DATALOG

121109

As the anniversary of my birth approaches, it is no great surprise that I find myself contemplating the complete lack of a difference I've made in two decades. Twenty is a peculiar age, the age at which you run out of excuses to be useless. I've been trekking back and forth from the university over the past few weeks, desperately trying to find some meaning to my own education and get back to the daily grind. Career counseling has been moderately successful in the sense of providing motivation, sort of like pushing a wheel chair uphill with no wheels.

It's clear to me where my career belongs, it always has been. It should be clear to those reading this where my natural abilities are. I need to write. I've had several profound stories floating around my mind for a few years now, occasionally picking up new ideas like a bubble floats about and occasionally assimilates itself with another bubble, becoming progressively larger. But like bubbles, these ideas become bigger and bigger in my mind until eventually popping, and i'm left trying to scrounge up the residue. Perhaps continuing my education will give me more time to gather these thoughts and let them flourish. How does one translate murky post-apocalyptic dreams in to a three-hundred page diatribe?

I have no doubts about my success. You'd think with 100% confidence, you would have 100% results. I just need wheels for the wheel chair.

Baaa

DATALOG

120309

The real problem is that the majority of the population are sheep. Mindless, automated consumers. Buying and buying and doing whatever it is the television tells them to do. There is very little sense of accountability, and as such individualism becomes very vague. Who has the power in your country? The majority? Of course the majority, but who has power over the majority? A very small and very rich minority, feeding us bullshit not only in our diets but in our day-to-day lives. Convincing the American public of something is as simple as Oprah saying it's true. And the few more intelligent thinkers, those who have the conscience to become vegetarians or vegans or political activists are labeled as the lunatics? Why? Because sanity is quantitative, and sanity is in numbers. You are the insane, so am I, so is anybody with a differing opinion as to the way things should be run. All because there is no sane or insane, just popular opinion. To go against popular opinion is to be alienated from the majority. And the corporations control the minds of the majority, simply because most normal people can't be bothered with these things. They're too busy. Too busy working 9-5 and consuming useless product after product en masse all the while ignoring real life.

There is no end to a circle.

To blog or not to blog

DATALOG

120209

What is madness? How does one measure sanity empirically and subsequently create an imaginary line with which to cross in to insanity? Is it possible for one to drive themselves insane, as defined by medical standards? I often explore the darkest depths of my own psyche, like a lemming searching for a cliff to launch themselves off of. Thoughts are rarely profound enough to mention, but an overwhelming overtone has started to take shape not only in my subconscious but my day-to-day conscious thoughts. Seeping, oozing poison, pure madness by the hypothetical droplet. Twisted things don't simply flash before my eyes, they start to become almost logical.

There must be another way in this world

DATALOG:

113009: Entry 1

I feel full. Not in the sense of nutrient, in fact, completely unrelated to consummation. My mind is full. Cranial congestion, if you will. The inability to proficiently express one’s ideas and emotions to the extent where a build up occurs. Surely some sort of intellectual residue is clogging my articulation arteries, and my cognitive cholesterol levels are at an all time high. I tried my hand at drawing, trying to channel the creative flow out of my fingers, much to no avail. Other methods have proven completely useless, as little by little my thoughts trickle out while the dam of monumental epiphanies stacks up higher and higher nearly water-tight. Between these massive ideas, piled one by one and mashed together, small cracks of daylight are seen, allowing only the most simple and instinctual thoughts to spill out in to the foreground of my functional brain.

Expression is what I lack, and a means to express it. The frustration of not being able to pull the cord on the gigantic self-inflatable genius that is lying dormant and limp in my consciousness is unbearable.

Gotta lose this subconscious weight on my soul.