Poetic? I think not.

Tonight, I don't really have much to enlighten anyone on.
So, in order to save you the immense dissatisfaction in what could be possibly the most drawn-out series of thoughts that will ultimately culminate in nothing gained...
I present a poem for your enjoyment.
It is thus far untitled. (I'm working on it.)

What if we bought time, and gave it a home?
Would we use it, or lose it?
Should we feed it, or mistreat it?
Could we cherish it, or demolish it?

Could it be kept on a leash, and would it come when we called it?

Should we watch it try, or let it die, or hope for it to satisfy?
Would it leave us in suspense, or make amends?
Come to greet you, or try to defeat you?
Would it give you a helping hand, or push your face into the sand?

Whether for or against us,
Completed or commenced for us,
Sitting, standing, or lying down for us,
Smiling, worrying, or crying for us,

Time will not let us down.

Stormy Skies

I'm kind of a weird kid. I strongly prefer a raging thunderstorm, complete with downpour and high winds, to a bright sunny day. The sun is nice and all, but I've found I suffer from a peculiar sort of complex during sunny days. As I sit in my room doing whatever it is that occupies my time currently, whether it be guitar playing, trumpeting or MouseHunt, (mostly MouseHunt), on a sunny day I will be plagued with a sense of guilt that I am not outside enjoying the beautiful day. It's almost enough to cause me a bit of stress in that I am doing nothing productive, when I could easily be outside, presumably doing something a bit more constructive. The logic behind that is a tad flawed, however; as being outside, in the long run, will not typically bring about any sort of major life improvement, more so than remaining inside. Back to my main point, however, on a night such as this where it is pouring rain, I can find solace in knowing that everyone else, much like myself, is sitting inside doing absolutely nothing of particular interest. The truth is, I'm more inclined to want to take a nice leisurely walk outside in the middle of a thunderstorm than I am on a sunny day. Then I remember that rain gets you really wet. Stupid obvious common sense, ruining what could be an excellent idea.

Comparable to last week, which was nothing short of the lowest level of hell, this week breezed on by quicker than the winds I can hear whistling outside, or faster than the flash of lightning that zigzagged through the sky just now.

Have I mentioned that I believe that thunderstorms are incredibly beautiful?

In the moment that I revelled in the beauty of the raging thunderstorm just now, I've had an epiphany. Much of what I find so endearing about thunderstorms is what I typically look for in a girl. An obvious sense of beauty, and not necessarily superficial beauty, (perhaps such as a sunny day?), but a sense of beauty that one finds after an analysis of what one believes to be beautiful. In a nutshell, I mean to say that a less obvious, but once discovered, very powerful beauty occurs. Not the kind that makeup or clothing can endorse, more of an intrinsic sense of beauty one can only discover for themselves. Secondly, a certain strength exists in a thunderstorm, no arguing that. I also find a sense of strength very attractive in a girl; the fact that they can endure a period of emotional or physical stress with relative ease, much as I am able to. Lastly, a thunderstorm has a sense of spontaneity to it, because one never knows when the next flash of lightning is going to occur, or a crack of thunder, or a sudden downpour of rain. I feel the same should hold true for a girl; that a bit of unpredictability always keeps things interesting.

I know what you're thinking; of course I've got girls on the brain.
I'm a teenage boy, and as my parents would say, raging with hormones.
Although I must admit, the fact that I compared a thunderstorm to desirable traits in a girl is a bit beyond my typical cogitative scope, and frankly I am a bit surprised by my discovery.
Funny what kind of realizations can occur at 1 in the morning, isn't it?

¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

I'm not entirely sure why my blogs are invariably written around 11 p.m. Are the moments before I go to sleep somehow more psychologically stimulating than if, say, I had decided to write this after getting home from school?

I just realized what I said there. School drains the mental capacity right out of me, and writing directly afterward would only serve to get a sentence or two about how terrible school was.
I now pause to go on a mini-rant about school.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a good kid and stay in school, I don't cut class, I (usually) finish all of my homework, but something about the setting of an educational facility annoys the living hell out of me. I have somewhat of a creative and logical capacity for thought, I believe. My sense of logic and analysis is fairly adequate. However, the setting of school completely oppresses all of my sense of rational thought. Something about the aura of a classroom provides me with an all-encompassing sense of indifference. I can't bring myself to use the sense of logic and analysis that I typically enjoy. Teachers often ask me why I glaze over in class, why my in-school writing activities are less proficient than they should be, and why my participation is less-than-average. I don't know. School is a sedative for me. Fortunately, this does not extend to any sort of exams. In actuality, I am a very successful test taker and essay writer, but only when subjected to the pressure of an exam. I suppose it is only in conditions of informality that my laziness kicks in.

So much for a mini-rant. I had a great deal more to say than I had expected. Such is common in my advanced state of lethargy.

This week has been somewhat unkind to me thus far. The only saving grace from being in a terrible mood is the remaining euphoria of Junior Prom. It's actually quite the phenomenon, I had not planned on attending it until two days before. It's funny how fate steps in when life's got you down, isn't it? I had an excellent time, and even had a date! What are the odds? Me with a date?
Ha. Feel free to scoff. I know you will.

Anyway, it's high time I hit the sheets. Good night, all! ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

Be Prepared!

While I wait for the Hunter's Horn once again, another entry into the series of endless ramblings.
I apologize in advance for the very possible switch in syntax or style, as every 15 minutes I will inevitably pause from my writing to sound the horn.
MouseHunt is the only drug I'm taking on this rainy, smoke-hazed April 20th night. It's more addictive that most of the drugs in existence. Cocaine, heroin, crystal meth? Ha! I laugh at the inferior addictiveness of these drugs. MouseHunt reigns superior to them.

I was watching the Lion King for what I believe to be about the 14th time today. I never fail to shed tears during the scene in which Mufasa dies, and Simba is calling out to him to wake up. Tears are welling up just thinking about the scene. That has to be one of the most awesome movies invented, and I do not use that word lightly. It has everything a good movie should have, a thrilling plot, a tear-jerking scene, an epic battle, and musical numbers that fail to leave your head for years, none of which you are annoyed by.

On an unrelated, (but not really), note, I just caught an Abominable Snow Mouse. (All you MouseHunters out there should have some idea about how epic that is.) Hell yes!

Back to the Lion King. I've been singing Can You Feel the Love Tonight and Hakuna Matata for about 2 hours now. Good times...

That's all I've got for this installment. As I told my friend Becky, I'm very short on words today. It must be an epic case of the Mondays.

Goodnight, all!

Satis!

(I frequently post titles in Latin. For all of you who know none, shame on you, and the title means "enough!")

I can't take it anymore.
You have to hear it.

I lied a few days ago.
There is something that singularly eats away at me every single day.
And it's about time that you heard it.
I don't even care that I just began a sentence with and, and that I could have just as easily combined it with the previous one in a conjunctive clause.
There are more important things that need addressing, and I'll type them in the somewhat ambiguous poem that I wrote a few minutes ago. It has no meter, no rhyme, and no logical pattern.
It's ranting, pure and simple.
Don't try to figure out what it means, I prefer it that way.

The way I looked into your eyes and smiled means nothing,
But the way he snatches you away means everything.
How I talked to you, hung on to every word you spoke was not important,
Yet he cares not what you speak or feel, and you give him all your care.
I'm not dangerous, so I'm not worth your time, and I sit here and cry,
While I watch you risk your life.

Thank you for your time.

April Fools and Follies

April showers bring May flowers, the saying goes.

I'm an enormous fan of rainy days. After all, the rushing sound of the rain is proven to be one of nature's calming pills. The sound of rain dropping against the metal of the gutter above me sounds almost musical. This isn't much of a surprise; musical things occur in nature ubiquitously. The chirping of birds, wind rushing through trees, some small animal scurrying about in a pile of leaves left over from last autumn, the slow bubbling and churning of some small, winding stream, all equate to the sound of the instruments in a symphony orchestra.

However, the May flowers born from this wet sonata bring allergies. Stupid pollen.

My oh my, it's been such a long time since I could sit down at my computer and type without any sort of rehearsal or otherwise time-consuming event interrupting me. I apologize for my taciturnity; I've recently been involved in a number of events, most recently the high school's musical, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. As a first-year member of the pit orchestra, I don't feel any sort of nostalgia toward the play. Listening to senior goodbye speeches, while touching, didn't quite strike the chord needed for me to start crying. Besides, I never cry during events such as those. The water works come afterward. I'm sure next year, I'll feel something, although never as strongly as those who have been involved in theater for 4 years. It would only be 2 for me, assuming I'm in the pit orchestra next year.

Anyway.

These past few weeks have been somewhat good to me. Nothing really awful has happened, there were a few setbacks, but nothing worth dwelling on. All I'm really doing at the moment is fighting off a cold and eagerly awaiting spring break to begin. Believe you me, I need the rest. The last two weeks, while favorable, have been both physically (blame weight room) and mentally taxing. Sleep is imminent.

Nothing especially troubles me enough to talk about. I know, boring, but nothing I'm feeling really needs to be talked about. I think I'm numb to a great deal of things at the moment. To be honest, I'm not at all questioning this. I'm enjoying it. Maybe it's just because I love the rain so much, and it calms me.

Thanks for reading!

Nemini Crede!

For all you Latin buffs out there, the title reads "Trust no one!"
My oh my, the paranoia that has ensued because of these two simple little words.
I'm looking around corners, walking faster than usual to get to class, and stuffing my fingers in my ears when I get the slightest hint of anyone planning to talk to me.
The only solace I can take is in my friends, who will (hopefully) protect me in these perilous times.
What a great game, Gut is an absolute genius for doing this. He must be having so much fun watching us all suffer...

Anyway, on to the weekly rant.
It would be daily, but lately I'm much too lazy to ramble on. Which is quite interesting, as I have the tendency to ramble on when I'm exhausted. Often I'll emit incessant amounts of sentences of varied syntax and eloquence, sort of like the way I am now. However, free time to write has been a very rare occurrence, so these postings are rare as well.
So enjoy it. Or don't. I'm too tired to argue with any of you.

Do everything you can for the greater good, I believe that's a Platonic concept, or a Marxist one. Don't quote me on this, my knowledge of philosophies and their origins is very incomplete. For the greater good. My mind construes this as less of a Marxist theory and more of a "do the right thing" theory. The "greater good" is variable from person to person, and that certainly holds true for me. You see, I've been having a bit of a problem with discerning what the "greater good" is these days. What do I do that will prove ultimately beneficial to myself? One problem in particular is plaguing me as far as the answer to that question goes.

I'm trying to work out my feelings toward a particular person; as I am unsure at the moment how exactly I feel about this person. The moment I come close to figuring out the answer, something else pops into my head. Thus is my curse; I've been plagued with the curse of over-analysis for as long as I can remember. Anyway, to avoid going off on a tangent, I can't pinpoint my feelings one way or the other.
This problem is also two-fold.
Somebody else, I believe, is after the person in question. The fact that I feel any sort of feeling at all upon knowing this causes me to question my feelings toward this person even more. Why feel any sort of jealousy toward a person if you don't have any sort of feelings about them? There's also another complication.
My low sense of self-esteem prompts me to allow the other person to win over the person I am confused about, simply because that person deserves the one I am confused about more than I do.
Who am I to interfere with something that should not be controlled by me? Yet, I have the nagging urge to do something about it. I'm basically paralyzed while at any attempt to do anything about this problem.

And there is still another who graces my thoughts daily...
Vae tibi (woe to you) is the only way to save myself in the aforementioned game.

Vae mihi seems like the more appropriate phrase in this situation.
If you can't translate it, look it up.

Thanks for your time!