Because Life is a Piece of Shit...

Always Look at the Bright Side of Life

Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979) Ending

Words and Music by Eric Idle

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...

 And with that...back to History

Obligation

I am overwhelmed. So many things have to be done in so little time.

(I am writing this blog for a non-existing audience. I do not mean that no one will read this, no. In fact, dwellers will come by here and there. I am writing as if I am writing for nobody.)

So many books to read. So many movies to watch. So many new things to open up to. So many things to master. I am trying to simulate a character I've created: my ideal self. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Life is supposed to be simulated. We have Sims and it is now in Facebook. You can be anybody you want to be without suffering the "real consequences" in "real life". Aside from games of simulation, other arts have successful blurred our grasp of reality. Art itself mimics life. Through art, a culture has been created. The idea of what is simulated is consequently being blurred and perhaps has detached us from reality-whatever it is. Perhaps we are all drones of a simulation of a fantasy.

I do not want to dwell on reality-whatever it is because it is pointless. If this is a "video game", I'd live it in utter ignorance. Ignorance is bliss and I want the bliss because it is much more convenient.

I am not a happy person.

Intimidation and Desecration

The image of the white page element-less from the one-inch margined top to the equally margined bottom conjoined with the ticking line incessantly waiting for an input is the most hypnotic visualization of a painfully clueless beginning or an agonizing adrenaline rush triggered by the heat of procrastination. My mind is fixed on the possibilities of exploring the glorious medieval Japanese lands flooded with political blood lust whose three-hours-a-week discussion is in total contrast with the topic. Our previous professor left with excitement but does not fail to either caress the stressed muscles of our forehead with marks of glory or slap our cheeks with utter shame. I was left to rot and decay in deep regret of the latter and the pangs of the initial feeling-the most powerful reaction to that dreaded mark-still linger in my chest. The blank page in all metaphysics contain the profundity of an organized well-substantiated reflection on the Simile of the Cave but in the nakedness of reality, it looks like a sorry promise of burnt time. The Tokugawa Polity should be devoured by now but the feeling of intimidation ticks at my very center and ripples to my veins.

From the beginning of my freshman year to the moment I have been typing this rant on life, I have been a loser bowing her head as she walks the paths of the "successful"--in the metaphorical sense. No longer will I submit to this outrageous vacuum I have created. Destruction should commence. I should defile the written accounts of Aristotle's students with approving highlights and black comments and insights. I should desecrate the smoothness of all my assigned readings with wrinkles and folds evidencing merciless consumption. I will devour it with the gluttony of a grizzly bear removed from all sources of nourishment. And as for you, intimidating blankness, I shall vandalize your body with the most well-thought of ideas I could generate with my whole being. And I murder my old self along with the mutilation of the strands of my hair. Good bye, asshole.

A tinge of hope

The day starts dandily with my almost oversleeping. It progresses to my emotional appetites overpowering me. It ends with a moral lesson (so high school) and a narrative full of unity. Literature has had a strong influence on me.

Nevermind that sad score in the midterms because the benefits of the grading system is that it is mathematical. There is a numerical way to redeem yourself. Nevermind those sad moments in Filipino class wherein your efforts are not enough because time moves on and one can do so to and improve given the time period. Nevermind the frustration of carelessness and all those circumstances because you now know how important it is to avoid them. Nevermind grades because grade consciousness dwindles the consciousness on education and learning.

Hoo ha! I won't allow you to eat me alive, grades! You numerical bastard! You are but numbers which represent participation in class and my compliance with requirements. Class participation and requirements are supposed to reflect how much a student learns in the course. But that can never be measured. Grades are twice removed from the reality of how much a person has learned! Therefore, as Plato puts it, it is not the TRUTH.

I am giving myself hope. Smiles. :)

Oh, darn.

My last blog post is much later in date. I apologize to myself because of that. Somehow this blog serves as my though catalog: a way to assert my unassertive self. Being the silent person that I am, blogs should be valued.

Moving on.

Events fare according to many circumstances--we do not intend these to be factors of a bigger picture. This is pain. My carelessness is circumstantial. My fluctuating moods are circumstantial. My impulsiveness is circumstantial. My sleepiness is circumstantial. Everything that has been the cause my misfortune is circumstantial. You may then say that "what the fuck is this girl ranting about now? She is just letting herself run away from her own faults!" That may be so. And I frown upon myself for even thinking that every sad moment I've experienced recently is because of circumstance.

But let me analyze for a moment. What the hell is up with my sense of feeling and my blaming circumstance?

Failure pains me. In the past it has not. It used to serve as a part of life. When I feel like I've failed a standard I've set up for myself, I wallow in a bottomless pit. Since childhood, I have worked against humiliation (for whatever reason I had back then) and if I do become humiliated, I fail into some emotional dump. Fuck emotions! Why did humans have to be built with such a distracting thing anyway? Instead of being sad, we could just move on and do the job we have to do for society--because we are a part of it and we benefit/detriment from it. But noooo, we have to be all human and cry for a period of time and wallow for an even longer period.

Then there's that sense of circumstance. If I blame my misfortunes on circumstances, that would benefit my ego greatly. Nothing is of my fault. I could not have done anything to prevent it. But you are not convinced of this as much as I am. Why? Because, humans have been the "master(s) of their fate(s)" since time be. That is complete bull! We are the masters of our fate/s? Everything that we are is an effect of the external to ourselves. Nothing is up to us.

Shall I go by my old philosophy? Whatever happens, happens?

Or should I create another one?

I am tired of this feeling. This feeling of failure because of a sense I probably cannot control. Actually, I am not convinced of that, either, dear reader. And as my years progress, I will be even more convinced that some things could change because of me.

Now, it is time to act. But allow me to watch True Blood first.