My Senior Year

It's been a while since I ventured into the blogosphere, and as Mari says, I basically make a new blog every day. This is my fifth, and I'll give you a quick history about them.

The New Rules

My first blog. More like whines of a bitchy middle schooler. I go back sometimes and read the depressing words. Depressing probably only to me, annoying to everyone else.

Revolutionizing The World

Marks my Jesus phase. Discussed some moral topics. The biggest one yet.

Crazy

When I was convinced I didn't have much going for me, and just used this as a place to get it all out. I actually have a stream of consciousness I have from there I want throw on here. Because it'll give you an example of what I can get like.

"I'm in Creative Writing right now, legit.

I'm lost in the midst of my own mess. It's shit, emanating the gross smells of lies and deciets.

Raunch, like the sick mind. And yet, beautiful, the gift of the forgiven. Small, the gift of an apology.

Large, the memory of trespass..

I see it all, yet, in a form of retrospect. My mind refuses to acknowledge the happening of the times in the present day.

But I don't see it. As I walk, the halls are empty. Each face is the same as the last, I can no longer differentiate the difference. By fault of my own, I have no standards left. What could be right is most likely wrong, and if something wrong is right, then I'll never know. My conscious has been thrown into the ocean, lost forever in the tides that sweep.

If I can not tell whether an action or an object, is good or bad, right or wrong, even black or white, existence has lost all meaning. Without differentiation, the rules of natural selection had ought to grab hold and eliminate. But through tortous hours I live, wondering if I can see the color of hope again.

When the time comes, to face the music, I'll have to. I refuse to go the music and talk about meaningless things, of rakes and tennis balls. No, when the music comes, I'll give it the melody of another.

In Creative Writing I sit, coming up with analogies, clever to those who know me, hoping to find meaning in the stream of consciousness that flows, as if water, onto the material screen. Soulful thoughts turned to simple, timed messages of bursts of electricity. From black to white. If we cannot see black, we put it on white, and hope that it will be plain as day.

Forgive my writing. It's philosophical without the meaning. It's emo without the emotion. It's pathetic without the fool. Tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and the night after, sleep will come hard, and consciousness even harder."

Here's To The Night

Was supposed to be my Junior year blog. I posted like, 8 times. Fail



And that leaves this one. I'm hoping to throw on some album and movie reviews. I also think I'm going to take a leaf out of Lemon's book and use nicknames. It's more fun. It's discreet. That requires me to come up with a name for myself. I'll just use Cassius. When I first read Julius Caesar, I think I developed an understanding and empathy for him different than most people. Plus, I think the pronunciation. Not the Irish Cashus, but the Roman Casssssh ee uus. Give me a break.

-Cassius