4-28-03-Today is the day that is not tomorrow
Actually, every day is that day, but who’s counting. The printer is evil, run by things os evil, and produces only evil. Black splotchy evil all over the wonderfully Green papers, symbolizing the jungle of Heart of Darkness. By Joseph Conrad. Should of put that in italics, because it is a title of a book. That really peeves the AP graders, if you leave the title without significance. I’d better not do that. Mhm. No I musn’t. And I should use real words. But on to the day.

Of course, even in a new paragraph I’ll complain about the same old thing. Except the black smudges are on the other side. You’d think I’d be able to spell black right on the first try, but no-o-o-o-o. I can’t even do that. Such a sad state. But it might be because I’m typing while standing up, which makes things quite a bit harder. Especially leaning over a chair like I am doing. But oh, well. A word is still a word, no matter how badly it’s misspelled. Or even if it’s unrecognizable. Now to something new.

All done. Oops. Same topic. Changing. . .now. Pink. Why does pygmalion have to be pick? For that matter, why does the German Honor Society(Deutsche Ehrenverbindung) certificate have to be yellow? Why is anything any color? What if they all changed, then were would we be? Imagine life if the colors of everything shifted every twenty four hours. The lines at stores would just get longer, with everyone waiting for a new color. And discrimination would disappear as we know it. Of course, it would be confusing. But can’t we all just get along?
The new world. Old type.

Boom-Boom boom-boom, BOOM. Soundtrack. BOOM. In the background. Being played forward onto the listing eyes and seeing ears of a reader. Or at least onto a piece of paper with writing, whether or not it is read, comprehended, or simply used as glorified fire starter. That’s all so many books are, glorified fire starter. You pay ten, twenty, thirty(Harry Potter 5 will be going for almost thirty dollars, the highest priced children’s book ever) dollars for a stack of paper, and in the end, sometimes all it is good for is burning. The society of flame. The Zoroastrians worshiped the fire around them. They’re almost all gone now. Boo-hoo. And so-on and so-forth.

Nearly as many words as there are ideas in a simple statement. But usually the words win. But sometimes the ideas do. And sometimes you wish, whatever the outcome, that it was reversed. Particularly if you’re betting on the other choice. Of course, if you’re betting on the ration of words to ideas in a piece of writing, you probably have a gambling problem, and need to seek professional help immediately. Speaking of gambling, it’s illegal to operate gambling over the internet within the United States. And there should be an all Chess channel. Chess matches, chess tips, chess TV shows. Imagine the Sit-com: The Chess Bunch. Or the epic film: “The Brothers Chessamesov.” Or maybe the mini-series: “Chess, the Final Frontier.” Or maybe not.

Too much money for other people. Too much to be had. Not enough to be lost. Not enough to be used. Oh, well.

Nothing worth noting is happening within my detection distance. Elsewhere it might, but not here. Schade. No King George for me. If I could speak with someone, located on the other side of the crystal mirror, I may know more about now than I do. But someone has not shown herself, and so the mirror shows only what I place on it, and no more. Soon, maybe, I shall get what I want. But not now. Maybe it will be that I shall return. Soon to know.

Now I know. But not long will it be. Sleep too does Yoda need. Read what he wrote, Yoda does not. Know what he says, he does, btu not why he says it. Away now I go. The day to end soon it will. A new page, appeared has. The end of the sentence this is. Remember, nothing to remember is there. No, there is another. Yes, sleep I need.

4-27-03-Day that is
This is that day that is, at its infancy. Soon it will grow, and become a day like any other. But not now. Now it is only a shadow of what it will be, and what it was, if each day is perennial. Other wise it is here now, but never before, nor ever again. And it is too be used to the best of each man’s ability.

HOD character profiles. A whole lot of fun.

Spirited Away is the best movie. It is unimaginable. Nothing should be that entertaining, but it is. It could almost be called pathetic, the number of times it will be watched, but no one will bother, because they too will be glued to their screens. It is slightly confusing, but beyond that, wonderful.

Reading, writing, playing, listening, all the bases are covered, and covered completely. Though the reading is weird, the writing is random, the playing is sporadic, and the music is wonderful. Joe Hiashi has something going for him. Mainly his talent. The weekend is soon to be over, leaving all this free time to rot in its own lack of existence. More on this later.

Phone calls, e-mails, and IMs across the board. Not much to say, but so many ways to say it. This is what society has become? Though it is rather fun, depending on with who you are communicating. These many media create the something or other. My train of thought was dynamited(not by cows) between the word the and something, so it is an incoherent sentence structure.

Sometimes(more often than not) life can throw surprises and curves to you, and you never know how to react. Sometimes their good, sometimes their bad, but always powerful. When you sit there, completely unsure of how to respond to somebody, you probably just got hit by a curve, but it may take many months for it to have any influence on your life.

Late is the hour that is now. So many of my paragraphs have to do with time. That’s rather funny, is it not? I write about the days, about the final minutes of the day, about every second and every moment that is within a certain block of time, sometimes without evening meaning to. So it’s now a good time to speak of something besides time.

Now then. Did you say you were going to Grand Central? No? I’m terribly sorry, I must have misheard you. No where did you want to go? Grand Central. Right. Now then. Do you have any parcels you would like to place in the boot, or are you carrying everything? You have it all? Jolly good then. Do you want the faster or safer route to Grand Central? You’re not going to Grand Central. My mistake. Where are you going to? The train station. Very well than, which one? The big one. Right. Does this ‘big one’ have a name? You can’t remember. Oh, you’ve got it now? Okay then, to Grand Central we’ll go. Fast or safe? Safe it is. The meter’s running. If I talk to much, just let me. . .yes, we’re going to Grand Central. You’re train’s not at Grand Central? Well, jolly were is it then? Here let me see you’re ticket. Right-o. It appears you’re riding the train Rigoletto out of the Grand Opera House. Jolly good. You know what? If you get out now, I won’t charge you for the ride to here. Smart move ole chap.

So there you have it. On to the end of now, and the beginning of the future, world without end. Will you look at that. Three-thousand and sixty-six words. Not counting this, o landy. Right. What I say not do is what to do you should be in the process of completing. I have no idea what I just said, so you better not do it. The End. Th-a-a-a-t’s all folks!

4-26-03-The next day
It’s actually tomorrow already. When you spend 16 3/4 hours with anyone person, you end up with little time to write anything. It’s like trying to hold the rain between the fingers of your open hand. Garage Sales, Breakfast, Garage Sales, Computer games, lunch, ever after, church, Holes. Lot’s of stuff, no more time. All is done. So here ends the day that never really was within these pages.

I think I have no made it possible for you to comment on this Blog, should you so choose. I hope. Maybe I just transfered my life savins to the Canadian Society for the Support of Loons. Either, way, it's all good.

4-25-03-This day
This day will be short for it is nearly over. Only three more minutes remain in this amount of time that we have classified as a day. Now only two. When these two minutes pass, the day will be no more, and this date will pass into history, as moment that once was, but can no longer be viewed. This is the paradox of time. It is always there, always moving, but can never be truly looked at. One minute. When ever you stop to observe it, it slips right past, and waits for no man. If you try to capture time, you will fail. It won’t be kept, and it won’t stand still. Trying to watch time is like trying to hold the rain between your

4-24-03-Moments notice of a second thought
Why, in all Greek related words, is f written as ph? It makes no logical sense, or even unlogical sense. It is helpful, though. If a word has a ph instead of an f, you know it’s origin is almost positively Greek. And this sentence has nothing to do with the paragraph by which it is surrounded. English is confusing enough without messed up Greek to help it along.

This is a day in which I did not miss CSI.

So much to say, so little to say it with. Or to. Or some such. The mind is a well spring of thought bearing on idea, and is untapped and wasted for most of a life, at almost every waking hour. Few people attempt to use their brains to their fullest potential, often attempting not to use their brains at all. Some things never change, some things must.

He hit him. No provocation. Or so he said. Of course he was lying. Otherwise, he would be telling the truth. And he couldn’t. Or at least wouldn’t. Or so they said. But they were lying. He told them the sky was blue. They couldn’t believe it. He said something that was true. They didn’t know what to do. This is what she told me. Flabbergasted, they said he was still lying. But he wasn’t. Or so she said. She must be lying. But they say she wasn’t. They say she new what the other they were doing perfectly. And she wasn’t lying. So he hit them. All of them. Or so they said. They weren’t lying. But he had provocation. They all knew that. Or so he said. And he couldn’t be lying. Because the sky was blue. Or so everyone said. Everyone never is lying. Or so I thought. . .

A time it is to turn away, to thoughts anew another day, and bring the song of the soul, to work itself on a different whole, with words and thoughts and ideas and views, all telling a tale full of what is not true, an interesting twist to an unknown tale, brought forth from behind the vale. No more rhyme. Too much rhyme! It must stop, and it is now done.

What is humor? Is it a failed attempt to create a non-hostile environment, or is it something else? I doubt it’s the first, because that was no more than a random conglomeration of words, with hardly a thought to unite them. Cough-cough. I have a cough. It disrupts my writing, but it makes for interesting conversation interrupters or school agitators. What is it with the ending rupter? It has a meaning somehow related to breaking down or lack of unity, but it is more(and less) than that. It suppose it shall wait for the scholars.

It is quite unpleasant to wound oneself while eating. Being tabbed with a fork, chocking on a cookie, spilling burning food on yourself, all unpleasant. Particularly painful is burning the roof of your mouth, because it hurts for a long time, and every time you move your tongue(in such moments as speech or swallowing). Or at least that’s how I feel at the moment.

Classical piano has made its return debut to by CD player, having possibly played there before, but is nothing heard at any recent time. It is joined by a live recorded concert of DC talk, in addition to a movie symphony soundtrack, as well as Japanese English soundtrack. Of all these, none is more noisy than the one that is currently playing. And so ends the response to sound. Or so I said.

4-23-03-Sometime in the present
Videos can go missing at the most inconvenient times. Like when they’re needed for a school project. I could try to fake it. I’m not sure what it is, though. It hardly matters, because it won’t change matters. It’s hard to combine school and life together in one functional unit. Math, government projects, master works reviews, author papers, A.P. tests, youth ledge, scribblings, et al.

Is it possible to make time slow down when you’re having fun like when it does when you’re bored? If you concentrate on every noise, every sight, every single second of every moment, can you slow time. This method would be effective in making your fun times last longer, as well as greatly improving concentration with certain things, as well as improving your ability to preform the inverse, to concentrate fully on one thing, and to void all other distractions. This would be helpful particularly in school and test situations, with other applications at the office.

Why do you put a person’s name at the beginning of a letter you’re writing to them? It’s not like they don’t know their own name, or need to be reminded you know it. Besides, it just wastes ink and space, and sometimes can mean life or death. If a doctor needs to order a medicine for a very sick patient, do you think he writes ‘Dear Fred’ at the top of the order? No, he just says "Give me six ounces of Phile-tethra-cobil-amine-or-triphostrust-coaligrane-trust-phund-bi mostlate.’ And Fred sends him six ounces of PTCAOTCTPBM and the patient survives. If the doctor had said the pharmacists name, the patient would have died, and all for a name. For what’s in a name? A rose by any other name feels as sharp, and has the same number of bees. But night is in full swing, and the darkness calls, for night is a time of slumber, and to slumber shall I bring myself, and no more be functional in the waking real. I bid you, a good night.