When you get right down to it, at day's end and at bottom, there is not that much to do in life besides contemplate.  Specificially, I am thinking about contemplation of the English language and most acutely rhetoric.  I think that this is surely the worthiest, noblest and all in all best of pursuits.  Why did I spend so much of my life on other tasks?  Oh yeah, I was forced. 

Well, these days I decided I will just keep grinding my organ of rhetoric and composition at work, till they fire me or (impossible) find someone better.  But it will be hard for me to locate happiness outside of the school, indeed, if and when I look up from my computer.  All I want to do these days is write coursebooks, textbooks, et cetera - as if I were suddenly of the mind, of the heart, to love my old job which was all curriculum all the time. 

Almost.  The one difference between then and now is I have the world's awesomest students, whereas before... well, let's forget before's for the time being.  To tell the truth, I don't know if my past work - or life at all - can be judged this way or that, least of all by myself, but it seems clear that I waited too long, or almost too long, before embarking on the love affair with what, to me, is actually very likeable, if not yet my love...

why am i so petty?

if i gained 25 pounds, my whole existence would be a farce...

<- think i'm superior to old friends, cuz i thin they fat...

that's what you get1!!!!!!!!

my whole life is defined by what i am not... "he's completly negative.  he paints, watercolors." LOL...

The sad truth is that I rather enjoy being a government office hack, my favorite part of my job, more than anything except the times that class goes good, is sitting in the office, listening to the silence.  That feeling like, don't look to your left, don't look to your right, don't breathe, don't even exist.  Just sit at the computer... to me, getting paid to do nothing, is preferable even to getting paid to have fun

=P

One time, once only, sweet, amiable woman,
On my arm your smooth arm
Rested (on the tenebrous background of my soul
That memory is not faded);

It was late; like a newly struck medal
The full moon spread its rays,
And the solemnity of the night streamed
Like a river over sleeping Paris.

And along the houses, under the porte-cocheres,
Cats passed by furtively,
With ears pricked up, or else, like beloved shades,
Slowly escorted us.

Suddenly, in the midst of that frank intimacy
Born in the pale moonlight,
From you, sonorous, rich instrument which vibrates
Only with radiant gaiety,

From you, clear and joyful as a fanfare
In the glistening morning light,
A plaintive note, a bizarre note
Escaped, faltering

Like a puny, filthy, sullen, horrible child,
Who would make his family blush,
And whom they have hidden for a long time
In a secret cellar.

Poor angel, it sang, your discordant note:
"That naught is certain here below,
That always, though it paint its face with utmost care
Man's selfishness reveals itself,

That it's a hard calling to be a lovely woman,
And that it is the banal task
Of the cold and silly danseuse who faints away
With a mechanical smile,

That to build on hearts is a foolish thing,
That all things break, love, and beauty,
Till Oblivion tosses them into his dosser
To give them back to Eternity!"

I've often evoked that enchanted moon,
The silence and the languidness,
And that horrible confidence whispered
In the heart's confessional.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tOJukk2ufk

27:07

I am like this. . . "listening to the sound is more important than singing well."  but unfortunately, sound is not music

This is my favorite movie because I know what this is about, conforming, adapting, fitting in.  Aside from my disrespectful, blasphemous xanga what do I have? 

I'm like the girl in this movie, that's the secret of me, more than anything, I want to be the school ghost.  Practically I am save for my white face.

100percent emotional stealth, never showing my feelings or my true self AT ALL...

that's the way I like it too...

when you listen to music too well, what do you have?  you can hear the sound but what can you communicate?  what feeling can you understand?  understanding feeling is itself a crime of sorts, the point is to feel, not understand... when that's over, the brain and the ear have dominated the heart, that's no good, that won't do...