Three Hundred and Forty is a Prime Number

My Perception

My perception has been fulfilled. The final fork has been put in the coffin, I am now at peace.

C is for Kaleidoscope

It is a Kaleidoscope not for sparkles and patterns, but a caleidoscope for the the world. Yet not for the world but for space and time - no, time is overrated. It is a caleidoscope for space and tine. The unnamed, they will tell you to reach for the sky, that space is the final frontier, the object of desire, but what is space without tine? Is tine not curved? Or is tine strait, but we are curved? Or is tine's existence only here because we believe it as a constant? Do we die only because we believe death to be an inevitability, or is death the end result of tine?

The top eight action sequence music combinations.

8. When Johnny Come Marching Home - Dr. Strangelove (traditional)

7. He's a Pirate - Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (Klaus Badelt)

6. Eye of the Tiger - Rocky IV (Survivor)

5. The Battle - Gladiator (Hans Zimmer)

4. Banister Fight - Kill Bill Vol.1 (RZA)

3. Dragula (Hot Rod Herman Remix) - The Matrix (Rob Zombie)

2. Flip Sting - Kill Bill Vol.1

1. The Diva Dance - The 5th Element (Gaetano Donizetti)

Thomas Need Not Doubt.

So I missed class last week. Yeap. I admit it, I did not go to class last week, although the reason for it is still evident on my hand. I had a wart frozen off that day, quickly followed by severe blistering of the skin, an infection and then blood poisoning. Hooray red spider lines down to my wrist and up to my fingers. Hooray shooting pains all throughout my hand.

The wound may have had a simple frame, but the pains were frame-less.

Is Nemerov contained by Sophie's choice?

It is odd that I say limited by Sophie's choice. Those that have read the novel Sophie's Choice know the mind twisting saga. Those that have Nemerov know his cryptic writings. It seems that Nemerov's Flaubert is his Sophie. Handed over to Flaubert, Sophie's novel is as blank as it's ending. The characters need motive, plot, and beginning, but have none, nothingness. Yet in nothingness, lay Flaubert's comfort, in style lay his plot. He could lead Sophie to her eternal damnation or to a culmination of her lusts. Alas, if it be Sophie that he leave with only style then her current actions be all that she need to be her guide. To hell with Flaubert. Sophie controls the pages to which she exists and is not bound by the boring nothingness of Flaubert. Regardless of his droll, Sophie will continue, through the empty pages, her existence flowing like a plague, turning Nemerov's Flaubert into her tool. It is through this, through Sophie's swimming existence that Flaubert is bound, that Nemerov is bound. If Nemerov chooses nothingness, via Flaubert, or via himself then he is consenting defeat, for style alone cannot hold up to the characters of the previous realm of nothingness.

Moriarty Could've Done It

The group behind me is so close to the answer they seek. they talk about something and nothing and how they are the same but not as well. The group speaks of black holes and how nothing can escape them; so close, all they need to do is think simpler, much simpler. The answer lay in black. What is black but and absence of light; yet it is considered a color. What is color but a shade of light? Black is something, but nothing at the same time. A hypocrisy indeed, but nonetheless an answer.

Ignorance is Bliss

Some people say "always shoot for the moon, even if you miss you'll be amongst the stars." Well, apparently those people have never played Hearts.

The Dating Process of Dinnerware

At first we spooned, soon afterward we forked, and now she's my knife.

The Lost Package

Did you bring the buttfore?

The fallacy of the GPA

I really cannot stand the fact that people judge others' intelligence based on their grade point average. The GPA measurement is one of the more ridiculous measurements; it has hardly anything to do with the intelligence of a human being. What a GPA speaks of is how well a student learned the information. Do Not Judge Quickly! What is learning, better yet, what is studying? I will say, beyond a dare, that several of our brilliant minds have GPAs that do not reflect their intelligence! What does it take to achieve that scholastic grail of the 4.00? Devotion to studying, non-wandering minds, social sacrifice, and a near abandonment of the individual are the elements of this horrific pursuit of perfection. These items are so great that this graduating student with a plethora of academic awards FAILS when put into interactions that require a great social skill.

Now look at the average to low student, what lies behind the failures and lack of luster? Individually their could be a slew of emotional, and mental difficulties, stressful extracurriculars, and possibly more. Yet, open a challenge to trivial pursuit, scrabble, or offer to watch Jeopardy and the 4.00 student will falter 999,999,999 out of, well you can guess the number. With half the GPA, the simple student lacking in academic honors defeats the scholastic giant.

Let us proceed one step further (yes further, we are referring to space and not actual distance). The WAIS, DSM-IV, and the MMPI-2 give intelligence results in which those stresses of the GPA-poor student. From these, although more formal that Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble give what can now be considered concrete results.

Before I go to see the man about the horse let me deliver some advice. When you begin to judge someone based on their GPA you begin to lose more than you think you are gaining. Pride does but one thing, blinds the owner to their own faults. As time passes though, the less than perfect student will suddenly begin to rocket up the corporate ladder. Remember that a serious social sacrifice for the gain of a simple number can come back to haunt, harm, and even destroy

Mr. Ford

It was Before we rode the third coast,
It was Before we lost ourselves in the music,
It was back when she was our angel,
That Whitey was singing the blues.

Now Whitey knew what it was like,
He knew the pain,
He saw the tears.
He saw rich men,
He saw them beg,
Whitey heard honest men,
Whitey heard them lie.

But remember,

Whitey knew what it was like.
He knew the glory,
He heard the laugh.
He saw losers,
But he saw them win,
Whitey saw sad men,
But Whitey, Whitey saw them grin.

Yet it wasn’t for them,
Not the rich man,
Nor the honest
But for the losers,
And the sad.
It was for a beggar,
For Mary,
And it was for Max
It was for what it was like
That Whitey Ford was singing the blues

Why My Face Hurts

Surfaces are of a variety, every changing and hardly the same. We find some soft and some firm. They are everywhere around us, standing here and there. From time to time we ignore them, and for the same time we acknowledge them. Surfaces keep us warm and keep us safe. Surfaces have meanings, some have stories , and some just want to talk.

Then there are the surfaces that don't want to talk, don't want to play, and have no stories they deem worth hearing. These surfaces want to kick you in the knee and take your toys. These surfaces are the ones that want to punch you in the stomach and say "Surprise!" These are the surfaces that want to follow you outside and knock you over.

Those surfaces are why my face hurts.

How I made $200

It's obvious he's a racist,
on every show he has,
be it your skin or your religion,
he'll always find your faults.

So I thought I'd make a wager,
not too little nor too big,
not 50, not 500,
but something in between.

And so I bet our dear old Bill,
I bet him $200,
That he couldn't be a racist,
while I sat on his small show.

His eyes ablaze with hated fire,
mine cool as polished marble,
we had our awkward silence,
and then we titans clashed.

A battle for the ages,
Papa Bear and Me,
his violent stutters,
my joking grin,

and then the moment came,
when I won our little query,
the bet he had he lost,
He lost to dear 'ole me.

And then it got so worse,
the Papa Bear enraged,
for he knew the boy had beaten him,
beaten at his own game.

So with a tear and a gash,
a holler, a hoot,
and the swipe of pen,
my prize then came my way.

My wager I had made to him,
came directly from his pocket,
my reward and prize,
my very own 200