What the bleep do we know?

A film where the title only applies if one believes the content. Apparently my view of humankind is still far too generous as I am rather shocked by the amount of people who are gullible enough to fall for this film encouraging the most outrageous of pseudosciences. In this "documentary", a woman goes through many 'perceived senses of reality', wherein we find out that water molecules can be influenced by thought. Well that's a new one. I will go change my perception of 'reality' right now because I am so profoundly affected by such an astounding yet entirely plausible discovery.

The 'documentary' claims to impart concepts from quantum mechanics, but adds in a segment from some past god named Ramtha who probably has sixty wives and multiple genitalia? (Its name IS really Ramtha, though the excess appendages are my creation but STILL not completely out there compared to some of the bullshit in that movie).

I went to go look up some background material as I could not keep watching after a while, especially with the condescending manner the snooty 'scientists' regarded actual science. Apparently the three directors are all adherents of the 'Ramtha School of Enlightenment', which was based on some trailer park woman's revelations by the 35,000 year old sea god. Well if that isn't solid backup I don't know what is. When she receives 'revelations' she rolls her chest back and speaks in a manly and outdated manner? I'm sure I did that playing Ken during my childhood quite a few times.

How did this garner so many awards and believers?!

I hate New Age cult bullshit. What the bleep do you know.

Whenever I finish a novel I want to write.
Air is breathed into my prepubescent aspirations, I want to write and write and write and achieve.
There is a shortage of literature around my house, however, and this is what I've realized is truly dampening my potential. So what now? How will I go about accomplishing this dream, this impossible fantasy, one for which inspiration only hits once a week, and where said inspiration lasts for less than half an hour, not quite long enough as a high off cheap drugs?
My fingers are sticky with pomegranate juice. The air itself is ridiculously humid, mosquitoes buzz around me, my newly washed hair itches with a vigor, and they all combine to collectively vex my physical presence.

Today I realized another more universal truth, the importance of telling someone when you're upset at them and how that actually breaches the barrier to a true friendship. I've only done that with two people. Partly because it's not important enough with some people, and partly because some of my close friends I just don't have anything to be seriously angry about. The latter is a shame, I suppose, since I can never have that bonding feeling after a genuine talk about feelings. This sounds like a sermon. But when I saw her red face after an innocuous comment from someone else suggesting that I had said something about her, I was struck by how confrontation would really just fix everything.

I'm rambling but I don't care. I should ramble. I wish I could ramble for a day straight and write an award winning novel. But that day is not going to come. The only hope I have is to buy an enormous stock of well-written coming-of-age literature and devour it, much like a druggie finally having obtained his substances again, and then ride the high, maybe throw out a couple of pages, short-story style, attaining enormous satisfaction that will only be left in an obscure folder on this laptop wasting away.

I
don't
know.
Tell me what to do.

So I've been browsing around on blogger hoping to find one of those sublimely witty and horribly offensive blogs written by liberals in California or something (as this is why I joined this community), but so far everything I've come upon has been able to fit the characteristics of three categories:

1. Some New Mom And Her Awesome!! Family

• Has pictures of Awesome!! Family all over blog
• 0 comments per entry
  
• Christian, usually
• Does not use words harder than, well, AWESOME!!
• Very peppy short sentences, reading level of a fifth grader
• A typical entry: "Kaleigh and I went to the Fair today! It was sooo fun! She threw up on my Armani shoes after I fed her five corn dogs, so I was a little sad. [picture of Armani shoes pre-vomit] I would have put a picture of Kaleigh too but this is her punishment for throwing up!! We are planning to go to the zoo on Friday! Cool right??"

2. Food/Arts/Crafts/Jewelry/Whatever

• Usually has 4-5 comments per entry due to actual enthusiasts in craft (No one cares about babies.)
• Still boring....
• Pictures of food/jewelry/etc...
  

3. Foreign Bloggers

• Dude..they're writing in another LANGUAGE. How is this interesting?!

And so concludes my analysis (effort clearly going down the drain after first category). I still hate the world.

I hate the world.

Granted, we all get angry.

I don't know if something has changed in me but recently I find myself repressing my anger to points that the slightest drop of a pin will set me off like someone has completely ruined my life. I don't know if the relative degree of anger-provocations I've been exposed to this year has increased by far, because the repercussions definitely illustrate, but I'm thinking that I'm just expressing it in a more destructive way. I think I used to let my anger trickle down through short bouts of aggressive depression, while now I keep around on twinkle toes even when things miff me, relegating them to a giant hot pot of explosives just waiting around for someone to accidentally brush up against. I think I'm going to become one of those people that are scary to be around because you're afraid that they will blow up and start SCREAMING at you for no reason whatsoever, and that isn't exactly my ideal vice.

Does 'talking it out' really help? For some matters yes but most nuances simply can't be released in a civil manner, as I've come to see. I have tried countless methods of keeping my cool...but there are times when my intent becomes almost murderous.

I don't like speaking about the things that make me most angry because it gives off a sense of insecurity, and while I'd just like to resolve everything by going "ALSKJL:KASJD:ALKSJD....LKASJDLKJASLKJSDLKJLCMNDLKJFDALKJWQ...ASKJDLKASJDLKASJD...", there's no real world application in that.

Well, fuck it.

ALSKJDLKASJDLASK:SLADJKS:ALDKJDS:LKJSA:CMnd:lskfj:lskdfj:alskdj:lawkj:lkdajs:alksjd:alksjdxmC
ASL:KJDMCL:DKSJFL:KJAD:LAKSJD:LAKSDJ:ALSKDJ:ASLKDJA:SLKDJ:ALSKDJ:SLDKJANDSW:OIEOIUWQJDFL:ASLD"ASLKDJXMC

Generally, the words pour from me.
The sheer amount washes over my head and I struggle to breathe in my self-created deluge, drenched to a point where I develop gills and eventually start swimming with the current, steadily until I reach my final destination.

This is not one of those times.

Blogger is intimidating.

I'm uneasy with having the possibility of readers outside my ring of incredibly bored peers, the provided template that isn't an utter eyesore, and yet another way to whittle away time better spent reading the idiotic banter of teenagers on social networking websites.

I feel like I'm meeting someone new, not someone so lowbrow who I will lord my undue elitism over, not someone so high that I cannot possibly match them, but a formidable match.

The wit will be spewing next time, I promise.