I'll shoot you [with my camera].

It's a bean-dog.

The holy communion of companionship

I wouldn't do it differently...

Mistakes, be all that they may, make life interesting and strangely fun, that is, only if you have the ability to laugh at yourself... If not, then mistakes are painful, like a sprinkle of salt on an open wound.

I try to tell myself everyday that life is not a catch-22, and that everything that happens was meant to happen. This, I tell myself, is true because it didn't happen any other way, at least in this dimension...

Not to beat around the bush, but I'm referring to the recent days following the Photoclub barbecue.

Some may say that my behavior did not epitomize that of a committed [insert metaphor for relationship here], but instead, I rationalize that I am a free spirit, and that no arbitrary "ball and chain" can change that.

*For a reference of said "behavior," see above picture.

I'm settin' 'em up, and knockin' 'em down...

Can't you tell I'm excited about that huge hunk of gold?

It won't heal if you don't stop picking at it.

So... I got my Aggie Ring...

I went to turn in my article for Dr. Deb's class today and we talked a bit about some stuff, but when I was leaving her office, Dr. Rutherford asked if I could spare a few minutes.

I'm a total slave to professors, so I sat my punk-ass down in her office and she began to smile. I had hit the point of no return, and she knew it. From there on, I was the clay - she was the sculptor.

She told me that however good my story ideas were, she and the editorial staff had something else in mind for me. "Mysteries Solved: A Look at Campus Legend" was what it was to be called.

"You'd do something on whether the Animal Industries building is really haunted, or where all the money at Sul Ross' feet goes after finals, or even why they don't polish the top of the Academic Building anymore," Dr. Rutherford proposed.

"OH! That sounds really cool," I said, but I was thinking "Yeah, I'm going to be a real ground-breaking photojournalist by doing this story. She only picked me to do this because I'm the weirdest person in the class."

I was kicking myself after I left her office.

WHY AM I SO LAME? WHY CAN'T I STAND UP TO MY PROFESSORS?

I guess I should pose those questions in the article, because it's a damn mystery to me.

It's getting easier to see through the fog.

Everything I've done so far this semester has been down to the wire, in every way possible. Waiting for crunch-time, for the sudden spur of disbelief that I have once again ignored the warning signs placed in my own roadway for my own benefit.

This is the fourth week into my last year of college, and I feel vacant. I should be more excited about my pending release from this cultural and moral prison.

I do know, however, that I'm learning a hell of a lot more about myself, especially since I've been hindered more than ever by my hearing loss.

One of my classmates approached me yesterday with a comment about my hair.

"You know, I really like your hair like that," he said.
"Thanks, I suppose that anything different is good," I said.
"It's pretty rare to see someone like yourself on campus. Does that ever make you uncomfortable?" he asked.
"No, but it does take a little time for me to realize that I'm the one that they're looking at, like a piece of meat in a window or a large pile of litter on the scenic route," I replied.

It's true. I'm like the artificial lilly in the field swarming with bees. I'm not real to them. To them, without the same smell and taste as the other flowers, I'm practically invisible. I may look similar, I may fool you from the first view, but I'm not the same, in fact, I'm hardly similar at all.

It's more honest of me to admit the fact that I'm here for a purpose different from others. Why go to school to just get a degree and get out, or to get drunk and party, or to make friends and contacts?

Life, it's a road with many interchanges; many choices that pervade your life with every waking moment. One slight maneuver to the left or right can cause you to change lanes into an exit ramp that will take you in a totally different direction.

Sometimes I wonder how minute these choices can be. I wonder if what I had for dinner one day, if changed, would make my life turn out in a drastically different persuasion from what it is now.

It's hard to understand how much fate controls our lives. Are we truly conscious of the decisions that we make, and their importance in regards to our lives? If so, then why do people make such radically wrong choices? Or is fate working in our lives so well that they aren't the wrong choices at all?

From every passing moment, we are living in our past. As I continue to write this entry, every second that my fingers lift and return to and from the keys marks a point in my past. Even after this moment is gone, another moment comes and pushes the previous moment into the past. It's a continuous process of living presently and pastly.

If this is our life, and the seconds that we live make all the difference, then what about our future? Are those plans nearly as incremental? Is it possible to know the future if we act in diminuitive incremental moments with deliberation and purpose? If so, then living with purpose would be parallel to living consciously. If we live consciously, in control of all of our faculties, mastering our emotions and actions, then we can arrive at the ends we desire.

Is living consciously the solution to war and tyrrany? Or is it all new-age hype?

Some hate Salad Fingers...

We all wear a veil, a dark covering over our intelects, a facade of hope.

It's layer-upon-layer of formalities and bias, misperception and hate, greed and vanity.

What do we do when the layers are too thick, and we can no longer see through the one-sided mirror, and only others can perceive us for who we seem to be, and not who we are?

I know he was right. It's opening my eyes and made me more determined to find a way to make humanity see the underpinnings of a revolution; a spiritual awakening.

In today's readings, Gurdjieff and C.S. Nott cited "The Bhagavad-gita" and I thought about what I had read when I had studied its text. A greater understanding of both friends and enemies. Knowing the intensity of the soul that resides in these physical bodies, that is what makes one awaken to one's self. That, in essence, is self-remembering.

I was talking to Aubs, and she was telling me that she had an interesting experience. I believe she had an out of body experience, but she's treating it like REM phenomenae. Hogswallow, I say!

http://www.fat-pie.com

Some just can't take it.