Halloween

What a Halloween. Seriously. This has been ridiculous.

I got home after my dad, who had been visiting, dropped me off. After calling mom, I realized that I only had 20 minutes to dress up for Halloween before my mom would arrive to pick me up and take me to Little Washington. Morgan and I hurridly put on makeup and dyed my hair black and red, and I went looking like some sort of zombie/vampire dressed in formal attire. I thought the costume was pretty win. Not everyone did, though, apparently.

But that doesn't really matter. My goal of getting stoned with Miguel and Sam was what mattered. I was the one who brought the weed, and we soon hooked up with Zack Wayland and some other dumbasses and got high with them behind a bunch of hay bales. He was strangely paranoid.... constantly freaking out if a car passed by or anything. I think it was mostly just an act, so I played along.

So, after a while, we decided to head back (since we had smoked all of the weed). Only part of Miguel's gas mask (slash smoking apparatus) had apparently fell off. HUGE buzzkill. It was dark, everyone had gone home, and here we were looking for Miguel's mask part. So, after a ton of fruitless searching in what was one of the most disappointing highs of my life, we decided to head back. I thought that a potential ride home for me might still be somewhere nearby, so I ran ahead.

When I got to the town, there was barely anyone left. There are times when I am incredibly glad that I don't get paranoid. I passed by several police cars without so much as a blink, all while completely stoned out of my mind.

Two of the people that were left were K.T. Milam and Felicia Stonecipher. I observed them and talked a bit to them, and felt strange at how weirdly cliche everything that was going around me was. Everything was so surreal.... all of the conversations felt like they were something that would happen in a book or a movie. All of the words that came out of peoples' mouths were like a script, written for the the sake of my observation. It was the strangest high experience I had ever had. I was a bit disappointed, though. I knew Sarah and Mitchell were coming too, and I had been too busy getting stoned behind the graveyard to go find them.

So I found my way back to the parking lot, and thee was Miguel and the rest of the people I got high with. Zack didn't feel like sticking around, so he left. Then Miguel made a discovery.

He forgot the entire gas mask So we ran back (pretty damn far) and found it near the hay bales on the side of the road. I had not been expecting to do nearly that much running on Halloween.... much less while stoned...

But we found it, which was awesome. So we ran back, since his mom was going to be there any second. We decided to go to the church, where there was free food and free candy. The people were practically begging for us to take all of the hot dogs. Like, literally, begging. They sounded pretty pathetic, actually... Since everyone had gone, the surplus of candy and hot dogs was not good for them.

So, being stoned off our asses, such an offer was incredibly hard to refuse. They literally dumped all of the candy that they were keeping in little bins into our backpacks Angel's voices sang in the background soundtrack of my life. It was beautiful. This candy, and those hot dogs.... it was like were King Arthur and we had found our Holy Grail.... It was beautiful....

.....BUT THAT'S NOT THE BEST PART. Let me continue.

So Miguel's mom found us, (still moderately baked). She told me that there was no way she could drive me home, so I'd have to go to some party with them and then spend the night at their house... Which was okay by me..... After all, it was my choice to go get stoned with Zack and his friends and Miguel and Sam in the first place, so I was perfectly willing to go along with it. Plus, the prospect of a party didn't seem like a bad idea anyway.

So we drove to the party, full of hot dogs and candy and feeling positively satisfied. Well, I did, at least...

And when we arrived there, there were many people dancing trippily to the sweet sounds of jazz music. They told us there was food behind the house, so we went and got some. We sat down on three coolers, not quite yet aware of what we were sitting on.

And Miguel had the brilliant idea of opening one.

If the hot dogs and candy were the Holy Grail, then this was the fucking fountain of youth. Seriously.

There were at least 50 beers just sitting in the cooler, begging to inebriate our fragile little minds. And we did not refuse. No, the offer was far too great to refuse. This was God at work, and to refuse would be horrible.

So we got drunk. While still stoned. And we wandered. And we talked. And we laughed. And we danced, but only a little bit. We were still being treated like little kids in the room where the actual party was. But through a bit of coaxing, we managed to get some drinks from the table covered in even MORE water from the fountain of youth. Much, much more.

The whole night was amazing. How could it have happened? These ups and downs, these dramatic changes in plot. It was like a script unfolding before our very eyes. It could be made into a movie. No changes in dialogue would even be necessary. It was.... beautiful.

And then I started getting tired. All the alcohol and weed of the day, combined with going to a States competition for band and getting the best possible rating, combined with a football game the previous night that I performed at, combined with a performance of the play (well, more of a dress rehearsal, really....).....

It all made me completely wiped out. Miguel still wanted to get drunk and party, and Sam was just hanging out, going along with the ride. But I felt the ride had finally come to a slow and deserved stop.

So, before it was time to leave, Sam packed nine beers into his backpack and we went to Miguel's house. We put on Fear and Loathing and fell asleep.

And here I am, full of a delicious breakfast of pancakes, writing all of this down for memory's sake. Such an amazing night. It went from good to bad to worse to KICKASS to EVEN MORE KICKASS.....

Truly an amazing story. That is all.

Another Death

So, uh...

Not much on my mind this time. Some thinking will have to be done before a sufficient post can be made.

So...

Logan McKiernon. He died Sunday morning at 2:51 AM in a car crash. Everyone in the school is all depressed. I seem to be one of the very few people who really didn't know him. I just saw a picture of him today and remembered who he is.

He used to play the french horn in elementary school. When I was in 6th grade, we were doing a band performance and he, in 7th grade, was to play with us. I accidentally forgot my music and so he was unable to play. He just sat there kind of awkwardly with us. I had memorized most of the music, so I was able to play some.

...and that's the only memory I have of him. He seemed to hang out with the annoying jocky crowd after that. From what I noticed of him in passing, he seemed to be an alright guy. I had no problem with him, and he was one of the few in that group that I felt that way about.

...

So Monday was spent with everyone around me feeling depressed. Even people who didn't know him felt depressed, simply because the enviroment they were in was depressing. I was one of the few that was completely unaffected. I just tried to stay very quiet that day.

Even if I did know him, I don't think a death would affect me much. Death is such an inconcievable prospect to me. Most everyone seems to feel unsure about his death, which causes them to, since they think it is the 'right' thing to do, feel very depressed. When I don't know exactly what to feel, I just choose not to feel anything, rather than delude myself into feeling what I think I should feel.

...

So I tried to imagine people that are close to me dying. The shock would be too much, the confusion too great for me to feel anything at all.

I wonder what would happen if I died. Would the school be mourning my death? Would it matter nearly as much as this popular guy that everyone seems to like? I don't think so. A select few people would feel sad, perhaps, but I don't feel a deep connection to anyone anymore, except for myself.

I just realized how depressing that sounds to me. I don't have any really good friends, anyone I can talk to about anything and feel completely comfortable around. Nobody.

So that's why I talk to a blog. Who else will I confide in? I won't be criticised here; Nobody is going to tell me I'm wrong. I can leave that decision up to myself.

I want a dog. Dogs really are man's best friend. They unconditionally love, and don't ask for much in return. They don't criticise; They don't tell you you are wrong. They let you do what you want, believe what you want, hate what you want, love what you want.

There's no obligation to do anything. A life without obligation would be so much simpler. But we had to go and evolve those big brains so we could all develop different social rules determining what is acceptable and what isn't. We should have never left the trees.

Fuck it. We should have never left the oceans. Unicellular organisms never feel sadness.

A very Douglas Adamsesque and Kurt Vonnegutesque thing to say.

...

Wait a minute.... was I just about to end this post without once mentioning Mairead?

Wow... I really am improving at this whole 'getting over it' thing.

I guess a clean slate really was appropriate.

...

This is the second blog that began with a death. Is that symbolic of something? I don't really know. Easier not to think about it.

I'm starting to like Brask more and more every single day. He's so logical, and so.... right.

Thanks, Brask.

First Post

I was always secretly hoping for an excuse to abandon the other blog. Now it appears I finally have one.

Dad found it. He read the whole thing, but told me that he wouldn't be following it any longer. I don't believe him.

I would very much like to write, but I have limited time before I have to go.

It feels good to start fresh. I'll do what I did when I abandoned the first blog - perceive myself as a completely different person. I'm not the guy who fell in love with Mairead. I'm not the guy who pretended to know what life was about.

I'm someone different now. That feels good.

...

...so much symbolism in this. I'm sick of symbolism. I'm sick of metaphors. Things never are what they seem. They always have to be something different; something philosophical.....

I have to go.