I was going through old journals from before blog, and I kinda want to be more like that again. Unself-conscious, raw, writing things that really mean something to me. But then again, that was then, and things need to move on. This is blog.
I do want to be less self-conscious, though. I've been feeling like I've been pigeon-holing myself, thinking of only writing things that are "in the tone" of this blog. Fuck that. That's so dumb.
I can write about being glad Corzine won the New Jersey governor election because Forrester just seemed kinda scary, but wasn't Corzine part of the previous administration that was wracked and riddled by corruption and scandal?
I can write about watching the entire only season of Firefly that my brother got on DVD, and it sucks donkey balls that the show got cancelled because Joss Whedon is brilliant and intelligent and the executives at Fox have donkey balls for brains.
I can write about watching "South Park" twice a day, six days a week. That show offends every moral fiber in the liberal arts weave of my education, but shit is funny!
I can write about still sleeping on the floor.
I can write about my daily 20-mile bike rides.
I can write about the grand unification theory in Buddhism.
Shit but my life is so boring. Don't matter, as long as I'm not being self-conscious. Raw it down.
What am I doing with this blog again? I guess it's a continuation of said past journals. OK, so why those past journals (and why are they going online as well?)? Record. Not for anyone now. For me, too, but not for me. For me, present ego, but not for me that is not a me.
Oh right, I write for a family descendent 200 years from now. That's the ideal, that's the guideline. Who knows if that descendent will exist, who knows if the internet will exist? It's a present ideal. Convey who I was, how I lived. That's kinda dumb, too.
I don't even care anymore why I'm gonna commit suicide eventually one of these days. I don't even care that I'm leaving my entire past personal history to explain it, because I don't care about who would receive such an explanation. My suicide and my reasons just really don't matter anymore. Everyone else doesn't matter anymore! BUT. At some point it all did. And I wrote it down then. Huzzah.
I write this with no foreseeable expectation or intention of doing it, but I'm sure it will come up again. I don't think there is any avoiding it. I need to do it, whether I like it or not.
Fuck, why am I writing about suicide again?
I think school districts that want to teach "'Intelligent' Design" along with science should be allowed to. I believe science shouldn't be dogmatic, and fighting bone-headed, not-quite-alternative theories just makes sciences look bad. I'm actually really curious about how children who are taught "'Intelligent' Design" turn out. Could be a scientific study. More important, could be hilarious.
