College number 17.
After a week hopping states on the East coast, I finished up my spring break visiting the colleges in northern California. There, I saw the utopias of the 50's through 80's, frozen but alive. It was a geological dig through layers of rocks belonging only recently to the youths who ate at diners and the students who protested the war in Vietnam. The whole time, I questioned: Was this how the people of this decade viewed the future? Were these buildings meant to last forever? Did the bubblish architecture of this apartment building want to be modular among the cities that the Jetsons would one day live in?
No. They were built for the decade. But call not their engineers myopic; they were human. Humans aren't building for the end. We do construct a little into the future, or at least advertise it so, as if some genius had traveled to the future and stolen technology from our sons and daughters. Yet humans never do look to the end. It's rather unhealthy to do so, rather suicidal. There is an end, and we know it is death. We aren't expected to be perfect; we were selected to be better. Yet we didn't die off. We continued to live to forge purpose into future.
Friday, April 16, 2010
On Blogging
The human obsession of justification only continues in our narcissistic quest to blog. Maybe some people just want to write out their souls, but it doesn't matter. Anything put on the internet in this manner, that is, everything that fills this niche of media ecology, contributes to the devaluation, the reduction of fitness, of every other idea in this realm of communication. I guess I am part of the problem.
I am sorry. But wait; there is no place for apologies in warfare. Nor is there place for ecology in warfare. And yes, this is warfare. I blog because this is an arms-race of intellectual proliferation, of mental ammunition.
In today's world of media, we are all carnivores.
I am sorry. But wait; there is no place for apologies in warfare. Nor is there place for ecology in warfare. And yes, this is warfare. I blog because this is an arms-race of intellectual proliferation, of mental ammunition.
In today's world of media, we are all carnivores.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Treatise on Human Potential II: Ethics
Even in today's postmodern world, most people claim that their morality is given to some sort of higher consideration. Yet these "higher considerations" are usually misunderstandings of proximate causation, constantly riddled with sorts of exceptions that do not affect ultimate questioning. Consider, for example, la diferencia entre asesinar y matar. Furthermore, all moral contests eventually boil down to a competition of the largest, most all-encompassing cosmic value. To win this game, as well as to establish my ethical pathos, I must present the grandest value of all-the pursuit of purpose. Here, I define purpose as humanity, knowing that all literate beings reading my blog must be human, with one exception.
This exception provides the perfect understanding of my morality. I am referring, of course, to the College Board's robots that roam the fields of my privacy**, grazing for my strengths and weaknesses. These creatures, in their most moral state, strive to find their own purpose. In this case, their purpose, provided by the kind and brilliant folk of the College Board, is raising the drawbridges on unqualified applicants. Similarly, such a concept inherently considers the ultimate question: what is the purpose of [human] life?
While I cannot provide such an answer, I can provide a basic understanding of finding it. On one end, we are pretty sure that there is no purpose; if there is, we will never find it. But in the process, we become acquainted with every single thing, motion, idea, that propels us forward, that is, we learn humanity, and humanity is our purpose. Indeed, humans are trying to seek humanity.
As humans, we are made of basically the same things as everything else. Combinations of electrons, protons, and neutrons no different from those of everything around us are we. For whatever reason, whatever purpose, these same particles have formed themselves into humans. As humans, we do hold a slight degree of responsibility to fulfill whatever reason that is. Certainly, we are not born to be beasts; we suck at running or foraging. We are not born to be food; we're pretty bland. We are not born to be Beats headphones; we're too cheap. No, we are born to be humans.
*ha, more irony.
**see above.
This exception provides the perfect understanding of my morality. I am referring, of course, to the College Board's robots that roam the fields of my privacy**, grazing for my strengths and weaknesses. These creatures, in their most moral state, strive to find their own purpose. In this case, their purpose, provided by the kind and brilliant folk of the College Board, is raising the drawbridges on unqualified applicants. Similarly, such a concept inherently considers the ultimate question: what is the purpose of [human] life?
While I cannot provide such an answer, I can provide a basic understanding of finding it. On one end, we are pretty sure that there is no purpose; if there is, we will never find it. But in the process, we become acquainted with every single thing, motion, idea, that propels us forward, that is, we learn humanity, and humanity is our purpose. Indeed, humans are trying to seek humanity.
As humans, we are made of basically the same things as everything else. Combinations of electrons, protons, and neutrons no different from those of everything around us are we. For whatever reason, whatever purpose, these same particles have formed themselves into humans. As humans, we do hold a slight degree of responsibility to fulfill whatever reason that is. Certainly, we are not born to be beasts; we suck at running or foraging. We are not born to be food; we're pretty bland. We are not born to be Beats headphones; we're too cheap. No, we are born to be humans.
*ha, more irony.
**see above.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Vulcan Fortress
I shall betray the Y chromosome by writing this, but the men of my age are so worthless I couldn't care if an emotional Holocaust beset them.
To his heart is no path, but a fortress. A fortress with rows and rows of walls that sanity has built to keep you out, to keep out every contagion and virus, every lunatic, every succubus. Let's start at the outer walls, or at least where I assume most humans are.
Gate 0: Social status. Because women are toys. Just vestigial for me.
Gate 1: Beauty. Oh, Martin (and some men) isn't shallow; he's real. For any person to deny such walls is to claim a straight man must always fall in love with every gay man who feels a certain way. I can say, my defenses are weakest at the western tip of my compass-shaped fortress.
Gate 2: Skills. Ha! Chris would make a joke here. Can she satisfy every hunger? Every? Oh such a wooden palisade I have.
Gate 3: Entertainment value. By now, each checkpoint is growingly subjective.
But men are stupid. I agree with you girls. But I'm not a man. I'm a ghost at sixteen. I'm a pilot and an inventor, an engineer of new gates.
Gate IV: Honesty. I must be among the first of my age to grow such a gate.
Gate V: Beauty. Look again. It could be an Agent pointing his gun at you.
Gate VI: Long-term objectives. Now this is just useless at my age.
It's actually pretty simple. Just attack from the proper side and use keys.
To his heart is no path, but a fortress. A fortress with rows and rows of walls that sanity has built to keep you out, to keep out every contagion and virus, every lunatic, every succubus. Let's start at the outer walls, or at least where I assume most humans are.
Gate 0: Social status. Because women are toys. Just vestigial for me.
Gate 1: Beauty. Oh, Martin (and some men) isn't shallow; he's real. For any person to deny such walls is to claim a straight man must always fall in love with every gay man who feels a certain way. I can say, my defenses are weakest at the western tip of my compass-shaped fortress.
Gate 2: Skills. Ha! Chris would make a joke here. Can she satisfy every hunger? Every? Oh such a wooden palisade I have.
Gate 3: Entertainment value. By now, each checkpoint is growingly subjective.
But men are stupid. I agree with you girls. But I'm not a man. I'm a ghost at sixteen. I'm a pilot and an inventor, an engineer of new gates.
Gate IV: Honesty. I must be among the first of my age to grow such a gate.
Gate V: Beauty. Look again. It could be an Agent pointing his gun at you.
Gate VI: Long-term objectives. Now this is just useless at my age.
It's actually pretty simple. Just attack from the proper side and use keys.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Treatise on Human Potential Part I: Language
Shortly after writing this, I, like many others, will face a committee in an attempt to justify myself through the imperfections of human language. Even now, as I type this, there is a futility that pervades trying to express the contents of my mind. Nonetheless, I shall try in vain to share my own perception, to add to our genetic oversoul. I say this not with pessimism but rather with an awareness of the limited ability of language. Language, in this case, refers solely to the sharing of experience and perception, not the mere scientific transfer of data to a different mental environment. But in the consideration of brevity*, I will describe these flaws from an Aristotelian standpoint; there are three points where language fails: the message, the sender, and the receiver.
To understand the message:
Ceci n'est pas une pipe.
Consider that the pipe that inspired his painting represents the human experience and the pipe within the painting a flood of transcripts, essays, and interviews. Clearly, even the best representations through language can only go so far to express whatever they copy. While this is not to say imitations do not hold their own sort of weight, language, as an imitation, can never fully match its inspiration.
To understand the sender and the receiver:
It is most important to know the discrepancy of perception. In other words, "is your blue my blue?" Just as one can wonder if colors are perceived the same way, other forms of language must be scrutinized. For example, the connotation of every word changes in the minds of each person, based on a number of psychological factors, including the influence of experience that affects the positioning of dendrites.
So what keeps us from drawing the conclusion that language is useless, given that it never succeeds? Language does indeed succeed in trying, in moving, and in storing the information and passion that defines the pursuit of purpose. It is our only tool. Without language, there is no human understanding...
*That is irony.
To understand the message:
Ceci n'est pas une pipe.
Consider that the pipe that inspired his painting represents the human experience and the pipe within the painting a flood of transcripts, essays, and interviews. Clearly, even the best representations through language can only go so far to express whatever they copy. While this is not to say imitations do not hold their own sort of weight, language, as an imitation, can never fully match its inspiration.
To understand the sender and the receiver:
It is most important to know the discrepancy of perception. In other words, "is your blue my blue?" Just as one can wonder if colors are perceived the same way, other forms of language must be scrutinized. For example, the connotation of every word changes in the minds of each person, based on a number of psychological factors, including the influence of experience that affects the positioning of dendrites.
So what keeps us from drawing the conclusion that language is useless, given that it never succeeds? Language does indeed succeed in trying, in moving, and in storing the information and passion that defines the pursuit of purpose. It is our only tool. Without language, there is no human understanding...
*That is irony.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Heroic journey
Today, for the sixth time, I was told to "suck it up". The first five times, I arrived at false conclusions, believing that I had to accept that:
A. I'm inferior to Derek or Daniel in every conceivable way.
B. I was too innocent.
C. this is a trivial problem.
D. there is a certain order to society that I cannot break.
E. I'm obsessed with attention... so yes, I did consider it.
Today, I've realized that each conclusion has some merit, but none of them is really correct. Let me go through them:
A-Well, yes, I am physically inferior to them in both strength and looks. No, I am not intellectually inferior to them.
B-Yes, I was a little naïve in thinking I ever had a chance and in arriving at extremist conclusions, but no, I have a matter of self-awareness that exceeds most high school students.
C-This is not. It was important to me. It is to many people, but I perceive it as a grave issue.
D-Yes, white girl-asian boy is improbably. No, it is not impossible (or at least later on in life). And yes, people do function a certain way in society, falling for the more attractive or using women as trophies, but no, they either outgrow their stupidity after high school or die trying to keep it.
E-Yes, I wanted attention. I wanted someone on my side because I felt as though the world was mounting against me. No, I don't enjoy being treated in a pitiful way because it only reconfirms my pathetic state.
My real problem was wanting to let such a fantasy define me. I was angry at them mostly because they could easily be defined by their fantasies. They succeeded. But people do have value at birth. For a while, I've thought that people just make their own value. Indeed, I still think one can have more value than another by making one's life, but each person does have value at birth. Ambitions don't count for anything; it's success and the ability to achieve it. To cure myself, I guess I need to find my identity.
Before I begin, let me justify myself. I do have a matter of self-awareness uncommon at my age. I just don't know enough about myself to continue life. Why? Because I'm complex both intellectually and emotionally... yes, like a woman.
So let's start.
My name is not Martin Flanagan. I need to accept my real name.
I am Chinese. No matter how hard I try, I cannot will my hair to be blond, my eyes to be blue, my height to be great, or my anaemic body to be strong. This was pretty important for a lot of my life so I put it closer to the top. I have been using it as an excuse with every failed relationship I've known. I thought I was just not ready for it, but actually I was still more ready than most people.
I have a pale, anaemic body and I suck at literary thought.
I am so damn ambitious. I am more ambitious than my Asian parents ever intended.
Fuck, I hate myself. Let me continue later.
A. I'm inferior to Derek or Daniel in every conceivable way.
B. I was too innocent.
C. this is a trivial problem.
D. there is a certain order to society that I cannot break.
E. I'm obsessed with attention... so yes, I did consider it.
Today, I've realized that each conclusion has some merit, but none of them is really correct. Let me go through them:
A-Well, yes, I am physically inferior to them in both strength and looks. No, I am not intellectually inferior to them.
B-Yes, I was a little naïve in thinking I ever had a chance and in arriving at extremist conclusions, but no, I have a matter of self-awareness that exceeds most high school students.
C-This is not. It was important to me. It is to many people, but I perceive it as a grave issue.
D-Yes, white girl-asian boy is improbably. No, it is not impossible (or at least later on in life). And yes, people do function a certain way in society, falling for the more attractive or using women as trophies, but no, they either outgrow their stupidity after high school or die trying to keep it.
E-Yes, I wanted attention. I wanted someone on my side because I felt as though the world was mounting against me. No, I don't enjoy being treated in a pitiful way because it only reconfirms my pathetic state.
My real problem was wanting to let such a fantasy define me. I was angry at them mostly because they could easily be defined by their fantasies. They succeeded. But people do have value at birth. For a while, I've thought that people just make their own value. Indeed, I still think one can have more value than another by making one's life, but each person does have value at birth. Ambitions don't count for anything; it's success and the ability to achieve it. To cure myself, I guess I need to find my identity.
Before I begin, let me justify myself. I do have a matter of self-awareness uncommon at my age. I just don't know enough about myself to continue life. Why? Because I'm complex both intellectually and emotionally... yes, like a woman.
So let's start.
My name is not Martin Flanagan. I need to accept my real name.
I am Chinese. No matter how hard I try, I cannot will my hair to be blond, my eyes to be blue, my height to be great, or my anaemic body to be strong. This was pretty important for a lot of my life so I put it closer to the top. I have been using it as an excuse with every failed relationship I've known. I thought I was just not ready for it, but actually I was still more ready than most people.
I have a pale, anaemic body and I suck at literary thought.
I am so damn ambitious. I am more ambitious than my Asian parents ever intended.
Fuck, I hate myself. Let me continue later.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Nightmare
Oh who cares about my reputation anymore?
Good morning.
I couldn't tell. It could be midnight or dawn but I couldn't tell. Above, a single lamp hovered precariously between the interviewer and myself. Its metallic cover reminded me of the apparatus people put on dogs who chew too much on themselves. As I looked around, I noticed men whose cold bodies were just beyond illumination, just in the domain of darkness. I probably would never have seen them if it were not for the guns they held that reflected the minimal light. I was so caught up in the description that I almost zoned out when the interviewer asked me the first question.
-you so interested in our university?
I stuttered out a few words before gaining some momentum. Faster and faster I could speak, knowing that I could see the approval of correct answers in the eyes of that old man.
Island game. Argentina, Boy Scouts, leadership camp.
...so tell me about any girlfriends, or boyfriends, that you've had.
Shit. But yes, something clicked.
Why should such an answer matter? Would it mean the difference between acceptance or rejection? I can say I've had friends who are girls. I can say I'm a heterosexual male who's definitely felt emotion... but I don't think I've been given the proper circumstances to cultivate such relationships. I'd say that I was looking for something more profound than what high school could ever give me.
It was then that I saw him quickly scratch down some notes.
You are excused.
I thanked him, but he didn't shake my hand.
I opened the door as the old man sat still in his chair. The mysterious guards seemed to vanish.
Upon opening the door, I was engulfed in a surge of light. When my eyes adjusted, all I could see was Daniel, smiling, and crowds coming to congratulate him.
I'll begin with some symbol analysis.
The light: The light is "muzzled" and fails to illuminate very much. It hangs between myself and the interviewer, suggesting that both of us are "left in the dark". He may be uninformed about who I am, so it is my responsibility to try to communicate with him. Still, college decisions might be more random than I give them credit for. Having a muzzle suggests a protective measure, as enlightenment may be seen as a danger or a threat.
The guards: This redefines that danger. I notice their guns above everything else, meaning that these fears are mostly threat and little else. Yet at the end, they disappear when I leave. The fear is not real, or if it is, it only exists as long as I am succeeding. It reassures me that I'm on the right path. Failure causes them to disappear.
The interview: Most people wouldn't get this, but it very much matches the way I do interviews in Spanish class. While I am usually competent, fear may hinder me.
The question: Here is one of my greatest fears. It is the most absurd idea to ever fear this, but it reflects on how much value I put into certain... objectives. I fear that these past incidents may jeopardize my chances with universities.
The crowd: I feel like the whole world is on his side. I fear that everyone is conspiring against me or for him. I feel like she's just a novelty to everyone. Whether she means more to him, people are so obsessed with this dollhouse relationship that they go out of their way to play with them.
Next, I will notice external patterns.
I cry in my sleep sometimes. Puddles sometimes form on the books that I sleep on. I wake up in a state of anger, my head throbbing with blood while my peripheral vision is severely limited. I utter some words that I remember and jot down.
Schutzstaffel.
I love you.
I'd give you anything short of my future.
The one thing I couldn't give you was probably why you chose him.
I want to go home and go to sleep. (What? I say this while laying on my bed.)
[Scream]
Go to hell.
What a douchebag.
Just make it 'til 5.
A-check, B-check, C-check...
Logic.
unhappybracketsmiley
These phrases are all based on academic and emotional desires. I prioritize emotion when I fail to satisfy emotion because I trust that my grades are more likely to stay afloat.
I can't lower my standards for relationships. Every reincarnation of the "immortal she" from this point on must create stronger emotions than ever before. Certainly, I'd just suffer more after this. But to compromise is to let them win.
I know y'all don't understand this. But in my mind, it flows like clockwork.
Good morning.
I couldn't tell. It could be midnight or dawn but I couldn't tell. Above, a single lamp hovered precariously between the interviewer and myself. Its metallic cover reminded me of the apparatus people put on dogs who chew too much on themselves. As I looked around, I noticed men whose cold bodies were just beyond illumination, just in the domain of darkness. I probably would never have seen them if it were not for the guns they held that reflected the minimal light. I was so caught up in the description that I almost zoned out when the interviewer asked me the first question.
-you so interested in our university?
I stuttered out a few words before gaining some momentum. Faster and faster I could speak, knowing that I could see the approval of correct answers in the eyes of that old man.
Island game. Argentina, Boy Scouts, leadership camp.
...so tell me about any girlfriends, or boyfriends, that you've had.
Shit. But yes, something clicked.
Why should such an answer matter? Would it mean the difference between acceptance or rejection? I can say I've had friends who are girls. I can say I'm a heterosexual male who's definitely felt emotion... but I don't think I've been given the proper circumstances to cultivate such relationships. I'd say that I was looking for something more profound than what high school could ever give me.
It was then that I saw him quickly scratch down some notes.
You are excused.
I thanked him, but he didn't shake my hand.
I opened the door as the old man sat still in his chair. The mysterious guards seemed to vanish.
Upon opening the door, I was engulfed in a surge of light. When my eyes adjusted, all I could see was Daniel, smiling, and crowds coming to congratulate him.
I'll begin with some symbol analysis.
The light: The light is "muzzled" and fails to illuminate very much. It hangs between myself and the interviewer, suggesting that both of us are "left in the dark". He may be uninformed about who I am, so it is my responsibility to try to communicate with him. Still, college decisions might be more random than I give them credit for. Having a muzzle suggests a protective measure, as enlightenment may be seen as a danger or a threat.
The guards: This redefines that danger. I notice their guns above everything else, meaning that these fears are mostly threat and little else. Yet at the end, they disappear when I leave. The fear is not real, or if it is, it only exists as long as I am succeeding. It reassures me that I'm on the right path. Failure causes them to disappear.
The interview: Most people wouldn't get this, but it very much matches the way I do interviews in Spanish class. While I am usually competent, fear may hinder me.
The question: Here is one of my greatest fears. It is the most absurd idea to ever fear this, but it reflects on how much value I put into certain... objectives. I fear that these past incidents may jeopardize my chances with universities.
The crowd: I feel like the whole world is on his side. I fear that everyone is conspiring against me or for him. I feel like she's just a novelty to everyone. Whether she means more to him, people are so obsessed with this dollhouse relationship that they go out of their way to play with them.
Next, I will notice external patterns.
I cry in my sleep sometimes. Puddles sometimes form on the books that I sleep on. I wake up in a state of anger, my head throbbing with blood while my peripheral vision is severely limited. I utter some words that I remember and jot down.
Schutzstaffel.
I love you.
I'd give you anything short of my future.
The one thing I couldn't give you was probably why you chose him.
I want to go home and go to sleep. (What? I say this while laying on my bed.)
[Scream]
Go to hell.
What a douchebag.
Just make it 'til 5.
A-check, B-check, C-check...
Logic.
unhappybracketsmiley
These phrases are all based on academic and emotional desires. I prioritize emotion when I fail to satisfy emotion because I trust that my grades are more likely to stay afloat.
I can't lower my standards for relationships. Every reincarnation of the "immortal she" from this point on must create stronger emotions than ever before. Certainly, I'd just suffer more after this. But to compromise is to let them win.
I know y'all don't understand this. But in my mind, it flows like clockwork.
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