This was written on several different occasions and doesn't particularly mean ANYTHING! Read it your own peril.

I was in a strange mood, my last post, probably due to the sickness which spread through my veins, slowly the little viruses (virusi?) breaking into my cells and laying their young inside them, which grow and rip them apart, ready to spread more infection throughout my weak and frail frame.


*coughs* so,... back on task... *ahem* where was I?


Right, okay. Moving on now.


I read the comments on my blog and I find myself searching for the like button on them. Ive been facebook-enized!!! Curses! Facebook is taking over! I think there is one of those lil 'like this on facebook' buttons after the posts on peoples blogs though. I wonder if its disable-able.
Luke is deleting his facebook account! *gasp* Shock, horror! It takes two weeks though, and you musn't log on or check e-mails from them in that time. Or they re activate it. They live in hope, they do. Knowing how its roots inbed themselves deep into our brain, sucking away our thought so that anything faintly amusing that we see becomes "wow! Lets put THAT on facebook!" He wrote a really super mega awesome choclately fudge coated facebook suicide note for it! I was worried when he told me, not realising that it was his facebook suiciding, not him. "I'm dieing here" ahh!!


I just went for a walk through the *ahem* forest (more like a gully) at the back of boys high school. It was very awesome. Slippery and wet, so very muddy. My yellow shoes were contaminated. Will they ever recover?!



Hmm I'm just searching for things to say in this. I keep leaving it as a draft then coming back. I need inspiration! Something to make this all the better, and seemingly finished.



Why are we meant to capitalise our 'I' s?? It's like saying; "I'm superior! I'm so super important that I get a capital I" I bet it was some stupid over indulgent self obsessed man who first started that trend. Of course it was a man, don't be silly, how could it be other wise?! Only men are that shallow and selfish. Only men would think of capitalising the letter 'I' in order to make themselves more important and superior.

Women on the other hand. Women are nasty vile creatures who scratch out peoples hearts and over dramatise everything, just for fun. If I had it my way, I would be neither. Definitely not both, just neither. I shiver with disgust as I realise I belong to that group, those evil creatures.

... I looked it up, the capitalised 'I' thingy :D
It's still a stupid reason though. Originally it was believed that 'I' looked better than 'i', and soon it just became common practice. When the English language had all its rules written out --so that nothing could be any different from anything else, even letters are uniform. It's grilled into us 'conform to the rules of the universe, conform to the ideas the world holds, conform to the grammer rules and use them daily so that you are just like everybody else'. Man, individuality gets squished.-- the capitalised 'I' was chosen.
For the love of appearance. It's a fine thing, appearance, looks, the precious coating of flavour for the eyes. For our 'I's. The sweet aroma for our mind.

Hmm, I do pronounce this blog post too long already! Plus, I realised that I have posted one blog each month since I started. And that, my friend, is totally cool. I'ma try and keep that up. But now that I've written that, I feel obliged, trapped into doing it. Grr. DELETE! (If I actually delete it, its as good as not having happened. So I must not delete it.)
I just watched a movie, it included this philosophical question, posted for you:
If you put a cat in a box with a machine that pumps out gas at random different intervals- but you don't know when, and thus you don't know whether or not the cat is dead or alive unless you look into the box- is the cat dead, alive, both simultaneously, or neither?
The scientist concluded both. I think the scientist should have made it slightly more interesting by increasing the potency of the gas so that if he opened the box at the wrong time he, too, would get gassed. He would save a lot of cats that way. Flirt with death at the same time as killing the creatures that wanted no part in it in the first place- probably. Hes gay.
Actually its the same question; if a tree falls in the forest but noone sees, has it still fallen?
If someone murders someone else, but noone notices, are they still dead?
Of course they are you idiot! You just won't know till you go looking. Not knowing and it not having occured are two different things. Although to your mind they are kind of similar.

Tiredness

I'm tired :D that is why that is the title of this blog. Truly not a creative title, but a title nonetheless, and i can't quite be stuffed having a creative title.

Everything seems kind of fake when im tired. Probably for you too, when you're in the same such condition of the body and mind. Its like theres a haze over everything, and nothing you say or do is truly happening. Its almost a dream. The living dream of wakefulness. Not that that meant anything at all. Just that reality seems distorted. And sleep, being the state of desire at such times as these, seems the only escape from the fraudulant world, full of phoneys and annoyance. Yet I can't bring myself to close my eyes. Because then time is going by. Time is slipping, valuable time. Time that could be spent doing something else. Probably something useless, but something fun nonetheless.

Although right now im just internetting it, and that is not really fun (although blogging is, mostly) and definitely a waste of time, i do think. Facebook: networking, im building on my relationships? Pah, excuses. I should sleep. Become lost in that land of dark and, well, confusion really. Kind of buffered confusion though. Soft and cuddly. The sort you really like to get to know.

And the tiredness creeps and lurks in my bones. Making the most menial task home, because I don't have to think to do it, it's just routine. And then I'd rather do that than get up, even to go to bed. Why is it that sleep seems to be the last thing I want to do when I'm tired? Almost like i can't be bothered doing even that? Zombified, but not quite gone. Not quite out to the world. Not quite overtaken by the shadow of otherly conscious, otherly place that is. Inside the head, inside, where the worries run deep. Dreams show us our inner disturbances, our inner desires, all of our unknown self is revealed. If we dare watch, listen. If we dare interpret such as our darkest fears, should the fear become realised, it may become heightened. I don't know. It's a theory. One I like to entertain.

Photos are unbearable. Just to change the subject. Don't you think? They show the happiness, the fun of the old times. Yet none of it is true. The photos are fake, they lie. They are glorifying the times gone past. The times that are no longer within our grasp. And its unbearable. Because theyre gone. And you can't get them back. But they weren't as good as they seem in the photo, surely? Because I could take photos, and perhaps it would be fun, of my friends and such, but in truth, they wouldn't be as great as they seem when looked back upon. I guess its just the torture of wanting what you cant have. The longing, the yearning. The missed out feeling. Thats what it is. As if you're missing out. Even though its passed, and even if you were there, its no longer possible to be there, you're missing out. And now its impossile. And its unbearable. Don't miss the opportunities. And if you do, don't look at the photos.