I've had strange days as of late. I believe that classifying them with the labels of either good or bad would be somewhat of a misnomer; in addition to the fact that my state while awake has been a visually mind-bending journey in itself (or at least, while I'm awake on low amounts of sleep). The Fillibuster was draining- thinking back on it, I seem to be forgetting some things that happened: especially during four and five in the morning. Which is a weird experience in itself, because I remember talking to Mr. Geib, walking around, and then promptly waking up with my face covered in my drool (which is quite attractive). After waking up (I think I only slept for an hour or two at the most), I remember being very, very cold. Which was weird, because I don't ever remember being that cold before. So as I was shaking and shivering, Chadd came over to where I was sitting and said something (I can't remember exactly what). The only thing I remember saying to Chadd was that I felt like I was about to liquidate into a pool of myself because I was so cold and tired. I made the decision of walking home soon after, mainly because I was about to pass out from exhaustion. Now looking back at my state then, I've been drawing parallels between myself and Bartleby. I don't want to sound overly pretentious or anything when saying this- but I think by being in that state, I understood the book much more. Bartleby was just tired- he was emotionally, physically and spiritually drained. He had little life within him to live, and he acted upon to do little to match. I realized that I felt like him during some point in time in which I was sitting down at a table, staring blankly at the stage. Mr. Geib had passed me, asking me if I was alright- I believe I responded with a groan. I don't remember much of the night- though I know I had some fun and was somewhat emotionally perturbed as well. The only thing I remember clearly was the walk home in the morning, for the sheer fact of it being aesthetically stunning. The air was very clear (I assume the reason being that it was around 40 degrees outside) and cold. The sun had just risen, and I could see the sunbeams shining through the trees and lighting pieces of haze that lay in my path off in the distance. It was beautiful and solitary- I think this offered me some sort of comfort and dissuasion from the troubling emotionalities I had incurred through the night (including previous weeks as well). Maybe walking home while very delirious (I don't ever remember being that out of it before in my life) in cold weather wasn't one of the best desicions I have ever made, but I think it was worth it. Once inside my house, I wanted to write down how I felt at that point in time for a couple of reasons: the first being that I thought it would be therapeutic, the second for my commonplace book to come. I went to get a pen from the desk in my living room, to which my mom saw me and asked me what I was doing. I don't remember exactly what I said at the time, but I remember going back into my room pen-less and sleeping for eight hours. It wasn't until I woke up when I found out what I had said to my mom. She said that I told her that I "needed a pen because I had to figure things out" or something along those lines. On a few unrelated notes, I've been thinking a lot about the fragility of life. I've come to the conclusion that human life is very, very weak and fragile compared to the cold complexities of the world in which we live. Not only this, but this same cold complexity is something in which stores a million different ways to break this silver strand of divinty that breathes life into us. It seems as if the importance of life can be so easily shattered and taken away in a second. The thing that troubles me is that the means in which life can shatter are plentiful. It's almost ironic, considering that life is so frail and the world in which it is placed doesn't suit its' fragility. Think about a bowling ball placed in a room with wine glasses around it. This thought usually derives me into other ones, the most primary being that of death. I don't like thinking about death too much, for I find it completely forebearing and ominious- but I feel as of late that my mind is wandering down that path all too frequently for my liking. This path in particular deals with the idea of beauty in death. That through death, all things are known and revealed. Death is the final frontier for us to walk upon and about. We know all and become equal in death. It almost makes me anxious to know what death is like. It's almost comforting in a way, knowing that we are all going to die one day. That whenever this day comes, we'll finally know for ourselves everything and anything- we'll know if the old poets and philosophers were right. The only thing I find troubling is the fact that I am somewhat anxious to find out all of that information and knowledge. I don't like looking at death that way; additionally, I'm not saying I'm going to make this experience come any faster than when it should need to. I think I'm just excited at the prospect of learning so much knowledge through the transition from life to death. However, I also realized that just as much knowledge can be learned from life as well- and that quelled my thinking about death considerably. It just scares me because I remember Yoko Ono talking about John Lennon's death (primairly about some of his song recordings he had recorded a few days before he was murdered). She was questioned about the songs, specifically being if she thought it was weird that the recordings right before his murder dealt strongly with death and God. Yoko replied that she didn't think it was weird at all, actually, she thought it was completely normal. She felt that a person can innately tell when they are about to die, and thusly begin thinking about God and death more frequently- which is something I've been doing. Though the quote from Cicero, "To philsophize is to learn how to die" helped quell some of my fear about the above. It showed me the difference between thinking and feeling. I'm sure that if one did get the above feeling, they would be thinking differently than I on the said subject matter. But then again, I could be completely wrong- I don't know. I've just felt considerably scared lately. Scared about the future primarily. I'm scared that any rare moments of true happiness I have felt before are never going to appear again. I'm scared that I may one day suddenly find myself alone. I'm scared about the things that I don't know- and more importantly about the things that I do know: for fear of them being wrong. I'm scared about what might happen- and more importantly, what won't. On a slightly happier note- I've been getting back into graphic design again. I've forgotten how much I love it and how much of an emotional release it is. I just finished a wallpaper, in which I thought I would post here. The real resolution is bigger (1024 by 768 pixels) than this one- being that this one is only a preview. Anyways, I'm glad I've been getting back into it- there was a long period in which I hardly touched photoshop or illustrator.