This isn't going to be a post like the others. just a simple muse. have you ever clicked the "next blog" button on a blogspot page?
don't do it.
it takes you to a random blog, yes, but after an hour of clicking that button repeatedly, in search of some sort of inspiration, or like minds, it appears to me that EVERY SINGLE FREAKING BLOG ON BLOGSPOT IS A BABY BLOG.
really?
i don't understand. perhaps it's because i feel no need to ever reproduce. i desire the independent, jetset lifestyle. i just saw the movie "up in the air", and that's what i want my life to be. no connections, no baggage bringing me down, nothing holding me back, my home is in the air. it's the lifestyle i've always wanted. children, they're parasites. i don't biologically understand why we raise them. once you get pregnant, there goes your life. that festering birth will suck out every single part of your old life, leaving you haggard and gray and OLD. they steal all your time, all your money, all your food, all your adventures, all your romance, all your hopes and dreams and goals, and the only thing they ever give back to you is putting you in a nursing home after it was THEM that made you that way. it's disgusting. babies are disgusting. they poop and puke and spit and are wrinkly masses of gross. if my biological clock ever starts ticking, then please, mark that as the end date of my life. having a baby kills the person you once were and you can never get that vivacity back.
so this blog is definitely in the minority of the blogspot blogosphere. seriously, for an hour of clicking, i only found ONE non-baby blog, and that was a blog showing deals on that stupid organic eco-friendly crap that's all a scam anyways. where's the intelligent jargon? where are the lost souls of the blog world? where are the ranting loners like myself? help me find them. i mean, nobody even reads this blog yet, so i don't know who i'm typing to. i'm typing to the future. which is a weird mindfucking kind of concept, that assumes that i'll ever get any readers to this thing. that's a very broad bold assumption. i just wanted to find another blog like mine; someone spilling their heart and soul into the most beautiful language of words, someone who wants someone, anyone to read their innermost desires, maybe leave a comment or two. i was trying to extend a hand of friendship to a stranger who needs one, and all i found were babies. bleh.
must there be this intense need to tell the entire fucking world about your baby, and document every single day of your baby's life? it's not cute. nobody cares. everyone has babies. you're little life-sucking vampiric parasite is no different from the rest. and it's ugly. no matter how many costumes you shove it into. it goes back to human's need to mark their territory. men do it by putting their name on things. women do it by telling the world their personal issues and trying to show everyone this gross thing that stole half of all of their nutrients for nine months before deciding to pop out of their vagina. i'd much rather hear the juicy details of how that insipid being came to be conceived than having to see another damn picture of that gross alien-looking thing posed next to a pumpkin or a christmas tree.
independence is the spark of life.
4 aspects to any judgment
• quantity – all some one
• quality- f not f non-f
• relation-s is p, if then, either or
• modality-maybe is must be
i don’t feel like typing notes.
transcendental deduction
• experience is actual
• only possible if a priori
• there are a priori categories
• wtf
i love the drone of fingertips on laptop keyboards. it adds a new dimension to the class room, a symphony of taps. sometimes, it’s just one sole tip-tapper, that one that records everything, even the movement of the professor. then, the professor will make a main point, and there’s a sudden crescendo of tip-taps as the combined typing of the entire class conjoins to form one orchestra, one force. slowly, dependent on how detailed each takes their notes, one by one the instrumentalists will drop out, until again, you’re left with that sole tapper. they should arrange a computer keyboard piece.
i should be paying attention to philosophy class, considering I really don’t know anything in this class. but it is the last class, I don’t think paying attention in this one will help me any significant amount. I don’t even care about what these old dudes think. like, at one point I thought this class would be fun and interesting, but I really just don’t care. it makes it really hard to focus. it sure as hell is no sex chapter. those are the best. I love learning about sex. not in a creepy, pervert, nymphomaniac sense. I just think learning about our own sexuality is so interesting because it’s such a taboo topic. it shouldn’t be. it needs to be more open.
it’s funny. you’d think I was the lone typer right now, typing away on my keyboard. you’d think I was taking these incredible notes. I’m not. obviously. but it’s a good delusion. maybe all those sole typers are really just sitting at their computers, spilling their souls day in and day out, recording their deepest thoughts. or maybe they’re just recording everything the professor says like a stupid little brownnoser.
i don’t belong here. I have focusing issues, I don’t get complex concepts, I don’t like writing papers. screw it, i HATE writing papers. and I didn’t learn much in my life. there are people here who came into Harvard knowing ten times more than I was ever even exposed to. I should have went to art school. graphic design and marketing. maybe i'd fit in there. or maybe they'd all be pretentious pricks like the "artiste's" back home, and i truly wouldn't fit in at all. all i know is i'm going to lose myself here, drowning in the coattails of the overachievers. i may already be lost. i never was an overachiever. who was i kidding? i'm not very smart. my life is average. it's still sad that my last few harvardfml's have been rejected, because even my life isn't fucked enough to be posted on a website. there are people drowning more than i am and that's scary because i don't know about them, but i think i need a lifeboat or at least one of those red and white s.s. titanic lifesaver thingies. Harvard is sucking away any semblance of creativity or independence I ever possessed. shit, I’m going to be late for section. bye philosophy notes.
• quantity – all some one
• quality- f not f non-f
• relation-s is p, if then, either or
• modality-maybe is must be
i don’t feel like typing notes.
transcendental deduction
• experience is actual
• only possible if a priori
• there are a priori categories
• wtf
i love the drone of fingertips on laptop keyboards. it adds a new dimension to the class room, a symphony of taps. sometimes, it’s just one sole tip-tapper, that one that records everything, even the movement of the professor. then, the professor will make a main point, and there’s a sudden crescendo of tip-taps as the combined typing of the entire class conjoins to form one orchestra, one force. slowly, dependent on how detailed each takes their notes, one by one the instrumentalists will drop out, until again, you’re left with that sole tapper. they should arrange a computer keyboard piece.
i should be paying attention to philosophy class, considering I really don’t know anything in this class. but it is the last class, I don’t think paying attention in this one will help me any significant amount. I don’t even care about what these old dudes think. like, at one point I thought this class would be fun and interesting, but I really just don’t care. it makes it really hard to focus. it sure as hell is no sex chapter. those are the best. I love learning about sex. not in a creepy, pervert, nymphomaniac sense. I just think learning about our own sexuality is so interesting because it’s such a taboo topic. it shouldn’t be. it needs to be more open.
it’s funny. you’d think I was the lone typer right now, typing away on my keyboard. you’d think I was taking these incredible notes. I’m not. obviously. but it’s a good delusion. maybe all those sole typers are really just sitting at their computers, spilling their souls day in and day out, recording their deepest thoughts. or maybe they’re just recording everything the professor says like a stupid little brownnoser.
i don’t belong here. I have focusing issues, I don’t get complex concepts, I don’t like writing papers. screw it, i HATE writing papers. and I didn’t learn much in my life. there are people here who came into Harvard knowing ten times more than I was ever even exposed to. I should have went to art school. graphic design and marketing. maybe i'd fit in there. or maybe they'd all be pretentious pricks like the "artiste's" back home, and i truly wouldn't fit in at all. all i know is i'm going to lose myself here, drowning in the coattails of the overachievers. i may already be lost. i never was an overachiever. who was i kidding? i'm not very smart. my life is average. it's still sad that my last few harvardfml's have been rejected, because even my life isn't fucked enough to be posted on a website. there are people drowning more than i am and that's scary because i don't know about them, but i think i need a lifeboat or at least one of those red and white s.s. titanic lifesaver thingies. Harvard is sucking away any semblance of creativity or independence I ever possessed. shit, I’m going to be late for section. bye philosophy notes.
