More magic.

I just realized one of the reasons I like chess so much.
In life, you usually can't create things out of thin air. "Matter can neither be created nor destroyed." Similarly, all of the fields of science I have studied tell me that you can't create or destroy energy.

But something funny happens in chess. And I guess in other games and life.
You can make a decision, move a pawn, exchange queens, etc., and suddenly you have more or less of something. Quality. If I move my pawns in a way that blocks one bishops movements. It becomes "bad--" a "bad bishop." Typically knights and bishops are worth about the same in value. But suddenly, I feel much more inclined to trade. And so, to improve my position, I can trade my "bad" bishop for my opponent's knight. It might look like things are equal at first glance, but I'm really creating more quality in my position.

They Love me anyway

It's been a while since I posted.
I guess I should feel guilty.
But I don't.
Somebody's giving somebody a night-call to tell them how they feel. And Rachel is reading The Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls.
There's something inside me. It's hard to explain.
Only this song can get it right.
Somebody called me pretentious. Maybe because he's stupid. Maybe I'm pretentious.
Only the beat is honest.

I don't eat. I don't sleep. I do nothing but

When I think about the lake, I am under the deep green water.
When I think about the mountain, I am thousands of feet in the air breathing the sweet mountain air.
When I think about running, I am at terminal velocity--at light speed--the fastest I can imagine going.

Descartes was right, but there's something more.
I think in the plural. Therefore, I am here and there.
I am everywhere I've ever been and everywhere I've seen on TV and in magazines. I'm the black boy eating rice and the Royal Prince. I'm my food and the plates and table I eat off of. I am the frequencies of light that neither you or I will ever see. We are in our breath. We are in the water beating in each others hearts.

Not even my words, thoughts, and actions are boundaries for the sub-division of existence I label as "I". As existence wets the fabric of time and space, I am expanding with it.

And even though I am unstoppably divergent, I find you wherever I go.

It'll be nice to be human again after the past few years.
If I ever have been human. If I get to be human.

When you're a ghost, you still have to inhale and exhale like everyone else.
But it's not the same as breathing.

You still see the sunlight.
But every ray passes through you on it's way to something more existing.
You'll see me, now, my pale golden skin glistening with new sweat.

I can feel my nerves waking up.
I can feel the icky cold shivers oscillating as I shrug off my death.
I welcome the goosebumps.

Being granted life scares me sick. Sick to think of everything I could lose.
But it's worth it.
My blood is boiling at room temperature
and I'm trading in my invincibility
because being tough
isn't worth
the chill of heavy dirt, slimy skin, and the paper coffin I was buried in.

Blood and Muscle

After a bad night, I crawl into the cab of my car and ignite it.
It powers up with a whir of mechanical parts that are mostly a mystery to me.
It's comforting to have something predictable under foot. Something that will follow my orders with unquestioning loyalty. With ignorant, uncalculating precision.

But no matter how hot the engine gets, and despite what the sweat stains on my driver-side seats might suggest, there's a warmth missing.

I'm running away from myself so fast.
A propulsion from my former-and-present-self so fast, that I might as well have never existed.
Just a blink of light. A whisper of wind. A dash of sand floating in the hot, humid summer air.

I want to burn myself, just to have energy to go ever faster. To find a newer me. Just to burn me all up again.

There's something in a Sunday/

That makes a body feel alone/And Lord there's nothing short of dying.../That sounds as lonesome as the sound/Of a sleeping city side-walk, and Sunday morning coming down.

8.306623862918074852584262744907492010232214248955655779432188369037585033423151573867398508232357050265014039857905...

Sincerely,

To 100 people and 100 things:
Sorry I didn't start earlier.
Sorry I didn't tell you.
I was scared. I always wanted to be Cool.

I'm over The Cool.

I love country music.
I eat candy and junk food, and meat even though they make me feel kind of guilty.
As much as I say I'm going to go conquer the world, I miss home. I miss my mom. I miss my dogs.
I like alcohol. But if I had a reason, I'd put the bottle down.
I play Call of Duty. I work out every day. I'm pretty much a frat-star. It's kind of gross. It's a lot of fun.
Taekwon-do is the only class I don't fall asleep in.
I don't know if God exists. Or care. I've kind of stopped asking that type of question.
Part of me feels bad about that. The majority of me feels good about it.
I'm pretty sure my dad thinks I'm gay.
I don't care.
I want to put down roots, but I'm not sure where at. $100 says I'll end up back in Tennessee by the end of it.
I want to be funny.
I want to be liked.
I want a girlfriend.
I think I like getting kicked because a part of me feels like I deserve it. A part of me knows I deserve it.
The rest of me is holding out for love(lowercase love).

Spirit.

My shins are bruised.
My knees feel loose in their sockets.
I think I over-extended my left ankle; it's sending sharp pain up my leg with every step.
With every exhale, my ribs creak in suspension.
Inhaling air makes me dizzier. I feel the oxygen molecules in my brain flare up like swirling glitter in a glass snowglobe.
My forearm has a knot on it, tender to the touch.
My face feels hot on one side. Hot from the inside out.
My lower back is strained. The right side of my neck is taut like a steel cable on a winch.
My eyes are clouded with tears. They sting with sweat. Blurry apparitions dance in front of me, barely out of reach.

With every kick my ego shatters into more pieces.

I am building the Taekwon-do spirit.

String Theory

Modern Business
Future
Idealistic/Satire
---
Historic Chess
Present
Patient/Explanatory/Honorary
---
Ancient War
Past

knots
sew
scissors
weave/string/lace
snip
tied
loops
wiggle
snake
wrap
bind

Stupid

Just saw Good Will Hunting for the first time. Good movie and all, but I see this certain theme over and over in movies. And of course our culture has really adopted this theme, this idea that there are brilliant people who have proven advanced mathematical theorems and formulas and such and that they deserve all this merit for "figuring it out". That's bullshit.

I think: the math has always been there, it's here and will always be here. When anybody "proves" something, it's just wiping dirt off of what's already written in stone by... God, or the Universe or Nature. Whatever.

Another related rant:

I hate how school is done. I don't like the system and I hate how math is "taught". Teaching math is antiquated. Students of math should just be allowed to start at ground zero and explore math. We shouldn't be graded on correctness. We should really only have to be taught the notation. Everything else... we really need to learn on our own.

And what kills me is that professors and big whigs know this. They say stuff like, "You've got to feel the physics in your bones" and, "Derive this on your own to really understand what's going on". Okay. Thanks. I would. If I had time to do that. Instead I'm studying for some test because I want a good grade to get to the next math class for that one little dose of insight. That one drop of inspiration that I might hit in some textbook or some lecture.

"It is one of nature's ironies that delicate plants such as orchids or tulips require extreme care while weeds flourish with no attention at all."

- General Choi Hong Hi , Encyclopedia of Taekwon-Do

Initially, I liked this quote. As I started to think about it, I realize that it's not an irony really. The quote implies that orchids, tulips, "delicate" plants are better than weeds. But the only reason we think so is because they are delicate, precious, rare.

Kind of like how gold, diamonds, and platinum are so sought after. It's only because they're so hard to get.

I can feel it.

This is what I feel:
One day I'm going to be able to exhale all the fire I've been burning in.
Never soon enough but a day not too far away. Right now I feel like I'm going to perish in my flames. The only thing I hold on to is the fact that probably one day I won't have to burn. Instead I'll just be well-tempered. I'll be able to blaze right through all the shit.

My head tells me different: What I think I know is that you really just burn more and more as time goes by and the shit just piles up higher and higher. I don't know if this is true and I really hope it isn't. But it could be. I need to talk to more old people.

Mom.

I look at the clock and it's 4:40. I'm glad to be going to sleep. I'm actually glad registry called and said I don't need to come in. I hate using up sick days like this, but boy am I tired. I need the sleep.

I wake up to buzzing and ringing. I reach all over for my phone and I hope I don't get to it late. I hope it's not work calling. I really hope it's not the hospital again. I listen, "Carolyn?"
"This is she."
"Essie's not responding." Sigh.
"What happened?"
"She was okay, we had her down here in the cafeteria for breakfast and she blanked out and started just lolling her head around. We're pretty sure she's had another stroke. ... Mrs. Reed?"
"I'm here."
"Where would you like us to take her?"
"Well. Her records and her doctors are all at Skyline. Are you sure she's had a stroke? She's still not responding?"
"No ma'am. We put her back in bed, but we wanted to call you before we decided on anything."
"I don't live far away. Let me get dressed I'll be there in a minute."
Call ended. 7:30 AM.

Then I go and make some coffee. There's a kinda danger in the air. I know I don't need the caffeine you know? Even though I'm exhausted I feel awake and alert. It's been a weird day, actually. Time seems all distorted. Bits and pieces of my day have been re-arranged. Those 15 minutes felt like an hour. I went to sleep and woke up twice before noon. And when I saw the ambulance shaking side to side, and when that big ol' boy, that first responder from the fire department stepped out and walked to my car I thought he was going to tell me she's passed. But he said she'd just had another seizure and that they were going to go ahead and take her to the hospital.

I remember her shaking, really like convulsing and me holding her down and trying to calm her. The tech and the floor nurse at the old folks' home were scared away. Ahah. I told them to just calm down, this would pass. This is the first time I've seen her have a seizure though. She usually doesn't get seizures, she didn't last time. When she finally calmed down, she starting taking real short breaths. Cheyne-Stokes breathing, they call it. She had her teeth clenched real tight. I thought she was going to die right there. She was going to take her last breath there in my arms. She's a tough old bird.

We got to the hospital and she still wasn't responding. Not to anything. Wouldn't open her eyes or squeeze my hand. I told them what I wanted. What she would want. I won't let 'em intubate her. Lena went like that. She was just non-responsive, just a veggie. She could kind of raise her right hand and she would make faces, but she couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't see or talk or nothing. Four or five years she was like that. Eating through a peg tube until she just withered away. Mom saw that. We've talked about it.. it took me a day to decide. I decided CPR would be okay but I told them to not intubate. I don't want that, you know?

She didn't come around for two days. When she did, she started opening one eye. Her pupils still weren't even but she started talking. She knew who I was, she recognized me. Something took her back though. To a long time ago. She was mostly talking gibberish, but she was talking at least.
"Where do you think you're at mom?"
"Well. I'm on... second street."
"Um. Second street where?"
"I'm on second. Second and Fifth I believe."
"Well, you're in the hospital."
"Did you hear about Japan? I heard about what it is."
"Japan?"
"I heard about the bombs they're doing in the war. I heard 'bout Japan and how about the bombs.."
"Mm."

She talked about having a husband. I guess, her first husband back in Indianapolis. Then she kind of talked about work some. How she had work. About some red car she thought Brian might have bought or something. I tried to go along with her but it was just gibberish.

Spell book.

Mechanical vibrations, electrical circuits, seisomology:
(5d^2 x)/(dt^2 )+4dx/dt+9x=2cos⁡(3t)

Hermite's equation, quantum-mechanical harmonic oscillator:
(d^2 y)/(dx^2 )- 2x dy/dx+2y=0

competition between two species, ecology:
dy/dx= (y(2-3x))/(x(1-3y))

Laplace's equation, potential theory, electricity, heat, aerodynamics:
(∂^2 u)/(∂x^2 )+(∂^2 u)/(∂y^2 )=0

brachistochrone problem, calculus of variations:
y[1+(dy/dx)^2 ]=C

Nuclear fission:
∂N/∂t=(∂^2 N)/(∂r^2 )+1/r ∂N/∂r+kN

Cheat.

All along, I could have been more resourceful.
More creative.
Cheating's got a bad rep. But cheating's good most of the time.

Of course I don't cheat on tests. I don't cheat on girlfriends. And I'll never cheat with money.

But if you want something, there's some really creative ways of getting it. Or substituting for it. Or erasing the reason you need it.
And if you want to do something, there's usually a bunch of ways of doing it.
Sometimes people do stuff so creatively and effectively, it's like they're cheating.

time bomb

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Sometimes I see strangers walking by and they look like people I know. This happens to everyone I think, especially people who traverse busy college campuses.

But when I see strangers that look similar to my favorite people I hesitate. Surely they must be similar to some of my favorite people.

I imagine that if I stopped them and started talking, a friendship would blossom and that this new, clean, beautiful relationship would be well taken care of. We would say and do all the right things and happiness, peace, and understanding would creep in and fill us up. We would overflow and the world would be better.

But I fuck everything up. I don't give the look-a-likes a chance because I know that looks are deceiving. I continue to give less than I can to all of my friends and to all the people I already know. I'm less sweet. I care less and do less. And I don't know if I will or can or want to change. Part of me is sorry.

"Is that the kind of man you need? Loquacious type?"

"Fair point, lieutenant."

"Then I usually get a second wind. Like last week I went and played intramural basketball with some friends and the first game I played I just got so tired. But after like a five minute break I played the second game and I felt just fine the whole time. So I'm thinking the 0.7 miles there might be kind of tough, but I should be okay on the way back."
"Mm, yeah."

-------------------------

"It's not sad enough. No pathos. No real and true pain. You don't know what it's like do you?"
"I thought you wanted me to just--"
"No. I didn't. I didn't want you to 'just' anything. This isn't 'just' a piece. It's everything. Which is why you can't play it."

-------------------------

"What do you mean?"
"I don't know"
"Well, how do you feel?"
"I almost don't. Maybe it's not even a darkness that's coming over me. I think I'm just aware of all the dark things that surround us all and that none of us really notice."
"Hm."

"You know how fish are supposed to be able to see more colors than us?"
"Yeah. Lots of animals can I think."
"Well it's like that."
"And that's why you're sad?"
"No, well. It's just how it gets to me. I just can't escape it. Everywhere I turn I feel it or see it or whatever. Everywhere I step it's seeping up through my shoes and everywhere I go it's turning my skin dark. And I can't help but feel sad, very sick and kind of sad."

-------------------------

"=)

I like all kinds of books.

And magazines, and newspapers, and signs.

I'll just about read anything.

My favorite books teach me things, like textbooks, or take my mind to new places. I can remember the best books fondly weeks and months after I've read them. Books like Fahrenheit 451 and The Perks of Being A Wallflower that leave lasting impressions.

I think I find that mostly in science fiction--Asimov--but I've read and enjoyed a lot of the classics as well: Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, Conrad's The Heart of Darkness, Shakespeare's Hamlet.

I can't wait to meet new people and read more books.

=)"

I wrote this on a profile for an account at a book-related website sometime when I was 18.

Only two or so years have passed and yet I feel so different. Every year I look back with disbelief at who I was.

In a year or two I'll accidentally trundle across this web-log and think, "Did I really write that?"

Critical

"What is that... on her head?"
"That's her hair!"
"What in the world? These pop stars are getting crazy these days."
"How could anyone think that looks good? I just don't get it."
"It's flaming red, ain't it?"
"She's just begging us, 'Look at me! Look at me!' She really wants our attention."
"I just wanna know how she got that thang to stand up."

Sigh, I wanted to interject, but in looking back, I'm glad I kept my mouth closed.
Kind of broke my heart, though. I really like her music. It's not pop, either, it's electronic dance-pop. And I think the point is that it doesn't look "good". That's why we have mohawks, too.

Anyways. I am a hypocrite. Because I'm critical, too. But I'm trying not to be. I've been so critical for so long, that I can't enjoy the things I normally would if I weren't so judgmental.

Nightway

Driving on the interstate at night puts me at ease.

I am a homunculus of the object with which I am travelling in.

My ordinary mind-body dichotomy shifts as I become an entity that is hurtling through space 130 feet per second. Through darkness, I am channeled by strips of light.

With no resistance, I let the potential between my initial and final positions act on me, increasing my velocity to comparatively infinite.

I think this is how super-conducted electrons must feel.

Conventions

There's a blurry line between standards and conventions.

I embrace standards. They are what enable us to play DVD's in different DVD players. Shoot cameras with different (and yet compatible) films or memory cards. A standard just put into effect insures that I'll be able to use my friend's phone charger when I forget mine at my apartment.

But conventions are a little different. Sometimes "convention" and "standard" overlap. But when I think of standard I think: tested, researched, analyzed, criticized, debated, proven. When I think of convention I think: unoriginal, complacent, unoptimized, possible inefficient.

I hate conventions. I hope I question just about everything. For instance, by convention, people build houses out of concrete, wood, fiberglass insulation, red-brick, glass, drywall, paint, plywood, nails and screws, etc. When really, you could make the foundation of a house a mixture of dried clay, sand, and some sort of organic adhesive like horse manure. Non-toxic, sculptable, and even free depending on the site of the house. But why don't we see more earthen houses? Where I'm from people would think it's weird, unorthodox, primitive, impractical, or ugly. But using a little creativity and a little muscle, you can make really beautiful living spaces with the stuff, just google images for "earthen house".

Also, by making a smaller house, you'd have less to house to maintain, freeing your time for other more fun/productive activities.

There are plenty of other silly conventions. Like friends dining out less for food and more for entertainment. I'm guilty and to an extent I condone that, but it's just cheaper to make your own dinner. And I would hope my conversation and friendly presence would be enough to entertain my friends.

I won't even get started on school and work. What are some conventions you think are silly/inefficient, or maybe, what are some conventions you think are very important and we should not defy?