Chains

Recently, I got to thinking about something. Not to say that I'm not normally thinking about something. Heck, it usually takes me at least half an hour to fall asleep every night cause my mind won't calm down and go to sleep. Anyway, I was thinking (and still am) about a single imperfection of the world. Just one. One that trumps all others (and boy are there others). Now I may be wrong, and I already know that some disagree, but the conclusion I arrived at was pretty simple.

There's too much hatred in the world.

Now there are other extremely negative emotions. Dante has seen to it that we are very familiar with them. Lust, Pride, Wrath, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, and Envy. But these are base sins, an inherent part of every human being. Everyone, from the most warped psychopath to the most reverent priest, has felt at least one of these slithering beasties wrap a tendril around their beating heart. They are just as much a part of you as Honor, Faith, Compassion, Charity, Passion, Trust, and Love. Hatred, however, exists outside these. He does not have a seat at the central table. He is born like an innocent little scrape, nothing anyone thinks very much of. Time then passes, and the tiny wound slowly festers and becomes infected. More time passes, and eventually even the mightiest resistance will crumble to the disease.

Initial sin, or its more worldly counterpart of crime for the less religiously inclined, will almost always come to be as a result of the involvement of one of the cardinal Sins, but will almost always result in some form of hatred. Just like my English teachers would probably 'hate' me for writing such a wordy sentence. See, Hatred is only brought about by other actions. But what about after that? The hatred is now out in the world, just sitting there, and gets a little lonely. So it strives for more hatred. And more. Before we know it, an eternal chain is choking the world.

The natural reaction to hatred is obvious. Some may say that hate is too strong a word, but we all know the feeling, regardless of depth. But stop for a moment, and think. What would happen if we chose the unnatural reaction? As humans, we're all about doing the unnatural anyway, right? Don't give hateful acts a hateful response. I'm not saying everything should be forgiven, far from that, but we have the strength to bear it in all it's unfairness. Don't think about an eye for an eye or vengeance or any of that silly mishmash. Think about how you felt, and still feel, and think about keeping others from feeling that way. This chain may reach through the ages, adding links to itself by the hour, but it can still be broken, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Story Time

"Welcome back, class. I hope you all had a wonderful break."

"Thank you, Teacher."

"Yes, well, I'm sure all of you are dying to talk about what you all spent that refreshing reprieve doing and not doing, but before we do anything useful...it's story time!"

"Yay!"

"Now now, calm down. This is the story of a man. A man who, as a boy, had the most wonderful upbringing. You see, his parents had paid attention to their own parents, and still believed in the proper standards that had been set way back in those olden days. It's really a shame that so few families still have such moral discipline...but silly Teacher could lose her job for telling you all such things! Anyway, no one around could claim to be the nice guy that this man was, such did he believe in doing the right thing. His friends, in particular, remembered him for this.

'Hey, can I borrow your homework? Nah, don't worry; Teach'll never catch me! You're always top of the class anyway, man! No sweat.'

'Man, check that girl out! Think I'll ask her out for a few drinks. What? You two've been going out for a couple of weeks now? C'mon man, nice guys like you always get the babes. Just take a dive for me this once, k? I'll make it up to ya, promise!'

'The boss is making his rounds. Please man, I need that promotion. I know Boss's had his eye on you...but I gotta feed my wife and kids, y'know? What...never mentioned the wedding? Slip o' the tongue, buddy. Haha, sorry.'

And so more years passed, in much the same manner. The man, slowly but surely, began to learn from his mistakes, and changes came about in his life. Positive changes, to be sure. Success. Fame. He got it all. At a cost, to be sure, but who has time for such sentiments? This man had it made. And so he lived out the rest of his days, forgetting the chains of his past, and only looking out for whom he cared most.

I hope you all see the moral of this story. The Board has been very clear about getting a point like this across...yes, Jimmy? A question?"

"Yes, Teacher...about the ending of the story..."

"Yes, go on. Don't take too long now. What do you think?"

"Screw that."

[vent]

How often do we stop to consider just what it is we are doing?

This entry merits a change in perspective. Today and yesterday in my English class, there they were: the precious little bundles of potential, sitting at their desks, reviewing in preparation for the writing portion of the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills. They, or rather we, were going over what to do and what not to do, and thusly scanning our curious eyes over past answers to the "thought-provoking" essay questions. The quality of any given answer is ranked on a scale of 0 to 4, with a 0 being the lowest. Feeding our memories with ill-given responses is all well and good

I want to stop writing this.

Someone neglects to provide any evidence. Laughter. Someone misspells the word "beast". More laughter. Someone believes that a woman with multiple sclerosis hiked the Himalayas. The room continues to echo. Now, granted, there are always going to be people who don't care, who refuse to care. But then too are the children who try, try with all their mind and might, and still come up short. And we respond to their so-called feeble attempts with laughter. Are these people in the room with us? No. Are they aware that their best efforts are being thrown on stage before a storm of putrid tomatoes, only to be ripped apart by fools who take their gold for granted? No. Does that make it right? You can try to justify yourself...you can try to say that you're only making fun of the writing and not the person, but then you aren't only scorning their work, but their very way of thinking.

I am in no position to say anything. I laughed too. I can try to justify myself by saying I didn't laugh as long or as often, but that is no excuse (yes, I'm perfectly aware of how self-gratifying that sounds). But consider the position of the hypocrite. Is it not still better to try goodness only half the time, than bad forever?

Do you feel anything, as these words pass from my keyboard to your screen? Do you feel...bad, now that I've brought this to your attention?

I shouldn't have had to.

[/vent]

Try Again? [Yes] [No]

What happens when you give up? What happens when your troops abandon that final bastion? When you stop relighting the blown out candle? A flash. The enemy rushes in. It's all over. No second chances, it's too late for that. You made the wrong decision. You lost hope, and gave up.

Why?

Giving up is for the weak. For people that fight for things they don't believe in, or just lose faith. Don't be like that. If you believe in something, it's always worth fighting for. Always. You wouldn't believe in something not worth fighting for. So don't give up. You're better than that.

There's no such thing as not being "good" enough, or "smart" enough, or "cute" enough, or "strong" enough. That's what people say when they give up. When they can't see that there is always a way. Are you like that? Are you good enough?

That's what I thought. Now put another quarter in, kid. It's game time.

A Comparison from Twit

Confidence

It's like gas. Too much, and nobody likes you. But you'll always need some to get where you're going.

The Egg or the Chicken...?

It was a bright, sunny day. The farm animals couldn't have been happier, lazing about, going about their farm animal lives. The chicken, however, could not help but be discontent. He had heard the farmer sharing a riddle with his wife. The humans both got a good laugh out of it, and the matter was soon forgotten, lost in the mist of human worry. But for the chicken, this was no simple riddle. This was a question that may provide an answer towards his existence. As a result, he snuck out of the coop that very night, intent on solving the mystery that had plagued him throughout the day. There was only one egg left, so he would have to use extreme caution in his interrogation. The chicken entered the shed where farm animal spoils were kept and counted his chicken blessings that the room was deserted. Except for the egg.

The chicken was nervous, more nervous than he could ever remember being before (which wasn't a very long span regardless), but pressed onward, sweating his chicken sweat all the while. After hours of tortured marching, the chicken finally made it across the room, and opened his beak to ask the fateful question...

"Hold it right there, bub! Don' even think about opening that cluck-box o' yours."

The chicken was so startled, he felt sure he would have laid an egg himself, if he had been capable.

"Yeah, that's right. I know exactly what ya were gonna ask. Lemme tell ya somethin' right now: forget about it."

The chicken was becoming quite offended with this turn of events. He was supposed to be the intimidating one. He was the one who had the idea. After all, he came first.

"Oh don't go spewing your baloney to me, bub."

This was getting decidedly off-beat.

"Lemme ask ya, what difference does the silly mess make? The egg hatched, leading to the chicken. Or...the chicken laid the egg. There's the possibilities. Who cares how it happened? Will your chicken kibbles start tasting better once you know? You just wasted a wonderful day wondering about a wonder that, quite honestly, is wonderfully pointless. Don't wanna waste that chicken brain o' yours? That's fine, fine. Try looking around you then. An egg. A life yet to be lived. Endless possibility, right there, waiting to happen. Doesn't that boggle your chicken mind? Look at yourself. A life in progress. Experiences that have happened, are happening, and still waiting to happen. A work of art in progress, really. Your life is begging to be lived, boy. Get your chicken butt out there and get to it. And keep thinking about that egg. About what will happen. Possibility."

The chicken smiled a lot more after that. Kept away from eggs though.

Rites of Passage

I don't even know what to say about this. The only problem is that the marimba part vastly outweighs the other three parts except for certain sections. The vibe solo is nothing short of perfect. Or rather, the key is. I can already think of ways to change it...

http://www.tapspace.com/rop.html

I know I go to this website too much.