This Post is in two parts.

One Moment

I'm taking a rare moment of self reflection. Please take the window into my life, and do as you please with it. I'm going to attempt to be as thorough as possible. I apologize if many/all of these facts seem inconsequential. (HA, i didn't even have to use spell check.)

WoW, (world of warcraft), is working again. It gives me hope that the computer is not completely bombed out. Not to mention, it's a very relaxing game. This has comforted me.

Artstrek is tomorrow. On that I have little to say. It is what it is, and its a huge part of my life. Therefore, the lack of excitement/concern i'm feeling is disconcerting. In the end, If i live in the now, it will all work out.

Maybe due to artstrek, I felt very hypersensitive this night. There was a moment where i noticed everything about myself. It was very trippy.

I'm looking for music. I tried Muse, but they're not really hooking me in. I'm sorta disappointed. If you know any good bands, please inform me.

This summer has been very good. There is a lot more human interaction then i'm used to. I feel like i'm changing into a different person. Recently, i looked in the mirror and noticed..... something. Its a slight shift, but it means the world.

I'm worried/resigned about school next year. I feel like my drama teacher is sucking the soul out of me, but i suppose thats just who i am v.s. who she is. I have to be ready to push through and preserver. I'm planning to produce my own little show every month. It may be a challenge, but i feel that if i do it, i'll be a thousand time more secure in my future.

And i wonder about people. You know, you never know yourself. Your image of yourself is marred by self doubt and worry. The people who truly know you, is everyone. They see you, not your diluted self image. But as well as they know you, they don't understand you. Only you understand yourself, because your you. And you struggle trying to understand people, and yourself. But it's very simple. Trust, that you are who you are, and that people do not hide who they are to you. That brings you to the closest you can get to understanding someone, and that allows everyone to understand you, as best they can.

P.S. I'm at artstrek from sun to sun, as such, i'll be writing little baby posts in my journal. They shall be plopped into one mass post on the sunday of my return. (or the monday, i don't quite know which one would be more symmetrical)

The Truth

Is not.

Because no one will admit to it.

Honesty is a tailor.

Suited to an individual.

People are just dams.

Holding back.

Changing what you say.

To what you think.

Making the glossy screen.

Seem to be paradise.

Listening, and telling.

At the same time.

But there is no recluse.

Because, to tell the truth.

To a computer.

Is the same as lying.

In person, With the wrong tone.

The urge to split.

Is beyond any other.

But buckling under the pressure.

is just that.

Breaking.

The soul and mind.

Are just a ship.

Without the push of the sea.

The bottom is the only end.

Hideous, Grotesque and Disgusting. I can only imagine them as beautiful concepts.

I DEEM THIS POST, POSTWORTHY. LOOK DOWN, AND READ.

Forgive Me, Luke, For I am your Father

I, Graham Phillips, stand trial for two grievous sins, that hurt my soul and my face.

First, I have not upheld a solemn oath, to post every day of summer, and for that, i am truly sorry. However, This problem is easily rectified. I'm posting now. That makes up for it. I win.

Second, I have look upon another performers work, and i have scorned it. These performers offer there art, in blessed innocents, wanting no more then the pure unfettered adoration of the audience. Looking upon this gift, this offering, this idea of beauty and love, I have spit on it. Not openly, I have some polite urges left within my stomach. But, none the less, I understand the shoes of critic, and what a pain it is to walk in them.

Now, i think this poetic confession counts as a post. Hmmm, if only there were some way to measure if something was post worthy. If only i had some sort of moderator, someone who understood the criteria of this blog, the point, if you will. Something like a creator, who, by knowing the original purpose behind the blog, could therefore validate the validity of a post. Someone like...... Oh, right, Me.

I DEEM THIS POST, POSTWORTHY. NOW GO ABOVE AND READ ON!!!!!

More Writing, THIS TIME WITH 50% MORE STRUCTURE

The man sat in the lounge, with a cigarette in his mouth. He was, what you would call an average man, short dark brown hair, slightly over weight, around forty. He was dressed like every other tourist, beige shorts, with a floral shit. His eyes stood out, not for there color, which was a light brown, but because they flickered nervously around the room. The room was simple, and unassuming, with three black leather chairs in a row, a counter facing them, and a door beside the counter. No tables with outdated magazines, no sickly potted plants, this room implied business and didn't disappoint. Across the counter, the secretary, a man, dressed in a suit and tie, despite the heat, worked studiously.

Breaking the silence, a phone rang shrilling in the room. With practised ease, the secretary answered in smooth spanish. The tone of his voice immediately turned from pleasant to hushed apprehension, as he glanced nervously at the man, sitting across the room. Hanging up, the secretary got up awkwardly, and gestured towards the door.

"Ms. Hovetais will see you now", he said in rough english, "last door on your right"

The man gave a brief smile to the secretary and quickly went through the plain wooden door. He found himself in a hallway with full-wall windows on his left. Outside, he could see rocky shores, and the brilliant blue ocean. Keeping a quick pace, he went to the end of the hallway, and knocked gently on the last door.

A cold voice answered "Come in, Mr. Stevens" in clean, unaccented english.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, Mr. Steven opened the door to a spartan office. The only defining feature was a large wooden desk and a chair that was before it. On the other side of the desk, Ms. Hovetais sat. Her striking red hair contrasted with her leather outfit. White walls, carpet, and roof, seemed to close in on Mr. Steven.

Crushing his smoke on the floor, Mr. Stevens sat, his eyes still flickering around the room. "Can you tell me why the hell I'm here?", he asked, his voice tight.

"Here?" she asked innocently, one eyebrow arched, "I thought you would have already figured that out". She stood from her chair, and the cold edge began to creep into her voice. "You have been sent to me because you can't seem to respect your countries wishes. Your nation wants you to remain silent, and you refuse to comply. After three tries, you get a more serious punishment" Smiling, she told him, "That would be my department"

Mr. Steven sighed nervously, and stared at her. "Look, the citizens of America have every right to know what there government does. I shouldn't be put on trial for telling the people-".

Putting on an innocent face, Ms. Hovetais chided him gently, "But, Mr. Stevens, this isn't a trial" Reaching under the desk, she pulled out a black pistol, and pointed it at his head. "This is a sentence" Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, putting a round into Mr. Steven's head. Blood, bone and brain splattered the door behind him, as his body slumped in his chair.

Placing the gun on the desk, Ms. Hovetais reached into her pocket and pulled out a celled phone. With one click, she brought it to ear and said, "Problem solved, Mr. President. Mark Stevens was tragically killed in mugging during his vacation in Spain" Her voice dripping with sarcasm, she added, "A tragedy, I know"

An introduction to Mr. Shnuffle Pop

Mr. Shnuffle Pop is a being that lives in the sewers and collects information on people who don't want to be known about. He is very successful in business, and advertises on every u-pipe he can find. He doesn't keep records of costumer interaction, Mr. Shnuffle Pop prefers to handle each transaction as a clean slate. So, if one of your meetings with him doesn't go to plan, fear not.

Mr. Shnuffle Pop is around the size of a baseball. He has two antenna which end in orbs. He is covered in a close shaven fuzz, often coloured in dark greens. He has two terrible eyes and one oversized mouth. Mr. Shnuffle Pop has a pair of rather stubby legs, which he only uses for meetings between clients. When traversing the pipes, he uses bodily ocsilationary organs that propel him. This gives his skin a disturbing crawling feature. It is rumoured that he has a retractable pair of claws. This claim has only been brought forth once, by Ms. Winters, a witness of a Mr. Shnuffle Pop "incident". Apparently, slime covered arms no thicker then pipe cleaners, can extend from his side, with claws about the size of Mr. Shnuffle Pop himself. These claws are very sharp and very dangerous, as told by Ms. Winters.

To organize a meeting, all is required is $20, in change or bills, and a full understanding of the proceedings. Mr. Shnuffle Pop is a very patient being, and will allow for 5 infractions to be broke before he refuses the current business transaction. 10 infractions will cause him to terminate you. Unfortunately, Mr. Shnuffle Pop does not advertise the the proper proceedings, as he would consider this impolite. As such, all meetings do have a slight risk factor.

A person need only send the $20 down the drain, and between the hours of 1am-3am, Mr. Shnuffle Pop will crawl up from the drain in which the money was inserted. He will wait if you are not present, for a maximum of 30 seconds. If you do not arrive within those 30s, he will keep you money and leave. Once you are present, the timer begins. Mr. Shnuffle Pop organizes 5 min sessions. The first minute is for the discussion of pleasantries, and other subjects. After the first minutes, you may ask any question that is within his right to answer. At the end of the 5 minutes, Mr. Shnuffle Pop will leave without hesitation.

So, call Mr. Shnuffle Pop. Gather information that you never thought you needed. Mr. Shnuffle Pop will give you polite service at a rate no one can beat.

Broken pieces of my mind

If you don't exercise your right to think differently, then you never will.

Muse is just word. It's the idea that matters.

Brilliance isn't a thought. It's a natural reaction.

Who am I? It's a better question then, Who are you?

Beyond illness, is a place where the broken wander perfect, but forever flawed. Where tragedy is a state of being. Where beauty is non-exixtant, and pain is common place. Everything is horrific, thus stopping it from being. Everything is a pale shade of green, and nothing is clouded. The world is clear in it unhappiness. Hope doesn't exist, thus making it unnecessary. It is not hell because it is not punishment. It's merely sadness, and all it entails.

White is a canvass. It's nothing until acted upon and then it is what it is. Black is everything, while being nothing. It's an idea waiting to be thought.

Beauty is neither good, nor evil. It is pure devotional neutrality.

This is not a question, because it has no answer.

Sound is universal.

Odd. Crystals mean calm, despite any other persons opinion.

Questionaire

1. Have you ever wanted to sleep in the middle of the day? Why?

2. Whens the last time you thought about purple? If just now, Why haven't you been?

3. True or False: I relate more to plants then a mannequin

4. What frightens you? Describe the reason.

5. If you had to choose between a rainy night, or a snowy dawn, which would you pick?

6. Look up. Describe what you see.

7. Are you flexible? Do you think you are?

8. How often do you change your printers ink?

9. Please describe your recovery method when you are ill with the common cold.

10. Whats you view on technology? good, evil, necessary?

11. What is your first thought when you hear the word, "Cellar"?

12. If you saw an apple with a bite taken out of it, what would your reaction be?

13. True or False: My hair is a point of concern every few days.

14. What is your most prominent physical habit? (ei. I crack the lowest knuckle on my left hand every 5-10 min.)

15. Have you ever felt the desire to break something? What, and why?

16. Your opinion on orange street lamps.

17. Your current opinion on this questionnaire.

18. Your reaction to that last question.

19. Use question 18 as the answer for, "Did that bunny harm you?". Did you find that humorous?

20. What do you think this quiz is evaluating?

Please answer in incomplete sentences. You will be graded according to a first come, first serve bases, crossed with an alphabetical cataloging. Best of luck, I intend to see you all again next year.

Continuation

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P.S. something that just happened.

I appear to have become too old for random, nonchalant, flirting. Every time i do something or say something that is totally over the top, and completely absurd, (in the flirting department), everyone feels the need to tell me that they have an existing relationship. Either people think thats the way i actually flirt, or i'm desperate enough to believe that might actually work.

Silly people.

Writing

Picture a dark night atop a hill. Nothing, but pitch black in every direction, the wind gently tugging at you. Now, see a light blossom in the distance. It's casts an orange glow, and you quickly gather it's a street light. While you were focusing on that single light, another sprung into existence near it. Soon, hundreds of light begin appearing, varying from an almost red-ish hue, to clean white florescent. Within minutes, you are standing on a lightless hill, surrounded by illumination. They shine so bright that they stain the sky, making the once mysterious night both safe and undesirable. The wind has picked up, and now pulls at you wildly. Picture now, that you are kite, flying over the hill. The wind above the hill is now like gravity to you. It's pull, although rough and buffering, is what sustains you. You are caught between two worlds, the sky and the earth. Before you can adjust to the wild wind, your string is cut. The dark hill that lay below you now twists and tumbles in your vision. The wind is leading out from under that patch of black, and into the ten thousand lights. You are out of control, veering into an orange nightmare.

Please now go to youtube or itunes, and listen to the song, 15 step by Radiohead. While listening, think of the veering kite over the glowing city.

I have always had this image in my head, about this song. Atop of nose hill, seeing all the city alight. I thought i'd share that with you, and try my hand at writing in the same instance.

Thank you.

DAMN!!!

I missed yesterday. Which makes me a fail. Thats why i'm writing this in the morning, so it almost counts as writing it yesterday. Also, to make up for the lack of post, today will be particularly non-sensical.

(lights up)

(The scene is a fast food restaurant. John is sitting in a corner, wit ha burger and a notepad, crying.)

(enter Sally)

S: What wrong?

J: I'm suppose to be writing a comedy

S: What?

J: But i'm crying so it won't work

S: Um, why are you crying?

J:Because of.... her.....

S: Oh, sweetie, are you having girl problems?

J: Oh, god yes. She said..... she said.....

S: Yes?

J: HAVE NICE TIME AT WENDYS!!!!! (breaks down in to hysterical sobbing)

S: ....... is wendy another girl?

J: No, it's here. The restaurant. Wendys.

S: why are you sad about that?

J: Well, it means.... you know, that.... and she....... I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!!

S: Alright..... i was just trying to help....

J: LEAVE ME ALONE, WICHY WOMEN!!!!

S: Whatever...... Psycho.....

(Sally exits)

(John stares dejected into space, then realization shows on his face. He begins writing furiously.)

TADA!!!!!!

Any good? Sorta weird. Get over it, this is my blog.

On a side note, Life is really good. Isn't it really awesome when your slightly worried over something, and it turns out that the worry wasn't necessary, because the something turned out marvellously?

CYALL!!!! until later today.