Archive for March, 2012

I Weep.

Monday, March 12th, 2012

I looked on Google Analytics today.
Nobody from Nebraska has visited my site in the last year.
Maybe this will change things.

Nebraska. Omaha. Cornhuskers. Pork. Soybeans. 37th state. Warren Buffett. Lincoln.

Fred Astaire. Yeah, that’s right. You Nebraskans should be proud. Your state produced Fred Astaire.

Pain is pain. Men should fight.

Wednesday, March 7th, 2012

Woke up today with the intent of studying.
As usual, the intent switched.
Ended up watching snippets of Ward/Gatti I and Castillo/Corrales I.
And it got me freaking pumped.

I preceded to attempt a Muay Thai body kick and fell flat on my ass because of lack of balance.
The ground is hard and unforgiving.

But that felt good. And I realized what was missing from my life.

Lack of physical duress and pain.

I’ve lately started to appreciate the feeling of physical straining more. You can embrace it as suffering. Or you can embrace it as ecstasy of the highest form, man against self, man surmounting insecurities.

******

I have a slight problem. It’s called indecisiveness. And perhaps I am not a genetic slave to said problem. Thanks to the Population Genetics course I’ve taken this quarter, I’ve started to think that once again, perhaps environment is a bigger factor than genetics. (The studies I’ve predicated my opinions on — “The Bell Curve” shit, among others — I’ve learned have been conducted with such poor experimental methodology and a lack of regard for variables that they cannot be taken as the be all end all.) Perhaps I’m been conditioned to look the other way, to be mentally shackled so the speak, from cues in the environment.

Environment conditions you for all these things, and eventually, we spend all of our energies hiding our impulses (I’m not saying “act on them” — rather, I’m placing the emphasis on acknowledgement), being inoffensive, seeking approval from others rather than letting it come to us.

And sometimes, this whole “being inoffensive,” it makes you feel like a pansy. That fake head-nod and smile you give as you pretend to be listening to what that other person is saying.

What I actually want to say is, “Hi, toss this spiel and tell me about something forbidden about yourself.

Something you actually have been dying to talk about.

I’ll listen. Anyhow, I’d rather listen to THAT, rather than THIS.

Maybe next time, I’ll actually try it.
******
“We never wholly reinvent ourselves.

We become somebody a bit different every day.” (paraphrased)

Sorry Lillian, I know you don’t believe in self-righteous bloggers and questing for truths, and I have just appropriated one of your statements into one of my quests as one of those bloggers. :P

But I think that’s one statement I would like to drop into the nether-conscious ocean of somebody’s mind. Plunk.

If that statement enters through some netizen’s stream of sensory processing and generates some associative thinking (as sensory streams are known to do), than I will have succeeded.

******
The brain and the ocean. They really are so similar. Yeah, you could make anything a metaphor for anything else, but the ocean is an especially good metaphor for the brain…and vice versa.

I feel warm inside.
******
This piece of writing is so incoherent, so stream-of-consciousness, that perhaps it would have been better warranted in my journal.

Perhaps I’ll come to regret one day the vulnerability that goes with letting someone into your mind. It’s dangerous to let spectators in on your unfiltered gush of thoughts — (even if it’s only for just a brief moment)

But right now, I rather enjoy risk. And in fact, welcome it.

Comes with being in your 20s and having little to lose, I suppose.

Sigh.

Monday, March 5th, 2012

Looking around Starbucks, sometimes I think here are too many monitors in this world. None of them as engaging as the face of a cute girl. Killing time on the Internet just doesn’t give you that same high that one gets from looking into someone’s eyes with the intention of having a killer flirtation session.

When you turn off a monitor, if the screen is glossy enough, you just see a reflection of your own face. And it just ain’t enough for me.

The musings of Wally Xie, hopelessly addicted to social interaction.