1:42

I can't get to sleep, so I've turned on my Touch's toilet wi-fi to try and knock out some of the thoughts that may be preventing said sleep.
I've been thinking a lot about experiences, particularly bad ones.
A few years back, Niall and I got minorly attacked on the way home at night, which was pretty new to me.
Niall has since then been more cautious about where, when and how he walks, in order to avoid repeats. And rightfully so.
But I don't. And I know, that on some level, this is because I want to be attacked.
This blug, by the by, is not a confession of masochism, far from it.
But doesn't everyone want an ineresting life?
I want a life full of experience, bad and good. I want to go down highways in a beaten convertable with a select handful of friends. I want to pick a direction, someday, and just go that way for a day or two. And I want to get punched in the head more often, if it means a more interesting life.
I'm sure this lust has limits somewhere. I'm sure I wouldn't wish cancer or rape upon myself (though I'm resigned to the eventuality of the former). But a very, very stupid part of me does.
I mean, not to dip into clichéd amorphisms here, but phrases like "The road less beaten" and the such weren't coined on a whim.
Eugh, this sounds like an advocacy for Bohemianism.
Either way, I'm not sure I've broken nearly enough bones to have lived a full life. I'm going to take a lot of care choosing my mistakes.
(Also, like to point out that this has been worded very carefully to not contradict the first ever post that dealt with incredibly similar themes)

I had a scary thought.

A recent need to research that soul Fred Rogers reminded me the nigh cliché point he and many others made that "We are everyone we've met", etc. Which is all very deep, and sparks all those idealist notions of Grand Unification a lá Evangelion. And on a psychological level, this goes along with the thesis that the conscious is composed of experiences, and the thoughts and pre-dispositions hitherto contrived from them.
But I'm a forgetful person.
I can't recognise a single member of my primary school. I have forgotten fairly important people in a matter of months. If I search through my memories of My childhood, I'm met with memories of idiotic moments, of odd jokes and mundane trivia. If our personality is fundamentally composed of our dealings with everyone else, and you forget them and those memories, have you lost a part of yourself?
I managed to qualm my fears with assurances of the power of the subconscious, but then that makes me someone who doesn't know why they are what they are, and how they got there.
But then, it gets worse.
So, if everything impacts us as a person, we go through hundreds, often thousands of social interactions a day. Each one with the potential to mould and change us. So even if we are this amalgamation of half remembered instances, we're never that exact person for more than a few seconds. And we can't even keep track of, or even be remotely aware of what has affected us, and in what way.
And for me, and the majority of people bored enough to be reading this, this is the most vulnerable phases of our developments. Our brains are actively rewiring themselves for adult life.
Just by having a chat with anyone, I could be setting myself up to be a worse person than I could've been.
And on the opposite side of the spectrum, what about extended relationships? Of families, partners, best friends? These connections, incomprehensibly potent and poignant? Do they realise what they're doing, or have done to me? Do I? An argument, an idea, hell, a joke, that's all these people need to radically change me.
And me. Making the somewhat arrogant assumption that I am not completely without charisma, and that I am paid attention, I too am contributing to this constant, manic reworking of Super-Egos.
I sincerely hope I affect positively.

"There's nothing more cosy than having a few restraints to kick up against"

I'm using haikus
To exercise precision
Maybe it will work.

My current constraints
Should focus these abstractions
To something solid.

One final preface
**** Kireji and Kigo
This ain't about that.

I seem to be ill
For I've lost will and resolve
Saudade-itis

Think about Auschwitz
Everyone despises it.
I don't think I do

Maybe I'll explain.
Disgusting horrors occurred
They should be hated.

But the halls, the bricks,
The construct is innocent.
That is how I feel.

It's getting better,
But I need to make my joy.
I've done it before.

Am I living right?
I don't see enough sunsets.
Should I make more too?

I'm scared of slipping.
I'm supposed to go way up.
High stakes, big losses.

If I took a leap
And you caught the moment right
I would be flying.

My corpse is heavy,
But I would sink far further
If it stopped holding.

Through the floors and ground,
Burrow, freefall, descend, sink.
All, so I could be.

I'm drained, depleted.
But I'll make myself human.
I'll do it by force.

Now I've put away
Every nothing I'd conjured
I'm cleansed, Cathartic.

"O Happy, Living Things! NoTongue/ Their Beauty Might Declare:/ A Spring of Love Gushed from My Heart/ And I Blessed them Unaware.

It was a day in July
And I was going through the tedious motions of delivering papers.
I entered a street, and duly took no notice of my drab surroundings, as I circled into a driveway.
And I don't know what it was when I came out
Maybe it was a change in the lighting
Or maybe a change in whatever background music I was listening to
Or a change somewhere else
But as I walked away from the driveway, I noticed how stunning these flowers were.
They were bright, radiant, literally radiant.
They were illuminating everything around them.
The moment was so slow.
I actally stopped walking for a split second, and intook a little.

In a way, I regret this moment ever happened.
Not so much that it did happen, as it was a stunning, poignant one.
But I regret that it had to happen.

In Penny Lane...

I thought there was a "Bar for sharing photographs".
Which I couldn't help but think was a stunning image.
Just the idea of a pub, specifically for whipping out wallets and albums, telling strangers about your kids, whilst he shows you pictures of the time he went to the Grand Canyon.
I just thought it was so fantastically... Rural? a little stereotyped. Quaint? Maybe. Beautiful? Without doubt.
If teaching falls through, or I retire, or something, that's a very strong possibility.
Either way, turns out there was a "Barber sharing photographs". I like my version a bit more.

I should write.

Okay, I know opening a blog post with a comment on how little I write has become somewhat compulsary, but there was a time (This time last year) where I swore it'd be daily.
HAH.
So, let's be frank. Right now, I am indeed in Post-Break-Up-Break-Down. I won't talk about the relationship, as I would get profoundly upset if the reverse were to happen to me, and in the msot modest way possible, this is a blog about me. And considering its obscurity and lack of readers, it's more or less for me, as well.

I'm coping. I've gone past the break up music stage- The Smiths with their cruel honesty, and the bitter irony of poppy Beatles tracks (Although, within the compilations I'm listening to, there is one song, Yesterday, that was hidden amongst the no longer true cries of "She Loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah" perfectly and unexpectedly summed up my entire situation and sentinents, like some kind of empathising shinobi).
I've actually started relistening to a lot of Jonathan Coulton, who is absolutely fantastic, and if you search the iTunes podcast directory, you can download 52 of his tracks for FREE from his "Thing a Week" project, which ranges from the sombre to the surreal. Think Flight of the Concords, except with a lot more experimetation and taking itself seriously more often.

I've only had to see her for two days since the break up (Boxing Day, no less) at school, and we've tried our darnedest to pretend we can't see each other. Or at least I have, and she's just really good at being ignorant or something. It's still difficult. Apparently, she wants to be friends. I'm not sure I can do that, seeing as being around her hurts, as I'm still in Love with her. Except I guess at this point, it becomes creepy, unrequited, weirdo Love. Eugh.

I've been trying to release my misery in the form of jokes that makes everyone around me feeling awkward, like "Man, this work is hard. you know what else is hard? Living after being dumped by the only girl who I've ever really Loved.", which I find completely hilarious, but makes everyone else die a little inside. I think I'll stop soon, as hilarious as it is for me, I don't want being with me to be permanantly associated with uncomfortableness.

I don't think it's coincidence that I'm trying to pick up new hobbies at once now. Bass guitar, more writing, Game creating, documentation by time-lapse-photography, cooking, it goes on. Mid-life crisis and I'm only 17.

Well there it is. Summation of the lowest point in my life, mainly recorded for the sake of looking back in a year or two, and commenting on what a miserable idiot I was. Or maybe clutching a needle in one had, gazing at the screen, weeping and screaming "This is where it started!".

Does this count as selling out?

So, despite the fact this is an unkept blog with barely any page views, got asked to put a link to some screen capture software, in exchange for a license.

Well, alright.

Screen Capture Software
I guess I'll tell you how it goes, could be useful...

But watch this space, I'm planning on writing a few pieces, probably going to be more rant than wandering, got a few burning topics here and there, and I need the practice =\