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Some thoughts


 At the beginning of school every teach or tutor gives each student a textbook and a syllabus. These things are now your world. The syllabus is your guide in every quest, and your textbook is the handbook to each of these events. This is your challenge. 

Many teachers just give you a text book out of pity since they know the guide in your quest is really detailed and the handbook is simply there for moral support and small 10 point quizzes that could boost your grade in the event your paper was not well researched. Other teachers will stick so closely to the textbook they forget altogether the guide was every there, and change their mind about how much work to give over the 1 day break, sending endless email chains to confused students. Till we all give up and come to class with different work completed, or none at all. 

What I’ve found is you must give yourself time away from this craziness and relax in order to get anything done at all, since agonizing over it will get you to anxiety attacks and unproductive all nighters. 

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My Funeral


I have this fantasy now and then about what my funeral would be like. I have asked people if they also fantasize about this, but it seems not many people do it as often as I do. 

It’s not that I want to be dead, or that I have an extreme interest in things pertaining to, associated, and related to death, but I do have an interest in the psychological idea of death. The philosopher’s analysis of death is very good, and I have found through much research in new and old texts whilst writing that mortality does have a meaning. It is not simply a curse or a new cycle of reincarnation (recycling back into mulch and outwards again.) nor is it a form of elimination to support evolutionists idea of survival of the fittest; mortality is all about moving on, living fully, and know if we all lived forever, what would it matter? 

So what does it matter? That I will die, at a time where I will most likely be unprepared to die, my financial life will be a mess, and my last testament will most likely be written in an old diary from 8th grade. What does it matter that I could die tomorrow or not for 80 years? What does it matter that I think about my death, my mortality, my shelf life, my expiration date. 

It matters because I am not living life avoiding my death. It matters because, I don’t say: “Yolo”, I say “I live once because living forever is meaningless, so I should make my small meaning especially perplexing, influencing and beautiful. ”  I’ve been thinking about my own funeral everyday for a while now. How I want it to be, what the flowers will look like, what kind of decoration there will be, if I will insist people dress in rainbow or as animals or not… whether I want to be cremated or buried. If coffinated, will it be open? Will my mother die before or after me? What will my friends say? Who will cry the most at the altar? Who will throw a fit and punch my xboyfriends? I have questions. 

Many Questions. 

Here is a list of what I think I want:

Decor:

All flowers will either be rainbow, or black. 

Chairs should be more like movie seats. 

Pictures of me should be posted better than on poster board… 

The podium should have vines all over it.

people: 

Attendees should either wear all white, all Rainbow, or if preferable, black. 

ushers are encouraged to wear rainbow. 

Service: 

The service itself should be filled with what other people have to say about who I was, telling many stories, and presenting different items of writing/art/music that I liked or created. My family should have last words. 

None of my xes are aloud to speak. (unless they rock)

Burial

undecided. 

If forcefully buried, coffin should be gratified so should grave. Please give me art on my place of “rest”. 

 

 

I don’t believe that heaven arrival happens immediately after death… so I will just chill with Aristotle and Plato a tad… maybe have a chat with Parmenides and Heraclitus.

…Guess What?


I discovered that Spotify is AMAZING and keeps me from actually studying (and I thought Face Book was bad, doesn’t even come close to the addictiveness of Spotify.)

I found a million new bands that are now some of my new favorites. Such as: Iced Earth, Vampire Weekend, Delain, Skrillix, Nero, and Die Antwoord. All of them very different, I mean, Skrillex and Nero are similar, but Iced Earth and Delain though both rock/metal are totally different styles. Die Antwoord… South Africa never seemed more foreign then when you watch their music video (SCARY STUFF GOES DOWN!!).  I’m never going back from Spotify its beautiful.

All I really have to say right now about the world is this:

IT IS SUPER CRAZY OUT THERE! THEY WILL EAT YOU!

I am also super confused because Mr. Teacher is coming down hard in Classic Lit this year. The class should actually be titled: Theology, Sex Ed, and why old guys are horny.

Yeah.. fun. My brain is just about as confused as yours is.

Something good has happened to me though that has nothing to do with the above!! I am now a runway model for a small show for recycling clothes! I am meeting with my designer tomorrow after school. I am going to miss nap time yet again.. poor me. (naptime 3:30-5:00 meeting her at 4:30..) Don’t you peeps call me a baby… everyone needs cat naps.. they are good for you if you are me and decide to text until you are so awake you cant sleep…I gotta stop texting my insomniac friends…

On to other more important things other than retaining my mental health with sleep… I have more guy problems.. YAY……@#*&%…. If you reference my guy list 2 posts before this, you will see 2 names in the lover column: FRIZZINTriviumNoise and The Bastard. Frizz is super sweet and amazing, (cool metal head guy that might even read this..idgaf..) The Bastard is as titled. (You can probably see my problem already.) He’s asking the wrong questions we will go with that. And the third name you should look for in the sons column: Hold’emtight. He’s my new best guy friend. Lets just say….we gonna be seeing a lot of each other outside of school. (uh huh)

Yeah that was probably WAY too much information.. but this is my personal blog so guess you peeps just gonna have to deal…

Have a nice life, even though its probably gonna end badly. (there is no hope for humanity sorry optimists.)


My name

The legitimate meaning of my name Zany is crazy. See: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/zany

So you see, it must be true.

I’m going to be baby sitting two adorable boys in an hour, hopefully gonna get free pizza.

Anyways, I dedicated a long sentimental post on Face Book for all my friends that have been there for me in the past years especially in the past months.

I’ve been forcing myself to write terrible poetry in the last couple of days, maybe something good will come of it, I’m thinking of writing more today and tonight. Most of them are things titled “Tear” or “Guilt” or “its 1 am and I’m crying for no reason and people wont stop texting me”…. yeah you get the picture.

I think I might try actually finishing a short story or two before the summer is over. I’m not sure how good they will be, (probably awful) and most likely about gay teenagers or zombie teenagers. Those are actually two topics I write about the most…other than fan-fiction… shhh!!

I know, I know, you want to kill people, just write about it instead. Please.


My Chemical Romance, no matter how much that proves that they are ingenious musicians, there is no way to disprove that they are obsessed with death and destruction of everything breathing…. But, I still love them just as much. Even though they are psychotic, but who do you think is writing? I am definitely not all right. “I’m not okay, (I promise)” Best MCR song EVER!

So its been 12 days since I wrote that. I’m slacking in my commitment to this blog. Majorly slacking.

In the past hour, and few days, I’ve been very…well pissed off about my schools regulations on “proper forms of affection”. I do not think that being a couple, or love struck teenager, is a sin that could damn me and my signficant other to hell. I believe the opposite. That, when in love, though there be restrictions according my beliefs, those are over come by marriage which is the union of goodness. Not damnation.  This is risky for me to write, since one of my teachers has knowledge of this site. But, there is such thing as speaking one’s mind without being rude, but I am not well versed in that. Too bad.

My interest in Zombies, is declining with a sad and ungrateful noise. And my love for Aliens is now that I have become one in many ways to my peers.

Snitches. I call them snitches even though that probably isn’t the correct term for someone who complains of being uncomfortable around the hidden hormones of their friends, when really it is their own hormones they are uncomfortable with. The power of hormones is unstoppable, the public school is still trying to hide this despite of it’s blatantly obviousness in their halls.

My fashion sence has disappeared with the rules that constrict me. I am now submitting to the sad place where fashion becomes knife earings.

Whats dead is dead, we learned this from Mary Shelly


I was very frustrated because I typed the equivalent of three pages of blog post and it all got deleted with an accidental push of some unknown button that sent me back three tabs.  My fingers suck.

You know how I’m obsessed with Zombies and Aliens? Well, I stumbled upon this blogger that named her blog “Milk and Zombies” which happens to be the name of one of my short stories. She also wrote about aliens! I’m not the only one!

Here is the link to her blog its very funny:

http://milkandzombies.blogspot.com/2009/11/n00b.html#comments

I had typed up an entire page about how my friend (Nye) decided he was going to stay up all night (doing what I dare not ask) and text me at 5:40 in the morning. This retype of already told tale is rather boring and insincere the complete opposite of what this blog stands for so I wont go on for long on this dreary subject of loosing all of my well typed thoughts and frustrations.

My cow zip-drive is headless…its lying next my computer, its key chain tail looks tangled. I feel oddly sorry for it… I remember when my mother brought it home for me from Staples. Its head was securely attached to its detachable body, and there was a white and yellow daisy stuck in its smiling mouth. How cows manage to smile when they are made of rubber I will refrain from trying to understand that. Rubber does not have muscles. I remember that little flower falling out of the square hole it was popped in, I glued it. And returning to the computer the next day, found that it had been picked off by my brothers grubby fingers… He destroyed the flower, and lost it forever in the cracks and leaks in my house. Now the head of the cow is missing and it has a small hole where its flower used to sit, seemly between its lips.

The internet has decided to hate me. It makes annoying sounds at me when I unknowingly press the wrong button when IT does not cooperate with my commands. It has swallowed up and chewed happily upon my poor blog post this morning that is now laying lifeless somewhere in the internet’s ancient vacuum. It’s probably in the purgatory life of the lost documents and papers, or due presentations that were deleted eagerly by its greedy mouth.

Hopefully it isn’t feeling the lost I feel towards it at this time. I’ll morn its loss till I forget.

I’m ignoring my tedious pile of perpetual homework. It bothers my brain and my social life. (this is in red for effect, if any of my teachers read this.)

I’m enjoying speaking of inanimate things as people or organizations….I meant to make an analogy of a cell. Something about working and jobs… how hellish.

DEAN


Tea, is one of the first words that comes to mind when I think of Dean. He’s awesome.

Dean, is a friend of mine, that has become a brother, though two years older than me, he feels like my little brother. *pats him on the head* Dean thinks I play video games too much, primarily Black ops (Blops), and that’s what gives me such scary dreams that I tend to blog about. This mornings dream…was really strange and was the aftermath of a conversation I had last night with my friend Nick. Hopefully what happened in my dream will never in the world happen in physical reality. I’d be very…terrified if it did.  Zombie apocalypses that everyone is ready for anyways isn’t so terrifying. Well…maybe a bit hard to comprehend how they would happen but, you could always reference any horror movie or video game for that information. Like wise with Aliens and vampires. I wonder how a Vampire Apocalypse would turn out? hm..there is a good song about that one though: Vampires will never hurt you, by My Chemical Romance. LOVE THAT SONG!! moving on….

Going through my closet the other day and attempting to clean it, I  remembered that I have….dare I say, over 40 dresses. I also have probably 10 different jackets, 5 of which are all black. I also noticed that I have an extreme number of small frilly skirts from hot topic and a scary accumulation of one piece casual jumper things… I’m wearing one right now.  Good thing I don’t have as many shoes as I know some other friends do.. *sighs of relief* Need to cut back on my fashionesta-sprees! I haven’t shopped for months and I am really feeling the with-drawl.

I have homework to write an essay analyzing Frankenstein by Marry Shelly. I picked the most interesting topic I was slightly inspired by, unrequited love. Its gonna be a really depressing paper. Just like the book. Did you know that in each paragraph there is at least 3 words describing some type of sad feeling. The words, “Grief” “Fear” “loathsome” “disturbing” “demon” “hateful” “distaste” “anguish” “mocking” “unhappiness” “hideous” “wretched” “filthy” “deformity” “gloomy” “murderer” “destroyed” “suffering” “illness” “weakness” “despair” “loneliness” “evil” “horror” “agony” “desolate” “terrible” “disaster” “frightful” “guilt” “lawless” “aggravation” “deserted”  are putrid and ubiquitous.

Drew


This is your personal blog post.
This blog post, is dedicated to you, because you read my blog and endure my silly thoughts that I type here.
I’m really happy to know that I and strangers are not the only ones reading this. It brings me some hope that I can finish a book or two, with fans,
Oh, now for Zombies and Aliens, they are….ah usually flesh eating beings who tend to be a part of my every blog post. And….that makes them….important? The fictional things that make up my life are really stimulating for my stories. I should write something about aliens now…
I keep listening to “the Death of Judas” over and over again. He has so much passion when he sings, he sounds so inspiring, and I wonder if he was what inspired My Chemical Romance to use rock and roll and his screamo jazz together.

Hey there! Care for Screamo-JazZ?


I’ve been listening to Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack. I really am in love with Andrew Lloyd Webber. He’s a wonderful composer.

I’m reading Frankenstein. Its very…ah well psychotic. At least the main character is over working himself, and then not eating, and the lack of nutrients is making him psychotic and I think he hallucinates a lot… but this is probably not the conclusion literally professor’s give. This is my realization and summery of the sad and demented mind of Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

Here is a story I wrote for my British Literature class; one of the most difficult class offered too 10th graders, its college  prep or extreme honors to a private school.

THE SCULPTED ANGEL a memoir

He was an illusion of an angel, a stone white angel, but no less a divine and perfect being. With the aura and features an angel might provide. He was laying on the sand with scattered shells all around him. He wasn’t wearing much, only a small knitted cloth tied around his hips. His body was bent awkwardly atop a mound of sand and rock, making his legs and head lower than his elevated middle. His hair spread out in long tendrils like water flowing from a spring. It stretched across his left hand and arm, thrown back near his head. The other arm was also thrown back, its pearly underbelly laid crooked next to his face. His ribs stuck out tightly through his skin. I looked even closer and saw shimmering pearls stuck to his body, and others trapped in his small cloth.

            I bent over him, keeping my hands clenched at my sides. No touching, I thought. He wasn’t breathing, nor were his eyes flickering under his eye lids. His lips were slightly blue and very still. His chest appeared stony and granite like. He was more beautiful than any man I had ever seen.

            There was nothing I could do; he was dead, frozen in lifelessness. I wanted to stroke his long hair, fix his body so it wasn’t broken on the land he was washed up on. The ocean had killed him. The striking beauty of his appearance had remained with his body, unlike his soul and mind, which abandoned the beating of his heart.

            Maybe he was too beautiful. Did God take his life for a better use, or was he subjected to death so I could see him? Was this a dream?

            I stepped back, out of my dream, leaving the roaring ocean, the sand, the pearls, and the image of my love behind. The lighting was good in the museum, making it so there were no shadows. I looked down at the milky white sculpture of the Dead Pearl Diver, and immediately felt myself wanting to return to the world where I was sitting on the sand next to his broken form. I was here though, next to his sculpture, not on a beach. I was in a small museum in Portland, Maine, gazing down at a rock, the dead and soulless form of my love.

            I reached out to stroke his face as my mind was going back to the beach. I turned my fingers to my palms when I awakened to the reality that he was not animated.  I took a meaningless picture that would never capture his true beauty. The spectacular carving of every smooth and sheen centimeter of him was perfect.  At that moment, I decided that he was my dream. A dream I could always return to, where he was magnificently poised and arched over the rock hard sand of my imagined beach. He would lie forever next to the ocean that took his life and inspired mine.

            I could hardly pull myself away from his side. My brother and mother moved me to continue on to other things in the museum. All I wanted was to look at him, The Dead Pearl Diver, the man of my dreams.

I just need to write about Zombies for a moment. I’m wearing my “I heart Zombies” rubber bracelet that my cats like to chew. I also have another rubber bracelet that says “Zombies” and is neon green and glows vibrantly in the dark.

OH~ also my friend posted some strange thing on her wall on Facebook that I just saw, and it said: “Tim flew, Alien abduction?”

I just needed to talk about both Aliens and Zombies in the same post again. I’m thinking about putting them into every post and maybe drawing conclusions with them. They could be crucial to this blog!

Shaina


I wanted her to have her own post. She is special ya know?

Went to Youth Group, but Shaina was going too come with, but she didn’t. Sadness. Ali and I, (Ali is an almost 16 year-old friend of mine, I’ve known since I was 4, she attends Youth group) we were squealing and jumping and admiring hair, and laughing about my purple, blue and green high-heeled shoes that I decided to gallavant in.

I just read Shaina’s blog on Tumblr. It was really interesting. I think I just looked inside her brain, truly, peering at her insides, watching as they moved and pulsed. Okay, sorry reader that was a little, ah, very repulsive. Sorry, I’m try not to do it again.

I wonder if I have any interesting thought….AH HA! I’m getting one of my poems published! I showed it to Mr. Teacher yesterday because he requested I bring it to class. I read it aloud and every was speechless. I believe it was because it was amazing because they were very astonished in  a good way, Mr. Teacher included largely.

I had another Zombie dream. I just cant remember what happened sadly. Sorry to leave you hanging there. Make something up for me and post it in the comments. That’d be fun! Maybe the one I like most, the person that posted gets to ask me a question! Yeah its a competition then! Compete away!

Now, on too another friend of mine, they think I have gorgeous knees. I’m not sure what I think about that yet, other than hilarious. That boy child, I call him my player, or boy toy usually, because he’s so suave…kinda silly. I would never date him in a million years, he’s just…..that boy/child/player/boy-toy over there in that not so lonely corner.

Someone very important to me sent me a text with a ” ❤ ” in it. I squealed like a little girl. Feeling like a very….ah put in simple words immature and retarded. What a dumb thing to be excited about. I a teenager with a large future, and all I can think about it that  little text message, just made my day, and my gossip girl partay!!

Well, aside from being a spaz… I think I accomplished school well. Boring….