5-10-03-Not much today
Lots of work to be done, not much typing. Leaving. Tomorrow. Ten. Early. Must be ready before then. Or I won’t be ready.

The question of informal vs formal has once again come up. It seems that everyone is sufficiently vague in this area, and what ever one person considers good enough, there is always another that believes it far below the set par. Now I have to figure out what exactly I’m supposed to be wearing in all occasions. Or at least this one.

I want to be able to bamf. It would be the coolest thing, and imagine the fun you could have with it. If someone was irritating, through a collective series of techniques, you could drive them completely insane. Things appear, the disappear, they move around. People come and go, sometimes in an instant, voices say things from all around the room. They go insane.
Definitely a good movie, worth every second.

Things are different, surprises are always the same. No matter what happens, a surprise is always unexpected, and can lead to changes in every direction. Thus, when a surprise happens that is bordering on expected, the change can be even more drastic, because nothing was done to interfere with the expected surprise.

The seconds are rapidly sliding to a close. This day will end, and there will only be a small amount of tomorrow in existence to receive the remainder of the times thoughts. For two days, no thoughts will be recorded, or at least none within this medium. A mock session of the 42nd state’s legislatures will be occurring, as well as a test on the understanding of psychological principals and ideas. This will occupy a majority of the remaining time.

Officially, this day is over, but I won’t end it until I go to sleep, and my mind considers it a new day. So today is both the 10th and the 11th of May. But it will soon breakdown it to only the 11th, and the 10th will be no more. I love the little superscript things on numbers, like the th in 4th, the st in 1st, the nd of 22nd, the rd of 3rd. In the end though, they mean little.

5-9-03-Early for a Friday
I’m home, the computer’s mine, so there is actually words here already, and it’s only five thirty-four. Actually, it should be there are not there is. It’s not my fault. I blame it on the keypad, for being bad.

Now I’m returned, for I had left. I have now seen X-men, and have to say it was a very well but together movie. Nothing about it seemed out of place, and the characters all were within the parameters set out by the creators of the comic books. Through and through, the movie makes sense, the characters have depth, and the special effects are outstanding. A highly noteworthy film.

Just you wate, ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wate. The phonetic spelling of this phrase would be far more complicated, and out of the reach of the font used in this document, though symbols could be imported for certain values, such as ë, or Ç, or À, or Ì. Nothing beats a day spent trying to understand a new phonetic alphabet.

Surprises may be said within these hallowed(or is it hollowed?) pages. One never knows when the next word moo will not be what was expected, or if the next sentence will speak of what the last one did, something unrelated, or something wonderfully surprising. I always spell sentence with an a. If one enters a state of random thought, random writing will miss the point.

Short paragraphs. Lots of them. Here’s one more, shorter than all of the others combined. Even shorter when they’re separate.

I imagined an Irish accent with that last paragraph. It seems to be here too, laddie. I don’t know what’s causing it, but it’s making writing very weird, because I know, no I don’t, but I hear what I’m saying differently than how I would say it, and in an accent that I can’t actually speak, but apparently I can think it. Accents are funny that way. Most people can think of all sorts of accents, from British, to Souther, to Japanese, to Irish, but they are unable to actually speak the words they way they are thinking them, only the way they have always spoken them, for all their years.

So now comes to a close a final day, and English within has not to improve yet. We cry not, for we care not. It’s all a mess, and nothing is best, so I’ll shoot for the moon. I can’t even remember what the last sentence said, much less the idea behind it, so I figure it is nearing the time of day(really night), when one must stop what one has been doing, and move on to what one should and will soon be doing. Guten Nacht.

A note on the following post:
It was interesting deciding whether or not to include the first paragraph(which I did include) because it is actually about me in a literal sense, not just about what thoughts flow through my brain. It was kind of odd, actually presenting the honest to goodness past here.

5-8-03-Like a chat
Meg’s here, so I must go, but return shall I. It’s not often that I write such a short paragraph offset by nothing but a lack of idea, time, and spelling. It’s always the spelling, isn’t it? That’s what I thought.

Physics is not fun. It’s not too hard, though. Mainly I have to deal with stupid calculations and stuff from Chemistry. Oh, joy. My thoughts exactly. Well, duh, you wrote them. I did? Of course, who else would have? You? Well, sure I did too, but I am you. You are? Yep. I didn’t know that. That’s sad. Why? Oh, you’re pathetic. Didn’t you just insult yourself there? Did I? If I’m pathetic, and I’m you, then you’re pathetic. Oops.

Now my calculator do I have, and the final parts of physics can I do. Soon to be done with homework will I be, though much projects remain. School is not of the fun class. And my English isn’t really.

To die, to wake, and to never pass a breath. What was done, will be forgotten, and what has never happened, will be invented and remembered. A shadow of a poet, a playwright, author of renown. Nothing known, nothing gained, and none to loose. All was lost before it was began. Another time, to try. But not here, not now. Never more to be again.

That was almost something like Shakespeare. I referenced him there too. It was hidden, though. Not really, but that’s always a good thing to say. Well, at least it can never hurt your position. Or not too. Depends on my mood. Or lack there of. Off to the days.

Vector diagrams for electricity is evil. I’m still complaining about physics. I’ll move on, eventually. Not know though. Maybe now though. But you don’t know that time has passed. Nyahh!

Random thought hour: Who knows what the frogs do when you’re not looking? They could be planning something akin to world domination, and we would be clue less. Actually, that should be one word.

Things are going out, running down, sliding away. The end of the day has past, and it truly is no longer the eighth of May. The day is more in limbo than solidified. And so it goes, sliding away, slipping down and out, far, far, and to be gone.

5-7-03-Late start
It’s already past nine when this section of writing was begun, and that is late for a Wednesday. “Where truth is lacking, politics fills the gap.” I finally remember that quote. I tried to remember it each time I watched the movie, but each time it eluded my grasp. It is very relevant to any and all occurrences. Well, not all, but it is for a lot of them.

Yellowstone isn’t among the top five national parks visited in the United States. Each of those must then receive more than one million visitors per year. The question then is, are they more visited because more people live within easy access, because they attract those just passing through as a sight for a short stop, or because they truly are liked better. If a survey was taken of National parks as planned destinations of trips, Yosemite, Yellowstone, and a couple of others would top the list.

Is writing solely for the purpose of writing, or is it to convey ideas, relieve stress, get something out of your system, or snort to be irritating? Most people write because they have thoughts and ideas within themselves, and either want to get them out on paper so they can begin to stop thinking about them, or so that others can begin to think about them. The purpose of writing is not to write, but to communicate. Writing that fails to communicate is no more than a random conglomeration of letters that came together with no purpose.

I have spelled something wrong who knows how many times. Almost always, I omit the e from some. The word some really should be pronounced like soom, but instead it’s pronounced like sum. The pronunciation of the English language is quite complex. The th in then is pronounced differently than the th is thin. One is voiced, the other isn’t. Sooner or later the language will simplify itself, but not for many years.

What I write is what I say. Or say I say. I am almost to eighteen-hundred words in this week, and no more to the better, but no worse than before. It could almost be a statement of a lack of ideal, or a lack of intent to say what can be said in better words not found within this document. But it follows more of the lines of free to lack the grammar that is correct. It makes writing easier, though those who must read, whether for pleasure, as required reading, or as a sleeping aid for insomniacs, get lost far quicker than those(who is only one) who write.

Eighteen-twenty-five.

Not much happened then. No big wars, nothing special. Andrew Jackson was president, I think. Or maybe it was Madison. Or Adams. But whoever it was, they didn’t do anything important that year. Nothing important happened that year. Maybe somebody who was going to become important was born, but nothing notable then.

I’m waiting, and seeing nothing. Time for another pair of calenders. Verse and Latin. Maybe I should make an Asor calender for future years. Hmm. . . interesting idea. That deserves more consideration, as do other homemade calender ideas. It’s a cool picture of a couple of mountains in the background with a tiny waterfall occupying the fore. And the other speaks of ethics, or moral philosophy, of something that should be cut and dried, but is being cut up into tiny pieces to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, who then has the choose of doing what with them they please, whether it be keep them functional, or to rearrange all the parts into some twisted and mutated form of the original.

No one else will be within here. Few will be without. Few means less than normal, but only because there are less than normal total. Hectic running around, getting everything ready, still must get more ready. That had nothing to do with what was done. Oh, well. So fun. It hardly matters. Actually, it doesn’t matter at all. So sad.

Um. . .do I post here for no reason? Also, do I actually post here? I'm curious as to whether or not a figmant of imagination can actually do more than pretend to imagine posting. . . yeah.