Ad 2:
2001-12-22 18:02:19 (UTC)

Random rants/ past writings...

Random tid-bit of the day- Hmmm, don't you hate it when
people try to manipulate you and think they can get away
with it? Don't you hate it even _more_ when it's your own
My past writings... rant about debated topic of school/ The
To all students and teachers in my school, here's what I'm
thinking about the current situation....
Wow, have you ever felt that your brain can’t possibly take
in any more information? That’s how I constantly feel when
studying for a test. While studying for any test, I
remember basic ideas, but it’s the little details that keep
slipping through the many cracks in the storage system in
my brain. The more I stare at the paper, the more I seem
to forget. And the teachers seem very keen on making the
majority of the test the information that takes everyone
forever to remember. They’re conspiring against us. After
an hour of studying, the words start to slowly blur and
change places on me, purposely tricking me into mixing the
information in my head. After periods of this, my head
hurts and feels heavy from all the information, most of it
most likely incorrect. It’s the same for papers. I stare
at the motionless, white, blank screen. The blinking
cursor mocks my inability to create a starting point, a
simple idea that might be the diving board I spring off of…
and end up with a belly flop or a dry pool. And oh yes,
it’s most inconvient when your computer decides to also
conspire against you and make your life more hell. So
while you’re writing your beautiful essay or study guide,
the computer will suddenly become your worst enemy.
“Having been erased,
The document you are seeking
Must now be retyped “
“First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen dies
So beautifully”
Ahh yes.. computer haiku…“it’s so beautiful, and I am so
mentally ill.”-Bird by Bird. That’s life, only three
things are certain- death, taxes, lost data on an important
document in which you made no backups. Guess which one
occurs most often and causes the most pain and suffering.
So between studying and constant warfare with technology,
people become very stressed and edgy, ready to tear apart
the paper or smash the computer into tiny, small
fragments. It’s times like these that people are compelled
to yell at anyone/ anything that bothers them. Such as
now, I’m taking a break from studying French, yet I still
feel the overwhelming urge to smash this computer. This is
what Burroughs does to you. No matter how horrible of a
student you are and how much you slack off during class and
in homework, tests are another issue. You will study for a
test during other classes, during free periods, whenever
you can on the day of the test.
Why put yourself through so much hell, whether you study
the day/ period before the test or the day before? Because
failing is not an option. Every once and awhile, you will
receive the not-so-generous gift of a non-passing score
from you teacher, which often takes days of chocolate
therapy to overcome. Although at that point, you want to
make your teacher to pay dearly for the grade that was
given, you promise yourself to do better, even if it means
little sleep the day before the test. Overall, failing is
what every student avoids at all costs. It’s times like
this that you must ask yourself, is it worth it? Yes and
no. In the long scheme of things, a bad test grade will
not affect you at all, except maybe the memory of studying
forever and still doing poorly on a test. Life is like
that, there will always be things to discourage you.
Teachers will say to you that it is not the grade that
matters, it’s what you learn. Right… Try telling your
college interviewer this. “You’re GPA just isn’t high
enough for our requirements..” “But that’s not what
matters, it’s all that I’ve learned up here”. That’ll go
over well. Do teachers not understand that getting a good
grade is felt to be necessary by either a parent or the
student itself? The teachers don’t have to deal with the
angry mothers that give hour-long lectures about getting a
higher GPA. Often compared to this lecture, a night of
studying is welcomed and embraced with joy. And try
telling your parent this, “I learned everything, I just
don’t do good on the tests.” I’m sure that will lead to
many more interogations about why you don’t do well (as
well as a grammar lecture on the difference between good
and well). Good colleges do have requirements and in order
to reach those requirements, a decent grade is needed. And
especially at Burroughs, it is expected by many that you
are to go to a prestigous, good college/university. So,
the reason why students are so desperate for getting a good
grade may be viewed as being the wrong motivation to learn,
it’s the facts and how it’s always been. If teachers were
really that intent on how well a student learned, would
grades even be necessary? No matter how hard we try, this
issue cannot be helped entirely. Most people will not do
anything unless they get material gain, in this case, the
grade on the paper. Cynical, maybe, but maybe you’re just
too idealistic. There’s no way to take away the stress and
for students to feel that the motive for doing well in a
class is not for the grade.
And now, back to studying and how to realeaveve anger.
Smashing the computer is an option, but not only is that
expensive and you might get electrically shocked. Study
awhile and then come back to it, of course this’ll only
help students that study the night before the test. Sorry
teachers of JBS, you must have already realized that people
study, at earliest, the day before the test. Only
occasionally do people study 2 or 3 days before a test. On
second thought, not occasionally, RARELY. That’s why many
often resort to cramming, it’s such a valuable skill which
will definitely come to use later in life. If I’ve learned
anything at JBS, it’s how to cram for a test in a free
period and during other classes the day of the test and
still manage to pull a B or B (extremely rare if I cram).
Tests- they are the root of all evil. I’m sure I’m not the
only one who thinks that tests were created by the devil to
make students suffer like never before. But it’s okay, I
can contain my anger, well not really. But no need to
worry, I will resort to violent acts only against things
that don’t cost over $20 (notice I said things, not people…
So don’t go beat up your younger siblings because of the
stress you deal with, even if you think they are worth less
than $20). That includes sacrifice of a nice collection of
Barbie’s (they are very flammable, especially after dousing
in lighter fluid), smashing plates (it’s well worth it),
hitting a punching bag with a metal baseball bat, tearing
apart random things, setting anything on fire, and
destroying other household items. Although others may say
that you’re mentally unstable, I will bet that they are
either a) envious that you can release your anger not
caring what others think or b) use the same means to
releave stress, only too scared it will ruin their image to
admit it. I advise that you do not punch a hole in the
wall, it costs more than you think to plaster it up.
Smashing the window is also not a good idea, as your
parent/s may be a bit displeased- at enough that they will
not replace it, leaving your room freezing at night. Just
remember, everyone has the urge to scream down the halls in
anger before, during, or after a test. It’s merely another
way of letting out all the stress that is building. But,
if you don’t like violent means of releaving stress from
school, try some yoga. Another great way to keep yourself
sane is to gather some more friends before a test and dance
at the same time on a bench. It’s pretty much impossible
to move much, which makes it more interesting. I suggest
the hokey-pokey, macarana, mini-version of electric slide,
and any other dance that everyone knows. Trust me on this
one, it worked for me before finals.
So, I really should shut up considering I still have to
study French or else I will fail. And remember what we
have already established?? FAILING IS NOT AN OPTION!! So
despite the fact that I am tired and about to fall asleep
sitting here in front of the computer, I will drink a huge
cup of coffee filled with delicious caffeine and study for
this test. SQUEE. (I’m realizing that I’m writing in
circles Oh well, 'writing is nature’s way of showing you
how sloppy your thinking is'.)

(An: I realized I had a 1984-ish thing going on after I
wrote this. No i havent edited it... do I _ever_ edit
anything I write?? Hmm i need a beta reader... anyways...
It's written in a male soldier's point of view... it's
strange.. i know... but im not exactly sane so....)

The room was a dull gray, it was a color I had seen before
somewhere. This is was it, The Room. Everything about it
was forbidden, the name forgotten. Of course everyone
implied that they knew the original name of the room, but I
think that in truth, nobody knew, not even those operating
it. I’m sure it had a name before, but now it was just The
Room. I was led inside by two men in dark suits, who were
surrounded by more men armed with huge guns. For some
reason, I found this funny and couldn’t help but to smile a
bit at the thought. Ever since being captured, I was put
in the high-security vault, but after all the beatings and
malnutrition, walking took up most of my energy, if not
all. I guess I’m more fortunate than some, I still had my
legs. They threw me into the room, which had one small
window high on the opposite wall, creating a small circle
of light that hit the middle of the room. The rest of the
room was covered by the shadows. The men left quickly, as
if the room carried some plague. It was said that they
were tortured and broken in The Room too, in order to
create complete loyalty. Apparently simple fear was not
I felt a chill run down my spine as I walked around
the room, trying to get an idea of my surroundings. I
walked around the small cell, trying to keep my mind off
the horrible feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t help but to
think about what they would do to me and from the sound of
it, it was not promising.
An older man had told me about the room since he had been
rotated in the cell next to it before. There was a lot of
talk about The Room, I guess talking about it made us less
fearful. It made it seem like it would never be our
turn. “They go in sane, I’ve seen them. Sure they may
have been beaten enough that they could barely stand up,
but they still have fight in their eyes. You can see it in
their eyes. They break ‘em all differently.” The man
looked at me with his sulken eyes, his face was so gaunt it
almost scared me. But I assume that’s how I must’ve looked
too. “But, when they come out… dammit… have you ever seen
a man without a soul? That’s what they become, soulless.
They become perfect killing machines, willing to do
anything no matter what. They’re the ones that go on
suicide missions. That’s why the do it. It’s an easy way
to create the pefect killers. Break ‘em, then mold them
however you’d like.” The man shuttered as he closed his
eyes and leaned back against the small cell. A few days
later the men came and took him away. Both he and I knew
that it was his time for The Room. They never told you
ahead of time, but you just knew when it was your turn. He
looked at them scared, eyes pleading not to take him. He
had been so weak he couldn’t walk and was dragged away. I
saw his face before they dissappeared around the corner- it
was filled with terror as he looked back at me. Come to
think of it, I never found out his name, but I guess it
doesn’t matter. But that look of terror, I know that I’ll
never forget it.
I traced my fingers along the cool walls, a bit jagged, but
not enough to kill yourself. I looked at my fingers, which
to my surprise was covered with a red paint. Paint? I
looked at the wall closely. It wasn’t paint, it was dried,
caked blood. People had written on the walls with their
blood. I looked at the writing, trying to read the sloppy
writing. I finally found one that was readable, to my
surprise it was simply, ‘A B C D …’ the alphabet, written
over and over again. It must’ve been the only way they
kept themselves sane. I looked at the rest of the wall,
but everything else wasn’t even close to being legible. I
sat down in the corner and waited for my fate.
I woke up and was greeted by the darkness. Looking up
behind me, I peered out into the night sky from the small
window. I saw the crest of the moon directly outside the
window. I wondered if I would live long enough for the
full moon. Somehow, the moon comforted that sick feeling
in the pit of my stomach. It didn’t cure it, but it
helped. I lay back down, this time on my back so I could
see the moon above. I winced a bit at the pain of the cold
ground on my still-sensitive wounds from the whip. Despite
the pain, I fell into a deep sleep.

I arose in the morning finding a figure sitting in the
corner by the door, hidden by the shadows. I got up slowly
at stared at him, waiting for him to make the first move.
He stayed quiet, motionless. Finally, not being able to
stand his quiet presence any longer, I spoke.
“Why are you here?” I asked with false confidence. I
tried to supress my uneasiness as well as possible, but I
could tell he knew I was faking it. My heart pounded
faster in fear as I tried to figure out what he was
planning to do. I had been trained all my life to read the
opponents next move, but this time I was completely
vulnerable. My heart continued to beat loudly, so much
that I was surprised he didn’t hear it himself.
“Look at yourself. Do you see what you’ve become?” The
figure spoke.
“What??” The shadow’s voice startled me, sounding familiar.
“You.” The shadow mocked, pointing at me. “Look at you.
You failed, didn’t you?”
“The best of your class hmm? You always credited
yourself for being the best soldier. The perfect soldier.
I have to admit, you didn’t give in to the torturing, but
neither do a lot of people. But that was just in your
training, never to give in. But what good will that do?
You’ve already failed them.”
I clenched my hand in anger. He was wrong, I knew
he was. It was only a mistake, it couldn’t be
helped. “What do you want?” I asked coldly, this time
letting no fear surface.
“You’ve failed them.” He repeated, voice filled
with pure venom. “Your men, your people. They were
depending on you to help them. And you lived, when your
comrades died.”
I clenched my hand harder, digging my nails my
palm. My hand started to numb with pain, but the pain in
my chest hurt even more. I looked at him, not giving
in. “Shut up. You don’t know anything about me.”
The figure laughed, shaking with cold
laughter. “Why so tense? Perhaps because you know I speak
the truth?” He stopped abruptly as his eyes narrowing,
meeting mine. “I know _everything_ about you. You’re
pitiful. Pitiful.” He got up and started to walk around
the cell, still covered in the shadows.
“Stut up!” I backed away from him, until my back
hit the wall with nowhere to go.
“You can’t run from it you know. The truth. What
you’ve done. If you hadn’t made such a fatal mistake, you
wouldn’t be here. You’re friends wouldn’t be here.
Consider those who died lucky.”
“They… they’re here too?” I asked, feeling my
heart sink. It had been okay when it was just me, but the
rest of them-.
“Of course. Don’t tell me you were too absorbed in
your own self-pity and excuses that you forgot about them.”
It struck me then, harder than the impact of
several bombs. As much as I had wanted it ignore it, I
knew he was right. I did let them down, it was my fault.
They had relied on me to make the right choice, but I
failed. The decision had brought them to their demise, and
to the doom of everyone back home. Slumping onto the
ground, I pressed myself as close as possible to the
wall. “Who are you? Why are you here?” I whispered with
tears starting to run.
“I’m here to tell you the truth. As for who I am,
I think you know.” The shadow stepped out of the shadow
and into the light where the sun’s rays hit. The light
illuminated his face as I looked upon it timidly… it was me.
My eyes open and nobody’s here, it was still
night. I laugh hysterically until my side begins to hurt.
It was only a dream. I sit and laugh until I’m crying.
Tears run down my already wet cheeks as I sit there— only
I’m not laughing. I sit and cry until my eyes hurt and I
faint from fatigue.
Voices whispered down the hall as two guards
dragged a man past the cells.
“I heard the guards talking about how this one was
pretty much broken before they got to him.”
“Isn’t he the soldier that never even cried out
when they beat him?”
“No way. Someone like that couldn’t break so
“Maybe he’s just acting?”
“That’s what they thought. But look at his eyes.”
“They’re… they’re gray, a dull concrete gray…”