Not now. I have to analyze literature.
One of the immutable laws of my life states that at no time is it possible for me to have more than two friends. The laws of supply and demand state that those frends are, therefore, extremely valuable. No, I was never popular; I never had a big circle of meaningless excess acquaintances. I am a beggar and a chooser. In spite of my preaching of acceptance and tolerance, I am very particular about the people with whom I associate. Yet I don't hassle the people I reject. Smartass. As a result, anyone I consider a friend is a best friend. I'm weak in many ways, but for those people I would fight. I'd probably lose, but not before someone caught a knee in the genitalia, got a shoe up the posterior, or got some eggs in the hair. Flirting with people also seems to work pretty well, so that's win-win. I can also recite one of my speeches. "What are thing coming to? African eat African?" It's a pity I don't have many opportunities to put my bizarre ways to good use. To those who dared to care, thank you. To everyone else, what are thing coming to? African eat African?
Can't see the bad things in the dark. This is my way. They are untouchable.
I am a geek. Bulletin Board Systems used to be my playground. DOS commands were my toys. I learned to read, spell, add, and subtract at an early age by using a little plastic laptop computer. Even as a pathetic loser I had some measure of status because I was a computer whiz. Nobody really cared about it, but it was one thing I had over them. Now it's abnormal not to know how to operate a computer. I think I still have an advantage, but...I don't know who I should compare myself to. Anyone can learn HTML. Basic is indeed basic. Having a website is banal. I liked to think that by hand coding this site I could make it stand out from the thousands of other personal pages, but that's no big deal. I know a bunch of things about networking and IP addresses and DNS's and the routing process, yet so do plenty of webmasters, and I find among them the personalities that I've had to put up with for so long.
I find beauty in technology. I guess it just bothers me to see it being so common. No, I don't propose a return to ignorance, I don't think we should revert to MS-DOS 6.22, it's not practical or possible or even right to keep people from this stuff, and I'm not being greedy and selfish. I'm being...alienated. I just used to feel that this...was my thing, what I do, something special. Now I'm just another miserable whining wretch with a worthless webpage. Being a geek used to be a bad thing; now it's a good thing yet it's not even an issue anymore. Do you know how frustrating that is for me?
Is it possible to feel both lonely and crowded? You bet your sweet jive-talking posterior it is.
Yeah, so when I was little I used to go to the local youth center. I don't know why I bothered, since I just ended up sitting alone in the corner and staring off into space, which I could've done at home. At least there people wouldn't yell at me because they thought I was staring at them. There was a big television set at the center, too, but it didn't really matter because there was a big group of girls who always took the best seats and watched a particular show. One day I accidentally hit a button on the remote which turned the screen black. I mashed a few buttons trying to get it back until one of the adults in charge took the remote, fixed the screen, and made me apologize. Another time I was thinking about what kind of snack I would order at the snack bar, and the guy behind the counter kept making fun of me about how long I was taking. Then another time I tried to join in on a game of Twister or something, just reading off the appropriate limbs and colors from the little spinner thing, and the girl who was doing that yelled at me. I just kinda meandered around for a couple hours after school some days in that blasted building. So basically I learned that I couldn't do anything right, and that everyone was better off if I kept to myself until such a time came when random people wanted to taunt me or otherwise humiliate me publically. Yeah, I never did quite recover from that. Now I have a neurotic fear of Twister and social centers. Which is probably just as well, actually, since I'm sure those places are just crawling with filth and disease, and Twister is a pretty weird game from the outset.
In my dreams I seem to have access to a much broader range of emotions and sensations than I do in daily life, things like a sense of beauty and comfort. I can't replicate them in my conscious mind, in actual experience or in my imagination. That's not to say I'm uncomfortable sitting here in a heated room in a padded chair; I mean comfort beyond comfort. When I was little I used to sleep a lot, or at the very least just lie in bed and daydream, telling myself stories or fantasizing, but I still couldn't get that same feeling. I had nothing better to do, though, with nobody to play with, and only books, television, and video games to keep me company. My blatant lack of physical strength effectively eliminated outdoor activity as an option. Computers were another thing, too, but they're really another thing, something I'll address later.
Ice...Ice! Ice everywhere! Gah!! I just wanted to go out to get a bagel this morning. I fell two or three times just going to the local bagelry because of all that blasted ice. It's two inches thick on the sidewalks. Worse yet, it rained this morning, so all the traction-providing snow was melted away. All that slush and stuff people walked through while it still slush and stuff had frozen down there, and it made crazy bumpy paths with all these depressions, which all turned into puddles because of the rain, which just made the whole mess three or fifty times more slippery. The sidewalks were horrible, and entire driveways were covered with the same thick ice. I don't know how people are supposed to get their cars out. I tried walking in the street, but I couldn't because everyone was driving that morning because they didn't want to walk on those sidewalks, in a sadistic cycle that just keeps feeding into intself. I don't blame them. I went down this one street and a huge section of icewalk just collapsed under me and turned into a little pond. Luckily I kept myself from falling into that, but after a few more steps I slipped on another patch of ice and did fall. My footwear does no good. One day I was wearing dress shoes which had perfectly horizontal, parallel tracks or whatever on the bottom, so whenever I took a step my feet and legs slipped wildly out to either side. I have some snow boots but those are really narrow or something and I can't always keep balanced. That leaves my regular shoes, but they're pretty low so everything I walk through ends up getting stuck in my shoes, jabbing painfully into my feet, and finally soaking through my socks. Especially that thawed-and-refrozen snow, which isn't so much snow as it is little ice flakes. I hate that stuff. It looks like cookies and cream ice cream, only substantially more sinister, which just seems to mock me since I happen to like that flavor. But no, these demon-spawned little ice pellets get in my shoes, soak into my socks, utterly saturate every bit of fabric they touch; the whole bit. So I just can't win against this weather. My footwear is rendered useless, and even if it weren't I'd still have a hard time making my way across those fraggin' mini-glaciers. I got my bagel, anyway. The only good thing about the trip was that I made it home without falling and dropping my bagel into one of those six-foot pseudo-ice-cream ice-pellet banks along the sides of the roads.
Not now. I have to rewrite a famous story from a different perspective.
Not now. I have to write an essay about the 60's.
You know, I wish I could let go of the past. I really do. Unfortunately, it's followed me into the present. I'm cursed. I don't know how, I don't know why, and I don't want to find out. Nonetheless, wherever I go I'm persued by incorrigible weirdness. Today was garbage day. I seldom go outside for obvious reasons, but I'd rather face that than my own filth, so I dragged out the garbage bin early in the morning, before the neighbors were up. But nooo, even those efforts weren't enough. Some crazy old kook from down the lane was running all around, dancing in the street, his robe billowing out behind him. He was pulling out assorted bottles from people's recycling bins, smashing them randomly, then rolling around on the glass shards. I couldn't force myself to move an inch until he started doing jumping jacks, and that's when I ran as fast as I could back to the relative safety of my home. Gah!! I mean, what the heck am I supposed to say to stuff like that? I don't want to get mixed up with those people; I haven't even had a tetanus shot in a few years. I'd call the authorites, but they're just as bad around here, and I fear retaliation from anyone I'd blow the whistle on. I try to tell myself that it all has some purpose, but that's just my incessant optimism shining through.
Is it so bad I get sad, and not mad? Where's your optimism?
This is it. If you don't like how I deal with things, why do you keep telling me to deal with them? If it's my responsibility and I can't do it, why leave it to me?
Look at what happened when all those words hit home. I shouldn't have let them? By that same logic, shouldn't they have kept themselves to say such things? Should such forces exist in the first place? In my Pit as DarkVengeance I was prepared to take on the world, and win. I may have been a miserable wretch, an incorrigible pessimist, but at least I had a soul.
Eighth grade was by far the worst of any year before or since. I remember I had this weird banana kinda shaped bruise on my arm, and it stuck around for about a month or so. I decided to take some people's advice and mingle with my classmates. So I foolishly went to a school dance. 'Course, I couldn't dance so mostly I either stood by the wall or wandered aimlessly around the crowded floor of the gym. In a moment of bravado I twitched randomly in what I now dub "the DV dance," which only succeeded in causing a large of group of passersby to mock me. When it was all said and done I should have peed in the punch bowl, and in retrospect I find myself wishing it were so, but...well, that really wouldn't have helped any. I attended several school functions that year, with no real outcome except fractured pride and a reputation ruined beyond repair. I tried writing several articles for the school paper, but they were all rejected. I had injected a whole lot of emotion and meaning into them, when the paper just wanted poems about rotten cheese. That never stopped hurting. Sometimes I dream about peeing into a punch bowl, or writing an article for my local community paper about peeing into a punch bowl, but somehow I don't think either option would work. That hurts me deeply too...
I remember in first or second grade I ended up in some kind of after school program, which was held in the gym. Of course, the program was mainly physical activity and I was pitiful at everything. I tried my best to stay out of the way of all the other kids, but inevitably I would always be put on some kind of team where I didn't belong. If I was ever It in Tag I would run around like an idiot and fail to catch a single person, even some of the weakest girls. Not that females are weak, but back then they played house, not sports. All the while everyone taunted my weakness. During free time someone tripped me, and while I was sprawled on the floor someone tore across the room, stomping on my face in the process. I screamed then. It didn't even hurt all that much, but I screamed. It brought everything and everyone in the room to a dead halt. Sometimes...well, nevermind.
I remember going to fairs and theme parks a lot when I was little. Or several times, anyway. I never really did anything at them, though. I wasn't confident enough to try my luck at any games, and I was too scared and frail to brave any of the rides. My older brother, on the other hand, had no problem going on those rides. One in particular was called the Devil's Hole, or something similar. People were strapped to the walls of a pit several feet deep. The walls would then start rotating, faster and faster, and soon the floor of the pit would drop out. The motion of the ride alone kept the people from falling. I had always wondered what that ride was like, until recently.
Other people seem to have no problem defending themselves. I don't know why I can't. I've always been like that. Even my most vitriolic of essays was never directed at the actual people I was upset about. I can't stay mad at a person for long. All those essays were directed at faceless shadows and masses, institutions, and structures, not any specific person. My retorts are another story, yet those were written 10 minutes after I read the offending guestbook entries. The next day, well...no, I never forgot those things, or forgave them. Not even public humiliations dating back to preschool. I just stored them away, hopefully in a place where they wouldn't bother me very much anymore. Yet certain triggers bring all those feelings back. It paralyzes me.
I guess what really got me about it was that it was so damn harsh. No, maybe I shouldn't have been so sensitive about it, but I was, it was bloody obvious, and people were still friggin' nasty. Reminds me of a little story I heard from one of my teachers a while back. A guy's walking along and he sees a girl sinking in some quicksand. So she's crying for help and whatnot, and he walks up to the edge and starts talking to her. "What were you thinking? You should've been a little more careful. If you'd been watching where you were going you wouldn't be in this situation right now." So she dies and the guy walks away. The parallels between this and the moronic masses of maggots who came here telling me to get help and that I'm a psychopath and whatnot is too obvious to explain further without me throwing up. That's all I have to say.
I'll just take this opportunity to re-post one of my all-time favorite responses to the nasty, nasty people who posted nasty, nasty things in my guestbook.
well well weeeeeeeeell....time for my oh so valued news and views.
----- NEWZ | -----
The People Who Think They're Showing DV Up On His Own Site Are More Pathetic And Harmless Than Michael Jackson At A Girl Scouts Meeting.
------ VIEWS | ------
Poopyhead - i commend you for the ability to poke fun at yourself but i damn you, however, for the ignorance to do so to another IN THE SAME FRIGGIN POST AS THE ONE WHERE YOU RAG ON YERSELF! *ahem* next...seeing as how you're so acquainted with the smell of "poop"...it brings me to this interesting question....do you spend time sniffing shit a lot? like...do you roll around in your own feces? can i call you Mr. Poopy Pants?
Moving on... Normalize Yourself - You do realize how completely stupid you sound calling yourself a conformist, right? I mean...that's like the newly labled "Mr. Poopy Pants" standing up in the middle of class and screaming, "OH MY! I SHIT MYSELF!" As much as i love stupid people (and being so many around, the fun never ends...it'z like Disney World)...we need less of them. So like...open up a book (no...not the kind with "all dem purdy pictures.") and try to read...maybe all the incoming words will force "you people" into a deep long sleep. As for you...how stupid do you think we are? I mean...posting twice with different nick names? well..here...post once more...with this nick name..."The Whore Of Babylon." You'd probably think it's "cool" seeing as how you're too damned stupid to understand what it refers to.
Morpheus - SOMEBODY seems to have an obsession with small children. Well...seeing as how a Michael Jackson joke was already used....maybe i shouldn't...ah...what's the harm? *ahem* When you were a small child...did you ever dream of having his glittery glove give you an enema? You, my extremely sappy friend, answered your own question quite quickly. "Why do u hate people and everything so much." As much as I'd love to jump down your throat about how atrocious your grammer is...I'll let it slide just this once, sugar tits. Anyhow...why does he (and myself) hate people so much? *looks around and sees you standing there with your thumb cramed up you jack hole* Ah Ha...'tis of people much like yourself. I have a small bit of advice for you. Next time in english class...stay awake, would you? I mean for god's sake...learn how to complete a fucking thought.
Anyhow...adios, puto. *spins around the room with his finger pointing* Eenie Meanie Miny Moe...Which One Is Gunna Be My Hoe? *finger stops on poopypants* Woo Hoo! IMMA MAKE YOU MY BITCH! From hence forth...everyone's (who signs this board and rags on DV) ignorance will be compared to yours. You will be the butt of many cruel and tasteless jokes. Way to go Mr. Poopy Pants!
It almost makes me long for the days of yore, when idiots from around the neighborhood would come to my site and call me a freak. On the minus side I have become an embittered loner. On the plus side, I'm not like them, so I won't be anally raped in the locker room after football games. After all, who ever heard of a computer geek or a chess club member getting into drunken brawls and raping his girlfriend? Actually, I have, and it ain't all that common. Go me!
Ye gods!! What am I thinking?! If people didn't hassle me then I would have no occasion to use all those retorts I think up during lunch, such as: "Yeah, I see what you're saying; I'd make that argument too if I were a complete jackass," "Now if I didn't know any better I'd say you're a flaming idiot. And by your own arguments I don't know any better," "Good day, sir. May I grope you?" and, of course, "You're just a bitter old bigot! I hate you! I HATE YOU!!!"
Yeah, those were the days...countless, countless high school idiots, who tried so hard to prove that they weren't so mean by saying things like, "I'm going to kill you," and, "Eat shit and die," and, "I seriously throw up every time I look at your [*ahem*]ed up face." Yes...yes! I remember! "I see," said the blind man, peeing into the wind; "it's all coming back to me now!"
Filth! I'm surrounded by filth! To some extent we are products of our environment. How much, one can only speculate, and though I believe one has the ability to overcome his surroundings, it's sheer ignorance to say that environment is not a factor in life. What's more, I was nine friggin' years old, an impressionable young child. I did pretty damn well to restrain myself as much as I did back then. Perhaps they should have done the same. I had to put with them because they were unable to put up with me. Damned hypocrites.
Back to the source, then. I'll tackle these personal issues head on, I'll "deal with them," so don't gimme no lip, punks! I knew my archives and backups would come in handy. Onward, to the Book of Shame! Inflammatory Message Central, the window into the heart of what's wrong with youth today! Encore!
luxury of bourgeois suburban life; let me have it. my process, not yours. im sorry i have feelings, im sorry im not apathetic and cynical like everyone else, im sorry i dared to care. come too far, wont stop now. told me to deal with it so quiet and let me do it. this is how its done; dont care if youd do it differently, you dont think or feel like i do; never told you how to deal with me back then.
...happy birthday, Lindsay...
no, no, no...for all my harsh words im just a marshmallow, and after all these years and all these essays im just as soft sensitive and weak as i was on the playground ten years ago...i never wanted to fight anyone, couldnt even if wanted to...was always alone, counted on my fingers in the corner, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, again and again. numbers are certain. had my grades, was always smart...no, was always the geek. reasoned my way through everything, never raised a hand to anyone in anger or greeting or retaliation, just cried a lot. family told me to ignore it, so i did, ended up a loner. couldnt do anything else. ignored ostracized and bullied at the same time somehow, had other things to focus on. played my games, otherwise took advantage of middle-class surburban life, dealt with it that way but was still criticized; couldnt ignore it and claim to be open-minded at the same time. always tried to avoid conflict but it followed me anyway. read books, frequented message boards, absorbed information and opinions without judgment, cant hear my own opinion anymore. valued thought, reason, and logic above all else, was a perfectionist in all i did. pull 100 averages. had a photographic memory for what i saw and heard, stored it all away and gave it all equal value; wanted to be fair even though i wasnt treated so. then tried playing role of tough lone wolf, feeble attempt at fighting back with my only weapon of thought; only made things worse. 200 hits to this page and about as many comments in guestbook. death threats, stupidity, rumors, all for me. shouldve just let myself be abused. cant just write them all off as idiots; as closed-minded as nasty as they treat me. heard a lot of things over the years, a lot of sides to issues. can hear them all coming back. snap finally came but theyre not the ones being destroyed. pour my heart out and i can already hear the laughter. theyre untouchable. another person in another place in another time and one simple fight couldve ended this back in elementary school, but i dont cant wont use physical force. yet rumor and speculation state otherwise and nobody listens.
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hear every bitter, nasty response possible to everything before anyone has to say them. counter-thoughts. what would chad say, or mark, or justin, or harry-todd finklesworth for all i know; crippled. of all the comments i got not one was light. not taking life lightly, just kicking someone when hes down and laughing about it. damn it each of them is darker than all my old essays combined but i still stand as that dark gothy-kinda guy and i dont even listen to the music or have the hair style or the makeup or anything else. want to scream and vent but thatd only scare them and make it worse. have to stay silent. ...dance, legs, dance...
I've tried to start an essay a dozen times but it hasn't gone anywhere. Instead of my voice I hear a hundred others saying a thousand different things. So many mixed messages. I can't even hear my own. Echoes of a thousand humiliations and abuses stop me from going anywhere with my thoughts, and I'm scared to express a single one. Countless feelings and ideas race through my mind, but I remain silent. I hardly ever speak in real life and I don't want this to wind up like that. First I was different, then an outsider, then a nerd, a geek, a freak, then a misfit, and then a potential murderer and I haven't even done a damned thing except try to deal with things like people have always told me to; keep to myself, focus on my studies, and write my stories to raise spirits. Now all I need is some wiseass with a popular website to read this and publically call me a whiny brat and I'll be set. I wouldn't even know how to respond except maybe to cry. Then I'd be called weak. I've thought myself into a stupor. Has to be done. Have to address these issues. Been too long now. Won't allow myself to censor me.
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I haven't done it much recently, but I've been thinking...for the past couple years I've listened to a lot of cynical pricks belittle...let's say "wayward spirits"...as whiny brats looking for attention. Yet I have to wonder...If the problems of American youth can be so ludicrously simplified to something as banal as looking for attention, companionship, love, something, why not, you know, give them a little and avoid a few massacres and such? Well, either people are even more friggin' lazy and apathetic than the most ardent of pessimists could imagine, or things are just a tad more complicated than that, and there are more than a few people who need to get their acts together, social-philosophy-wise. Possibly both. How miserable. It's times like these when I like to close my eyes and think of small furry animals with big eyes...cute, innocent creatures...while a small orchestra plays appropriate music for the mood...and I curl up in a fetal position on the floor while chanting, chanting...you can't hurt me anymore...you can't hurt me anymore...you can't hurt me anymore...soft kitten...
...Can I call 'em or what?
I'm sick like a fraggin' animal. I'm probably going to wake up in a puddle of my own sweat and/or urine tomorrow morning.
Resolved: head up, and eyes forward to a future in which I will genetically engineer tiny blue kitties that curl up in your palm and make little kitty noises, that when not needed will be put in small black leather pouches with drawstrings; pocket kitties, if you will. Hallelujah.
A toast. To all potential mass murderers in white bourgeois suburbia. And to all the horrible, half-witted adolescents who would dare to call themselves students. To their respective public institutions which people would dare to call schools. To the Salem-esque leaders of public school district number 9 in Oklahoma, the kindergartener-suspending teachers and opponents of beepers, the principals who live in deadly fear of 10-inch Tweety Bird wallet chains, and to the paranoia-ridden administrations of American schools everywhere that turn on their better students. To all such distractions. To hell with them all.
Here's to those real students out there, to people who care, to Advanced Placement courses, to knowledge, to science, and to the sanity to use them all properly.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with approximately two dozen books stacked up in a three-foot pile on my bed.
Wait, wait, one more!
That's it, I've had enough. Any schmuck can do periodic, half-hearted social commentary. It's time to do something, to take this site in a new direction, like, say, literary analysis and whatnot. Maybe reviews. Something, anything. Plus I'm getting rid of that accursed guestbook that hasn't worked right since the day I got it. Bah! The gears are turning.
Biotechnology, specifically cybernetics, is one of my favorite topics. With a vivid imagination one can see it as an epic clash between flesh and metal, organics and mechanics, blood and electricity, humanity and empty efficiency. But...eh...let's try to stay away from things like this:
Biotechnology Gone Horribly, Horribly Wrong
(Note the magic machine-enhanced flying eyeball)
CHICAGO, Illinois (Reuters) -- Anti-Klan demonstrators clashed with police and pelted white-hooded Ku Klux Klansmen with snowballs Saturday during a planned march by some 20 members of the hate group in Skokie, a Chicago suburb that is home to many Holocaust survivors.
Police arrested about 10 anti-Klan demonstrators, who witnesses said smashed the windows of at least three squad cars and fought with police. Witnesses said one squad car bolted when trapped by the crowd, causing demonstrators to scatter and then reassemble to rain kicks on the vehicle.
Some of the anti-Klan demonstrators, who numbered in the hundreds, pounced on a few young men declaring their support for the hate group -- one wearing a T-shirt with the word "Jews" and a slash through it.
One man with a shaved head was kicked to the ground and his face bloodied. Most of the arrests were for disorderly conduct.
Article courtesy of CNN.com.
...Um...shut up.
I'd have to say hate for hate groups isn't a whole lot better than the original hate, but it's sure a lot more obnoxious and unorganized. Maybe the angry mob just needed something to do. I suggest mass suicide. Not that the Klansmen were any smarter by choosing to show anti-Semetic sentiment in a Jewish Holocaust survivors' community (what did they expect would happen?), but...you know.
If I had been a police officer there I would have dished out generous helpings of Whoop-Ass to both sides with my nightstick. There's nothing like the bitter taste of established authority to bring radical idealists back to reality. Discriminate against this, hood man. Rally against one of these, suburb boy. Thwack, thud. That'll teach you to express your "opinions" and "beliefs" and whatnot. Now get back to work, you bums, so you can pay my salary. I'm not out here for the fresh air.
Oh, sure, I guess I could be "fair" and "non-violent," and "protect the public" instead of clubbing it with nightsticks, but then I wouldn't be clubbing people with nightsticks. Ah well. I'm gonna go have a bowl of cereal; start the day off right.
Finally, a new story: Paradise Soiled. Of course, a Christmas story is also in the works.
I think Florida should be laughed out of the Union, severed from the continental United States, and shipped across the Atlantic Ocean to be given back to Spain. But then, I also think I should be king of the world, so take that as you will.
Speaking of dreams...I...have this...recurring dream in which I'm running, naked, through a grassy field full of goats. Then suddenly I'm running on some train tracks and I start rolling along on the ground while a train barrels toward me. I have no choice but to roll off of the tracks, and it is then that I discover, a bit too late, that I'm on a bridge. I plummet several hundred yards before I land in a huge pile of goose feathers. I crawl out of the mountain only to find myself surrounded by a little league baseball team, each member holding a baseball bat.
Before I can escape I get jumped by four of the little punks, and I writhe in agony on the feathers while I get jabbed from all sides with the baseball bats. The apathetic feathers seem to taunt me, and I thrash wildly at them in a rage.
That's when I wake up, screaming, and squeezing the life out of my pillow. Every night.
It's all very symbolic, I'm sure.
Let's see...I'm grateful for my few friends, my twisted intellect which serves as an endless resource for story ideas, and my life of relative luxury in suburbia.
I'm also grateful for technology and the role it has played in my life. I've grown up with computers by my side. I learned reading and basic math at an early age because of a small toy of a computer I had. If it weren't for scattered message boards in my local area I would've had almost no social interaction at all. Computers have been my hobby and my ambition. I was swapping sound cards between computers at ten years old. I aspired to learn a few programming languages at about the same time. I never got very far with that. I'll finish that project soon enough.
I've been fascinated by the recent advancements in medicine and technology, and the field created by their union: biotechnology. I want to be on the leading edge. I want to be as far away from my worthless peers as possible. I want to take a group of the elite and discover. I'll explore things that none of those people will ever be able to appreciate.
Also, I want to write. My mind is too active to be confined to this world. I'd rather create my own worlds to which I can escape, and perhaps stretch the limits of this world. Yeah...I have big dreams...I'm grateful for those, too. Let's see how far they can take me.
Well, it finally happened. We thought we had taught them a final lesson in Salem three hundred years ago, but we were wrong. They were merely pretending, hiding, strategizing, and plotting their revenge. Witches! Evil, twisted, black-magick-using sorceresses of doom! Just look at this news headline from the American Civil Liberties Union of Oklahoma, dated Thursday, October 26, 2000:
Many years ago, when I was but a budding young computer geek, I pressed the period key on the keyboard a bit too hard. It shot out of the keyboard and four feet into the air. It was my mother's computer, and needless to say she was a bit upset. We struggled for hours to get the key back into the keyboard, but to no avail. Finally we gave up and just stuck a pencil eraser in there instead. It was a pretty red circular eraser; an alluring eraser. It had a satisfying amount of resistance to being pushed. I pressed that little eraser often, and I was pleased each time. Now I have some new keyboard that has a Windows key and "custom buttons" and whatnot, and those aren't even fun to press. Sometime soon I will rip this instrument of Satan apart and replace its demon-keys with erasers. Then I will be complete.
Well, it looks like America is now the laughing stock of the free world because of the recent election troubles. Don't blame me. I was cheering for Buchanan.
Gee, I was pretty upset the other night. On the bright side, all those junkies will wind up dead, in jail, or in the gutter. I suppose it can't be helped if they take a few people with them as they destroy themselves and everything around them with their senseless meandering. Ah well. I can take care of myself, and when they're gone, there's more room for me. Hurrah!
It used to really bother me that I have virtually no friends and spend much of my life in front of a computer screen. Now I thank all that is holy and some that is not for my relative isolation from the corruption of my peers. Sex, drugs, violence, idiocy. And here I sit amongst an ever-growing pile of papers and books and studies about modern American youth gone wrong, and an authority system gone mad because of it.
"Honor student suspended for accepting two Midol tablets from a classmate." "Kindergartner suspended for bringing beeper to school." "Georgia school lifts suspension of girl with Tweety bird 'weapon.'"
Meanwhile, elementary school students take hits from the hookah and hold their classmates hostage, possibly on the same day, possibly the latter as a result of the former. It's no wonder the system goes haywire. The kids are nuts. The parents are nuts. Authority is gradually going nuts. They're all driving me nuts. If we end up with gun-and-hypodermic-needle-weilding toddlers, it'll be time to call it quits.
I just finished reading Go Ask Alice, you see; copyright 1971. Supposedly it's a diary. The author is anonymous. And dead. It's a "getting caught up in the drug scene" story. What got me was the part the author's schoolmates played in her descent. She tried to get away from it, and she was succeeding, but they dragged her back down. That pisses me off to no end. Thirty years later, in the year 2000, public school maggots haven't changed a bit. Curse them.
Damn it. I thought I had resolved these issues of mine. And so, I retire to the welcoming darkness of my pit. They can't reach me here.
Guestbook re-initialized.
Happy Mole Day. Thank you Amedeo Avogadro, for Avogadro's Number, 6.02 x 10^23, the mole, boon to chemists everywhere.
Meanwhile, my mind is spinning with ideas for stories. I have to get these down on paper. Halloween wackiness, school bus insanity, unsavory doings in elevators, and, of course, dirty old men. Yes. This will be glorious. Or at least mildly disturbing. Just a little time.
Sadistic Bus Ride from Hell is now in the story section.
Now we're getting somewhere. I finally got the old table back up, and there's some sense of order again. I feel refreshed. Once I get some new, real content up, I'll be set. More stories coming up soon.
I've had this site up for about a year and a half now. I find it interesting, and sometimes embarrassing, to read some of my older essays and see how my opinions and attitude have changed. I know I've changed, and still am changing. I don't even agree with some of my previous statements. This is my history, my site, my story. It changes with the slightest fluctuation in my mood. In a way, this website is an extension of me. 20 visitors or 200, I'll still be here, updating now and again. Every detail is a reflection of me, whom I define, and occasionally rename, with every new essay, poem, or comment. I am DV, Dread, or whomever I choose. This is my world.
The Pit's looking awfully drab. Maybe I should redo it in pastels, with plenty of bunny images and a smiley face background wallpaper. That Bebe's Kids graphic just isn't cutting it anymore.
I just realized how much ass my life kicks. To celebrate, here's a picture from a game that insults the entire African American community and sets the civil rights movement back about 50 years.
Seen on the back windshield of a car while coming home: "Runs like a scalded ass ape." On the side of the car was a sticker which read, "Like new." I think the owner was trying to sell the car, but running like a scalded ass ape is quite a product claim.
What did I just write? I wonder if I'm losing my mind...
I love my computer, and my computer loves me. I programmed it to do so. It doesn't care if I haven't bathed in weeks. It doesn't care about any bizarre fetishes I might have. It ignores my opinions and provides soothing music. I can confide all my secrets in it, and I can be sure it will never tell. None of the other computers can convince it to tell them. It knows no peer pressure. It doesn't disagree with any of my beliefs. It protects me from the outside world. I can look out but none can look in. It's always ready to run entertaining games, and never becomes tired of them after I have played them for sixteen consecutive hours. It doesn't have human weaknesses. It will never hurt me, and can never betray me. I love my computer. It can be taken from me only if it can be pried from my cold, dead hands.
Headline: Kentucky school shooter settles with victims' families for $42 million
Who says you can't put a price on human life?
Article Courtesy of CNN.com
COLUMBINE PRINCIPAL SUED BY VICTIMS OF SCHOOL MASSACRE
The families of three victims of last year's massacre at Columbine High School have sued the school principal and other officials, alleging they knew about the violent tendencies of the two teen-age killers and should have taken action.
The principal should've know that two obscure students out of a thousand were going to shoot up their school. Indeed. He should've known, should've suspected, should've done something. Next thing you know we'll be off on witch hunts again, chasing down people who walk or talk funny, who might be the next angry goth teens to snap. Right. Should've, could've, would've, didn't. End of story. If the killers' violent tendencies were so obvious, the classmates shouldn't have pissed them off, but that didn't stop them, apparently.
The amended lawsuits alleged that school employees knew about Harris's Web site that contained threats against fellow students.
What? How many threats made by angry kids are actually backed up? I've had death threats in my guestbook. I've had seven different kinds of idiots and lunatics berate and threaten me through the AOL Instant Messenger (my screen name is Dark V0; have at it, kids). Talk is cheap. I don't know about real life threats, but I can tell you all about websites. On the Internet, all kinds of complete jackasses can shoot their mouths off with impunity, without having to back it up. (Hold your tongue, I at least try to support my unpopular views based on my observations, if nothing else.) Things are different here. The rules are changed, since the Internet hasn't been mainstream long enough to be heavily regulated. That much is changing, of course, but that's beside the point.
Unfortunately, the article isn't very specific at that point. It's important to know whether the threats were directed at specific people, or just classmates in general. I suppose this will start another technophobia epidemic as angst-ridden parents scour the Internet searching for sites such as this and attempt to have them shut down. Idiots. I have never threatened anyone, of course, but that doesn't matter. As long as someone who fits a rough, general description of the target suffers, it'll satisfy the lust for blood.
We had people rallying against supposed witches in America a couple hundred years ago. Then there were the anti-Semetic practices in pre-WWII Germany (before the actual Holocaust began). Then we had the lynchings and segregation of blacks in America. Then came the anti-Communist McCarthy era. Perhaps these parents can lead the crusade against the next Great Enemy. Mob justice, anyone?
Article Courtesy of CNN.com
"Yeeeeeee-hee!"
"For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been!'" -John Greenleaf Whittier