I've never attributed much truth to the ten-degrees-of-freedom theory. Perhaps because I'm an introvert, and the thought of being so easily connected to every other person alive on the planet is rather overwhelming. While for some it may seem a thrilling prospect, I'd much rather spend some time alone working through my own thoughts and actions than jump into the social peripherals of every human being.
Perhaps that's why it's so very odd when I meet someone to whom I'm already in some way connected.
Not that this is a bad thing. Ultimately, if the person I meet is decent and doesn't aggravate my many prejudices (I do have many. I should work on curing those. . .) then I have no qualms with talking to him/her. It is not, however, an occurrence that I wish to happen more often.
However, this, and the resulting conversations with someone that was quite recently a stranger bring to mind my many social failings. The moments when it feels safe to rant slipping into those of awkward silence, because I am not well-versed in the reactions of others. Biting ones tongue to keep from offending and over-analyzing the other persons sentences and actions.
How is it that humans have progressed at social creatures at all? But that is a foolish question: the population is largely composed of extroverts. How, then, did those like me survive? And for what purpose? For I can hardly see how these traits have been passed down.
Oh, Darwin, you've let me down.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 19, 2011
Race
"I have seen the future and it doesn't work."
-Robert Fulford
Everyone's driving with nowhere to go.
Run, race, drive:
I bet I'll beat you to nowhere.
-Robert Fulford
Everyone's driving with nowhere to go.
Run, race, drive:
I bet I'll beat you to nowhere.
Mar 17, 2011
It was dark. So dark. My hands, my arms, even my typically luminescent white pants were invisible to me. The air was a frigid wall, the sort of thin air that captured your breath in a rising cloud of vapor. If you could see it. But it was as though my eyes were closed and my mind just barely conscious. That moment before sleep when it's a strain to imagine even a hint of red in your vision.
Where were the stars, the moon? What was this pungent darkness? Was my home, my entire planet disintegrating around me? Had it all disappeared like consciousness ripped away from the dying? Or had it simply changed, a salt crystal dissolving in water? Would the ground, the one familiarity left, begin to dissolve beneath my feet? When I wake from this darkness will it be to my familiar earth or to find myself sinking in purple water?
Who has stranded me here? What could have taken away the sun? What is next? The remaining sound? Will I, with a gust of wind, be cursed both blind and deaf? Or will my world, by tinnitus, slowly fall away?
My eyes! What could prompt you to abandon me so? What have you done to me? In pain, you left me. You deserted me with a scarred demeanor and searing jolts of discomfort. How do you expect me to survive? To provide for myself? How can I push on with only sound? Sound that, without corresponding image, is eerie and unfamiliar.
Man was not made to be blind. What am I now but a child, weak, lost in time?
(Scribblings in a useless class. And, oh, how I hate this keyboard and its sticking keys.)
Where were the stars, the moon? What was this pungent darkness? Was my home, my entire planet disintegrating around me? Had it all disappeared like consciousness ripped away from the dying? Or had it simply changed, a salt crystal dissolving in water? Would the ground, the one familiarity left, begin to dissolve beneath my feet? When I wake from this darkness will it be to my familiar earth or to find myself sinking in purple water?
Who has stranded me here? What could have taken away the sun? What is next? The remaining sound? Will I, with a gust of wind, be cursed both blind and deaf? Or will my world, by tinnitus, slowly fall away?
My eyes! What could prompt you to abandon me so? What have you done to me? In pain, you left me. You deserted me with a scarred demeanor and searing jolts of discomfort. How do you expect me to survive? To provide for myself? How can I push on with only sound? Sound that, without corresponding image, is eerie and unfamiliar.
Man was not made to be blind. What am I now but a child, weak, lost in time?
(Scribblings in a useless class. And, oh, how I hate this keyboard and its sticking keys.)
Mar 13, 2011
Light as the Air
I miss the summer.
Four words I never thought I would string together. I hate heat, I really do. And the fact that I have to find a way to eternally hide my skin from the sun. But last summer was spectacular: I actually kept in contact with my friends and went to the park. Multiple times.
School this year is exceptionally easy, but I scarcely see the people I actually care about and there's never any time to just do something fun.
Even though school this year is most likely the easiest year I've ever had, it's drawn out and impossible because life outside of school is becoming more and more clustered with heavier things. I miss the peaceful air of summer when, even if standing outside for more than half an hour leaves grotesque marks on my skin that will last for a year, people are typically happy. Nothing serious happens.
School this year is exceptionally easy, but I scarcely see the people I actually care about and there's never any time to just do something fun.
Even though school this year is most likely the easiest year I've ever had, it's drawn out and impossible because life outside of school is becoming more and more clustered with heavier things. I miss the peaceful air of summer when, even if standing outside for more than half an hour leaves grotesque marks on my skin that will last for a year, people are typically happy. Nothing serious happens.
Mar 12, 2011
React
I wonder, do we only react to things when under surveillance? If we were alone when hearing of something, would we care? Or would we need someone it effected deeply around to make us feel guilty?
We're certainly selective with the things we choose to care about. On the news, for example, after releasing information about the various horrific things that have happened to Japan within the last forty-eight hours and the high number known to be dead, they mention how fantastic that none of the Americans there are reported dead. Yes, people of America, rejoice, for many people have died, but at least none of them are from your country.
Perhaps that wasn't meant to be so disgusting to me. Perhaps it was meant to be a sort of reassurance for some with family there, but it sounds so caustic. As if all of those lives don't even equivocate one American life.
I wonder, how easily can we forget something and deem it as unimportant? Something that won't directly affect us, so why even pretend to care?
I wonder, because I knew something of magnitude. It was spoken to only me, and I knew that it was not something good, that a great deal of things could come of it. But I didn't react, I just moved forward in the conversation. But then, when something unpleasant came of it and I was explained the situation by someone else, I carried out the motions of coming to terms with it. I took part in the conversations just the same as everyone else.
So which reaction, or lack thereof, is true? And what do we do when nothing is expected of us?
We're certainly selective with the things we choose to care about. On the news, for example, after releasing information about the various horrific things that have happened to Japan within the last forty-eight hours and the high number known to be dead, they mention how fantastic that none of the Americans there are reported dead. Yes, people of America, rejoice, for many people have died, but at least none of them are from your country.
Perhaps that wasn't meant to be so disgusting to me. Perhaps it was meant to be a sort of reassurance for some with family there, but it sounds so caustic. As if all of those lives don't even equivocate one American life.
I wonder, how easily can we forget something and deem it as unimportant? Something that won't directly affect us, so why even pretend to care?
I wonder, because I knew something of magnitude. It was spoken to only me, and I knew that it was not something good, that a great deal of things could come of it. But I didn't react, I just moved forward in the conversation. But then, when something unpleasant came of it and I was explained the situation by someone else, I carried out the motions of coming to terms with it. I took part in the conversations just the same as everyone else.
So which reaction, or lack thereof, is true? And what do we do when nothing is expected of us?
Mar 8, 2011
Two posts today? Yes.
I was actually going to include this in the other one, but I got carried away. Adding this would make it way too long. (Not that this really breaks up the length, but it appeases my OCD. Somewhat.)
I was channeling The Stranger, Slaughterhouse Five, and Waiting for Godot. I should have known better than two read those three so closely together. Oh well.
They flash against the walls:
Uneasy stimuli, discontent
Until they pierce an eye.
I sit, stand, stare.
There is no difference in vantage,
There is no preferable height.
Yes, I see you--
Adamant, prodding, there.
Yes, I hear you.
So loud, so constant,
Mouth open in a wail.
I hear you.
This you claim,
Thus it must be so.
I, you say, have feelings.
Perhaps, indeed, this is so,
Depending on what you mean
By "feelings."
It's possible, sure,
That I could.
But, all the same,
Probably not.
It is the elephant in the room:
It doesn't matter.
I see you balk,
I understand.
Hairs stand stiff
At my hand.
Indeed, you say,
This cannot be true.
I must care for someone,
Surely would mourn a death.
Everyone cries at a funeral.
But I do not.
So it goes, I say,
It was bound to happen in the end.
I was actually going to include this in the other one, but I got carried away. Adding this would make it way too long. (Not that this really breaks up the length, but it appeases my OCD. Somewhat.)
I was channeling The Stranger, Slaughterhouse Five, and Waiting for Godot. I should have known better than two read those three so closely together. Oh well.
They flash against the walls:
Uneasy stimuli, discontent
Until they pierce an eye.
I sit, stand, stare.
There is no difference in vantage,
There is no preferable height.
Yes, I see you--
Adamant, prodding, there.
Yes, I hear you.
So loud, so constant,
Mouth open in a wail.
I hear you.
This you claim,
Thus it must be so.
I, you say, have feelings.
Perhaps, indeed, this is so,
Depending on what you mean
By "feelings."
It's possible, sure,
That I could.
But, all the same,
Probably not.
It is the elephant in the room:
It doesn't matter.
I see you balk,
I understand.
Hairs stand stiff
At my hand.
Indeed, you say,
This cannot be true.
I must care for someone,
Surely would mourn a death.
Everyone cries at a funeral.
But I do not.
So it goes, I say,
It was bound to happen in the end.
Cheering Up
To off-set the terrifying situation that led me to cry on my father for a good half hour last Saturday, I spent the following week with the goal of a book a day. It succeeded.
First, alas, I fear I must screw with my timeline a bit and bring to light the entertaining events of today: since ninth grade a certain pair have been in a great deal of my classes, to my closest friends' and my displeasure. They're the macho sort of male teenagers, substituting muscle for brains. An unfortunate extra of these two, however, is that they truly believe themselves intelligent and (even more ironic) chivalrous. Given that my friends and I dominate the top twenty in our class, I don't worry much when I say they are neither.
The lesser of the two evils likes to consider my best friend and me his friends. (I think he's the sort of person who can't handle someone not liking him.) However, he has a nasty habit of eavesdropping on one of my friends when she mentions my best friend and me. Unfortunately, he often hears more than he bargained for and listens to less than pleasing accounts of himself.
Today he happened to listen to my friend again. It went something like this:
Him: What are you talking about? Redhead and Asian are cool, they're my friends.
Her: No
Him: Yeah. Redhead's like my best friend. We're tight, we share messages.
Her: No
Him: I'm going to have to have a talk with her.
First I found it hilarious that he called us best friends, when I have enough difficulty calling someone a friend. (I have trust issues. It sucks.) I have only one best friend--Asian. Second, I found it a bit unoriginal and pathetic when this "conversation" was not actually a conversation but an aesthetically disgusting message via the Internet.
"im not usually one to go by the gossip of others, but i feel as tho i run into alot of your friends that say you and [Asian] have alot of negative things to say about me... I just wanted to say that I find that kinda hurtful and would appreciate it if u wouldnt do that"
I'm an English major, how could this not make the very marrow of my bones scream in fright?
My response was far less grammatically stunted, if not particularly empathetic. I did take pains to avoid outright cruelty, though.
"Since this also includes [Asian] I shared this with her.
"Her response: "Tell him not to be so arrogant as to believe that he has such an impact on a person that has not had a real conversation with him since the end of the last school year, and whose presence has not been acknowledged mutually since then either . . . In no offense to him, I thought it was mutually agreed that our so called "friendship" has since degraded since a few years ago, and in honoring that friendship, no wrongdoings or sayings should be said in regard to the other. Or [tell him] that he should confirm rumors prior to confrontation. Because that's offensive to our morals."
"She also mentioned to make that sound less offensive, because she'd rather not create more upset, but I'm far too lazy for that.
"My response is that I have something bad to say about everyone, even [Asian]. But I rarely express them, and when I do I only do so with [Asian] because she understands that otherwise it will fester in my brain like a perpetual mold.
Yes, I occasionally mention you when I talk to her, but only when retelling the things she missed since she couldn't take Lit. Ass hole that I am, I very rarely say things that are actually offensive unless provoked. When I'm with [Asian] I actually like to just enjoy it, because I so rarely see her anymore."
Yeah, I'm heartless. (Perhaps more so for sharing this, but I found it humorous.)
Now for literature!
I began Sunday with The Hunger Games which I simply could not put down. Logically, it follows that I completed the trilogy on Monday and Tuesday with Catching Fire and Mockingjay.
For those who haven't yet picked up this series, I really recommend it. It's terrible, but not with lack of skill. It's the sort of terrible that's horribly sad but you can never stop reading. It's exceptional. (And I may have enjoyed getting ridiculously nerdy and figuratively drooling over them with my friend in Stats.)
Monday, my day was made my a comment from someone in my Lit. class when he realized that I was averaging a book a day. His expression was a cross of shock, amazement, and entertainment. It was great.
Wednesday I picked up Henry V and somehow managed to finish it early enough in the day to absorb two Yotsuba books I had yet to read. There were bits of greatness in it, but I fear I'll have to read it again because some scenes slipped away from me too easily.
Thursday was Will Grayson, Will Grayson. Epic.
Friday was Let it Snow (I was on a John Green kick). The actual content was incredibly different from I typically read though. One of my former English teacher's described it (from the cover) as a "harlequin" book. He questioned me. Another described it as too happy for me. The comments continued.
Perhaps the reading was a bit out of character? Once I explained Nerdfighteria to my former teacher, though, he became very accepting of it.
I took a break over the weekend before reading Waiting for Godot (possibly one of the best plays ever created) and By the Time You Read this I'll be Dead.
Yes, I'm probably a bit insane, but I loved that goal. Alas, now I need more books.
All the best,
M. D. Koch
First, alas, I fear I must screw with my timeline a bit and bring to light the entertaining events of today: since ninth grade a certain pair have been in a great deal of my classes, to my closest friends' and my displeasure. They're the macho sort of male teenagers, substituting muscle for brains. An unfortunate extra of these two, however, is that they truly believe themselves intelligent and (even more ironic) chivalrous. Given that my friends and I dominate the top twenty in our class, I don't worry much when I say they are neither.
The lesser of the two evils likes to consider my best friend and me his friends. (I think he's the sort of person who can't handle someone not liking him.) However, he has a nasty habit of eavesdropping on one of my friends when she mentions my best friend and me. Unfortunately, he often hears more than he bargained for and listens to less than pleasing accounts of himself.
Today he happened to listen to my friend again. It went something like this:
Him: What are you talking about? Redhead and Asian are cool, they're my friends.
Her: No
Him: Yeah. Redhead's like my best friend. We're tight, we share messages.
Her: No
Him: I'm going to have to have a talk with her.
First I found it hilarious that he called us best friends, when I have enough difficulty calling someone a friend. (I have trust issues. It sucks.) I have only one best friend--Asian. Second, I found it a bit unoriginal and pathetic when this "conversation" was not actually a conversation but an aesthetically disgusting message via the Internet.
"im not usually one to go by the gossip of others, but i feel as tho i run into alot of your friends that say you and [Asian] have alot of negative things to say about me... I just wanted to say that I find that kinda hurtful and would appreciate it if u wouldnt do that"
I'm an English major, how could this not make the very marrow of my bones scream in fright?
My response was far less grammatically stunted, if not particularly empathetic. I did take pains to avoid outright cruelty, though.
"Since this also includes [Asian] I shared this with her.
"Her response: "Tell him not to be so arrogant as to believe that he has such an impact on a person that has not had a real conversation with him since the end of the last school year, and whose presence has not been acknowledged mutually since then either . . . In no offense to him, I thought it was mutually agreed that our so called "friendship" has since degraded since a few years ago, and in honoring that friendship, no wrongdoings or sayings should be said in regard to the other. Or [tell him] that he should confirm rumors prior to confrontation. Because that's offensive to our morals."
"She also mentioned to make that sound less offensive, because she'd rather not create more upset, but I'm far too lazy for that.
"My response is that I have something bad to say about everyone, even [Asian]. But I rarely express them, and when I do I only do so with [Asian] because she understands that otherwise it will fester in my brain like a perpetual mold.
Yes, I occasionally mention you when I talk to her, but only when retelling the things she missed since she couldn't take Lit. Ass hole that I am, I very rarely say things that are actually offensive unless provoked. When I'm with [Asian] I actually like to just enjoy it, because I so rarely see her anymore."
Yeah, I'm heartless. (Perhaps more so for sharing this, but I found it humorous.)
Now for literature!
I began Sunday with The Hunger Games which I simply could not put down. Logically, it follows that I completed the trilogy on Monday and Tuesday with Catching Fire and Mockingjay.
For those who haven't yet picked up this series, I really recommend it. It's terrible, but not with lack of skill. It's the sort of terrible that's horribly sad but you can never stop reading. It's exceptional. (And I may have enjoyed getting ridiculously nerdy and figuratively drooling over them with my friend in Stats.)
Monday, my day was made my a comment from someone in my Lit. class when he realized that I was averaging a book a day. His expression was a cross of shock, amazement, and entertainment. It was great.
Wednesday I picked up Henry V and somehow managed to finish it early enough in the day to absorb two Yotsuba books I had yet to read. There were bits of greatness in it, but I fear I'll have to read it again because some scenes slipped away from me too easily.
Thursday was Will Grayson, Will Grayson. Epic.
Friday was Let it Snow (I was on a John Green kick). The actual content was incredibly different from I typically read though. One of my former English teacher's described it (from the cover) as a "harlequin" book. He questioned me. Another described it as too happy for me. The comments continued.
Perhaps the reading was a bit out of character? Once I explained Nerdfighteria to my former teacher, though, he became very accepting of it.
I took a break over the weekend before reading Waiting for Godot (possibly one of the best plays ever created) and By the Time You Read this I'll be Dead.
Yes, I'm probably a bit insane, but I loved that goal. Alas, now I need more books.
All the best,
M. D. Koch
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