Thoughts #2

We’re losing all the icons man, Prince dead at 57, wasn’t expecting to wake up to that this morning. Soon we’re going to be left with Nicki Minaj and Taylor Swift and Skrillex as our icons, and the majority of the kids of the next generation aren’t going to know the satisfaction of playing a real instrument or experience true talent beyond someone pressing the space bar on a laptop or flicking the auto-tune button in a studio.


I’ve been thinking a lot about this kind of stuff lately, the fragility of human beings. Not in a nihilistic or depressive sense, I’ve just been thinking about it.

It’s one reason I do admire my philosophy professor.  She’s very open about the way she thinks and believes in the reality we observe every day without paying any mind.

The password on her computer is over twenty characters, supposedly to keep out hackers, students, or hacking students or student hackers. Perhaps even colleagues, I don’t know. When she screws up on a key, we have to wait another five minutes for her to type it out. That’s how long it is.

I too share the paranoia of hackers–and it’s well justified these days. If I had a dollar for every time Nigeria and China hacked one of my damn Gmail accounts, I’d have enough to fund the L.A trip I’m taking this summer. 

She doesn’t like being video taped or recorded in any sense. Because my college is small, and the professors are surfers and pot heads even if they don’t identify as them and are usually chill about being recorded, I’ve never came across a professor who loathes it as much as this woman. She allows students to do so only if they’ve given her early notice and even then she lets you know how much she hates it.

One kid tried to sneak in a phone video and I thought heads were going to be chopped off. He’d slouched in his chair with his Iphone 6+ (yeah, the 5.7 inch one) and the camera light on facing her as she went on one of her infamous energetic rants. She caught sight of the light out of the corner of her eye and fell silent abruptly, pointed at the dumbass and said “Are you recording me?”

He shifted in his seat and lowered the camera a bit. She repeated herself and the room went cold.

Every fight I’d conquered in BloodBorne flashed behind my eyes at this moment. I was hoping we’d be bathing in student entrails.


He said, “Well, It’s just because I think you’re so great. It’s a compliment.”

She didn’t buy his excuse, shuffled on over to his side of the room, leaned over the balcony in the front of the lecture hall as close to him as she could possibly get, smiled, and calmly informed him she would snatch his phone and smash it to pieces on the concrete, she’d done it many times before and wouldn’t be afraid to do it again.

The best part about all of this was the student had really white skin, so his entire self turned into a beet. 

I too hate being video taped. Perhaps not to that extent, it’s pictures that bother me the most. I’ve had my share of moments I’ve threw someone’s phone to the ground because they wouldn’t get it out of my face.

does-time-exist-blabberpoShe’s just as forgetful as I am, in terms of the things people called “important”. You know, like time. And dates. She’s never late, but she always forgets which times our class is at, what time it ends, and what days they’re on, even this late in the semester. She’s had this problem since she was a child, she said, because she doesn’t believe time exists, nor does she believe reality exists. That was the introductory sentence to our class. She wouldn’t explain why, much to my dismay, and if I didn’t have social anxiety I would be in her office hours asking her her theory and justification to see if it overlaps with mine. Because I tend to believe the same.

If there’s a yell or a shout or a loud noise somewhere, or even someone’s phone ringing, she always pauses in the middle of the lecture, stares at us for a moment, and asks us if we heard that. We all say yes and she continues. I laughed the first time that happened because it’s true, you can never quite know how real something is when you don’t believe in this reality. I think everyone else thinks it’s just some weird quirk of hers, and I think she plays it up for entertainment purposes in terms of class, but I understand the logic behind it, that’s the most entertaining part for me.

She goes on tangents too, that’s the best part. Sometimes they’re relevant, sometimes they’re irrelevant, and sometimes they’re just plain nonsensical but in a relevant way if that makes sense.

But attending her lectures and moving on in life always gets me thinking about how much we don’t know, and how much we think we know. It gets me thinking about how centered we are on ourselves as a species and how strange it is we’ve developed so many different ideals and cultures and languages and how much stranger it is that we become so self-centered we feel we have a right to tell someone else their behavior is abnormal.

I just think it’s all weird.

To be quite honest, I’m bored, that’s my problem.


I’m bored with people who think money is valuable for anything other than survival, I’m bored with working, I’m bored with our “education”, I’m bored with standards, I’m bored with rules, I’m bored with “normality”. Maybe it’s just my twenties talking, just as my teens spoke well in the language of nihilism.

But this boredom isn’t like “Oh i’m bored with rules so let me go steal a car and stab someone in the eye”.

This boredom is like “Why am I not allowed to steal a car and stab someone in the eye? Why is that bad? I’m confused“.

This boredom is like “why do people waste their time with this petty reality? What gives them the confidence that this reality is reality? I haven’t seen any proof to convince me anything existing in this moment actually exists.

This boredom is like “What allows us to plan for a future we’re not guaranteed? Why do our brains just casually skip over the fact that we could all drop dead right now? I bet it’s hiding something from us. What prevents me from dropping dead this second?”

This boredom is like “Where are the fucking aliens? I’m bored of humans.” 

This boredom is like “I can’t even ‘go against the grain’ without being clumped into a whole other group ‘going against the grain’ so am I really going against the grain?”

Humanity bores me, basically. Jobs and family and material things and enjoyment and sadness and everything is labeled as significant without any proof of any of them being significant. I’m bored with that. Life gets much more interesting if I try and construct it through the eyes of someone who sees no significance in anything, but only sits back and observes the chaos.


Dear High School: I Never Loved You

Does anyone ever feel like they forget what depression feels like?

That’s my current mood.

I tried studying for my test tomorrow (today by the time I post this shit) but there are more things to remember than to study. You either get it or you don’t; there’s no half getting it. I feel like if I can do integration and physics and approximations I can do some fucking conversion factors in chemistry. It’s not like rocket science over here. It’s like taking algebra all over again. This is what I get for skipping chemistry in high school to go get high in the park.

I’m dead serious; I have to start from the beginning with this shit, significant figures and all. The first week of the class was learning how to add numbers. He did a ten minute explanation on the scientific method. Fuck me, dude.

If there’s anything I’m mad at my social anxiety for, it’s for getting me so far behind in school in my earlier years. I couldn’t do math because I couldn’t ask questions, I never did presentations in my science classes (so I often got dinged majorly), and although I took college level classes I was basically mute. I did well on tests and exams. That’s basically what I went to school for: to take exams, quizzes, and watch movies.

I remember the first friend I kind of made my freshman year. She came from a private school over the hill and we were both in “Intensive English”. If you have social anxiety disorder, you may experience a phenomenon where you can literally “sniff” out people you’re able to talk with. I’ve been able to do that since I was in first grade. These were people I instantly felt comfortable speaking with. It happened again freshman year, and sophomore year. Three people I’ve felt absolutely comfortable talking to in my life within the first ten minutes of meeting them.

Anyway, this girl was incredibly smart. She spoke well and I wrote well. We had physical education together and there I met a few other people, reluctantly, through her. We were never all “friends” but they were people I could talk with during class so I didn’t look like a complete loner. We drifted apart junior year; she was much more social.

Instead, I stayed with some friends from middle school. We were the last true “goth/emo/rock” kids of our generation, I swear by it. We were in all black with the chains, the wrist bands, the dyed hair cut halfway over our face, and we headbanged during break. I still love metal, although I’ve since dropped the fashion statement. It gets too hot. I’d also look like a jackass at my school; I’m already paranoid people are constantly staring at me.

I sucked ass in algebra. I mean literally, I sucked ass. I carried a fat donkey with me to class and sucked on it. That’s how bad I was. The teacher also sucked ass. He got a pink slip within his first year of teaching because the average of his class ranged about 50%. So, we all got F’s. Except maybe two people. Fuck those two people.

My few friends (literally, three) moved away after freshman year. I had one left.

My second math teacher was young, hilarious, sarcastic as fuck, and not too bad on the eyes either. He had anger issues. I went on a field trip to a college once  and came back to learn his entire class was scarred for life because some kid spit-balled on the brand new projector in the room and the teacher blew up on him, screamed about how the class was lazy, how we didn’t even try, how mentally challenged monkeys out-performed us on a test for shapes.

Just kidding about the monkey part. I’m sure he thought that in his head.

Anyway, he went into anger management and started taking days off to go out on his boat. He’d say “I won’t be here tomorrow, I’m going out on my boat”.

In his defense, our classes were pretty . . . inattentive.

Last I heard, him and his wife had a falling through and he fell into a major depression. He always gave me breaks on my homework because I was so quiet and timid and stupid and probably looked like a complete jackass; I’m determined to show him, one day, how far I’ve come in math. It’d probably make him faint.

I couldn’t multiply 9 x 8 in my head people, that’s how bad I was.

So social anxiety ruined my high school career. I had no friends, no joy, no happiness. I failed in subjects I could have easily excelled in and now I have to pay for it by sitting through 5 hours of chemistry with fucking Miniature Michael J Fox with a bad case of Howie Mendel OCD. He really is obsessive, I’m not using that as an adjective.

Sophomore year my one friend started hanging out with a freshmen with a bad reputation. They skipped class all the time. I called them fucking idiots.

Junior year, I skipped the majority of my classes . . .

 . . . but with smarts. I asked around in my AVID (a college prep course; only course I knew people in) class about how they calculated who got detention and who didn’t. Through a few other master skippers I learned how they counted days, weeks, and months, and how many skips you were allowed to get in a week and a month before they contacted your parents. If you managed to stay below that number, your parents never found out.

So I planned accordingly. I was really quite sneaky. I have to be: I’m always supposed to be smart and perfect and quiet and passive. When I need a little danger, I have to be a ninja.

I just hated school. The people saw me as an idiot, I was too nervous around my teachers for them to ever help me, I couldn’t make any friends on my own, and I woke up every morning at 4:30am so I could calm myself down until 7 am.

I never got involved in heavy drugs and I never will. But I was an avid marijuana smoker. I hit it before class, between class, after class, and if I was out at night, I’d do it at night. I brought vodka to school in water bottles which I sipped in class.

One morning I arrived extra early at my friends house. We often walked to school together. Her parents were always gone so I’d go in the back yard while she got ready and smoked until it was time to go. It took her a little over an hour one morning and by the time I walked with her and her other friend, I was floating so high I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I kept packing and lighting, packing and lighting, packing and lighting, non-stop. I walked my bike with them because I couldn’t ride it without falling. On the street I started laughing. They kind of laughed. My vision had turned into a fish eye lens. All the sound around me muted beside the soft thumping of my heart and I no longer existed. I asked them over and over again “dude . . . you guys, is this reality? I’m serious, no, I’m serious, is this reality?”

I remember they kept telling me it was but they weren’t convincing me. I just kept laughing. I ran into the walls in art class, almost tipped over the printing press in art class, and my table in art class could smell the stench from my backpack. People weren’t snitches at my high school, though, because we were all in the same boat. I sold weed to people, they gave weed to me, and that was my greatest connection to most people. By the middle of the day I was fucking done. I skipped math and slept out on the bleachers.

Every once in a while I still smoke, but eh, who gives a shit. I stopped public drinking and smoking when I turned 18 because I didn’t want my financial aid revoked if a cop ever charged me with something. None of it really helped my anxiety anyway.

I think what inspired me to do this post is that whenever I get like this, whenever I get “happy” or I’m up for a while or I just feel like I’m clawing to get out of my skin, I think about those times. I think about all the contacts I had with people who popped X  and Xanax on the daily and people who snorted cocaine after school. I think about how good I feel right now and how much better I’d feel with them.

If I wasn’t writing this post I’d be texting that one friend and saying bro, we need to find some shit to do, something to drink, let’s party, fuck this shit!

Because that’s how I feel right now. I need to party. I need to say FUCK EVERYTHING and celebrate this moment of feeling good for once. I don’t want it to go away.

I end up wishing my friend didn’t have a job so I could go out with her tonight, smoke up my car, toss back some shots, and stroll through downtown causing havoc. Fuck, that sounds like so much FUN. Maybe she is awake?

I end up wishing my boyfriend would drink with me and party and smoke and we too could stroll through downtown causing havoc. He tried a packed edible on an empty stomach and has been turned off of marijuana since.

I feel like partying is the RIGHT thing to do. It’s not like I’m shooting heroin or cocaine or binge drinking.

I’m sick of being depressed all the time and now that I’m not, now that I’m back, that I’m free, I can’t even embrace it.

Fuck this.