, where the boys and the woman were getting more drunk, I would have given the film a rating of 1.0 out of 10. If I only saw the end of the movie and/or the sex scenes were deleted or toned down or at least covered! I could have pulled the rating up to 7.5.
AtPlay is introducing the idea that knowing the music you like can help bring light to the personality, belief and attitude of who you are.
While I generally agree with what the article seeks to portray, in order to make the post more interesting and less drier than simply the display of a link and entertaining the fact that I am interested in it, I will play the Devil's advocate (capitalization intended).
One must recognize that (1) people tend to have misconception about the music they listen to and (2) people tend to gravitate based on that misconception and through the influence of music is changed by and effect changes to that type of music.
Long ago, people tell me, rap was considered good music. It now seems to have degenerated into this contorted lackadaisical shouting fits of hating women, people with alternative sexuality, Americans of African heritage, and many other minorities in general seen (by American males of European heritage as well as African heritage) fit to be debased and mistreated.
The question is not that people began to like the degrading music but that when the artists released those kinds of music, white and black trash people flocked to listen. Perhaps the music had it within itself to provide the fodder for debasing music. Or perhaps it is the English language itself that allows rap music to arise. But one cannot blame the English language, which was created by the people to serve as a form of communication.
There we come to the circular argument that amplifies each other and does nothing to help aid in understanding the question presented in the first place.
On another note, I've finished the Finals this week, I'm done! Whee. So summer officially begins for me.
I've received a book, free, The Age of Science: What Scientists Learned in the Twentieth Century for being the best freshman student in General Chemistry class. I knew that CSUH was almost too easy for me, but still, I enjoy the little gifts and rewards that life offers for being an excelling student. Maybe I shouldn't say that online . . . I don't feel comfortable. It's so weird. I feel like I could get punished for feeling gratification. I guess I'm really, really, very, very superstitious. I always see meanings in everything.
Part 2 of 2
The sun is currently refusing to obey me today. And so, we have cold weather, very cloudy. Of course, I will admit that the yellow disc did show up in the afternoon, but then went hide and seek again. How like a child! Childish in mischieviousness, and childlike in innocence. Never mind the fact that the sun is, by scientific account, 15,000,000,000 years older than me, give or take 19. Of course, the Christian calendar says different and should not be discounted. There may be some importance in Christianity, or other religions like Hinduism, Buddhism (an Hindu offshoot), Islam, and multitudes in that they are early written or oral account, which may give slight hints to the possible beginning of human civilization, which in itself is an edifying achievement for our humble Earth.
The best and most notable thing people can say about myself is that I am bored. The interesting thing that I did today was avoid all uses of pronouns in referring to the sun. I did not call the sun a he, she, or it, for neither of these pronouns fit the fact that the sun cannot be classified as a man, a woman, or a thing. Not a thing because a thing is rude to the sun that provides the basis for our culminating existence after oh, so many years.
Damn, I must fix the archives. I don't know how to make it work so that people can look through my old files, find something of interest, and perhaps link to them. I'm sorry for those who are reading this right now and are probably getting turned off by yours truly who have neglected to follow the fundamental laws of web logging, which I must say is by itself, as everybody knows, a misnomer. So anyway, I have committed cardinal sins after sins. I am to repent.
Now, what relevance does this have to my previous post? after all, it seems to lack relation and dismerit the subheading titling it the 2nd part of two consecutive posts. I can't say I know what I am talking about now.
This is who I am, right? I think sometimes I write like others do and so, I am not different but the same. It is the sameness that disqualifies me from getting this post to popularity.
I know, I know. I used some vague statements trying to sound interesting but never quite reaching the passage of epic achievements and complete originality. Where am I taking you?
I've finished my Chemistry and my Math exams on Monday and Wednesday (today), respectively. Now tomorrow is my American Sign Language exam. This Friday, I am going horseriding with a group of classmates, acquaintances, to enjoy the last day before summer officially begin. Everybody's graduating at this time of the year. You know, I should avoid those absolute statements like every, all, never, none. But it's just so easy to use them to generalize everything.
Part 1 of 2???
So the end of my freshman year at a college of which I had low opinion because of values instilled by my mother and my aunt, both Chinese. In retrospect, CSUH was not all that I had expected, which is both good and bad. CSUH had its good and bad things. No college is perfect . . . right?
Still, the experience I had at college reveals to me my naiveté about college in general. Having not visited any colleges thoroughly, probably due to my embarrassment to associate myself with being college students or seeing college students, which I think arose from embarrassment of joining groups since I was younger. Actually, I remembered thinking that, from TV I supposed, I thought that all college students were pretentious Ivy Leagues type, wearing uniforms and being mean to people with lower level of intelligence, or perhaps with no intelligence at all.
Looks as if I was wrong, but I cannot know because people who attend CSUH seems to be of lower caliber, not entirely focused on their education. In other words, some of them seem to be idiots, like high school except less so. I must attend a UC school of higher caliber. Maybe I will like the atmospher better. Then, if I get lower grade because people are more competitive, I can say that I love the school because I am challenged. CSUH is slightly challenging, made so probably by its close proximity to the Bay Area (being situated right in the middle of it) as opposed to faraway SJSU and the inconvenient, hard-to-get-to SFSU.
State Universities have reputation for being down-to earth, focused on practicality as opposed to living in the clouds of theories and endless philosophies. Good schools should be capable of challenging me, making me as equally likely to get B or C as the next person, but I am capable of getting A if I really try hard. This illustrates a point, am I trying hard? Do I get tired easily? Would going away from home be too much for me?
I have bad premonitions. I don't know how to take care of myself, or at least I don't think I do. Perhaps if I was kicked out of the house for a week, I would find a way to adapt.
I wish that this post would be in some way more profound, but there is a constraint in my throat and chest that I cannot get rid of. It hints at the desperation to express . . . but what? how? and in what manners?
I must visit the campuses nearby and visiting them, perhaps see their dorms, perhaps sleep overnight in them. I would really want to try to live for a term away from home.
Maybe I don't really want to stay away from home, maybe I have been tainted too much with the preconception I have of the school to which I am going. Tainted enough that I cannot see the good things there. After all, I've experience a modest influx of socialization, of being able to talk and listen to the most amazing things in the world, where ordinary is extraordinary to me, and extraordinary is downgraded because there are too much of it.
Oh, if I could be blessed not just with a gift of words but also with the gift of ideas and expression! Oh, God, let me bring love to others, and not be greedy with selfish needs and self-expression. I know you, the Religion, are the moral guidance of the world. For in the Absurdism, the existentialist believes that the world cannot be morality-bound because there is no God. Oh, oh, O! Endless to know that at the end of the tunnel is not a light but a reflection and a dead end. How cruel to know that the light we see at the end of that tunnel is the light we project upon it, the many lights of many of us to give us hope, but upon the end, facing the realization of a rising piles of thankless dead.
The name of the book is the two letters before the last letter of the alphabet. It is a sequel. It may be too good for me.
What books would you recommend . . . ? Just in general. I mean, I like Harry Potter.
Received a digital camera, a CD player, a collection of Enter the Matrix set, and a CD-burner. It's all good.