listening to: Deathboy - Cheap Shot
mood: stressed

Detention brings out my inner student. In a 45-minute period I managed to complete eight vocabulary units. On my own volition. Sounds easy, right? It is, but I did them without becoming bored. God I'm such a dork. To prove how not bored I am, I'm going to whip out this incredibly urply treatise on identity, written using every single vocabulary word in the fourteen lessons the class has completed.

"It is a pseudonym to lampoon the banality of my existence. I hide my bellicosity under a glib veneer, finesse purloined from a lugubrious past for nefarious purposes. I am my lover, my friend, my nemesis."

Just typing it out makes me feel like a dick. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop!

"To sustain a nebulous entity as one's self requires one to cast their name away. It is a price commensurate to its prosaic good. It is propriety to revile oneself, to undergo an abject metamorphosis into a series of empty words, into a euphemism, to admonish one's fears into secrecy behind a phlegmatic shell.

"But one becomes distraught over such discursive thought. I am barely cognizant of the ennui creeping to assimilate my body, alive, but incognito in the guise of another. This farcical hyperbole fortuitously limits my foray into the omniscient, but still, I am caught in a fatal mesmerism.

"I am the despot and the expatriate, calling colloquies with myself and attempting to allay my own impending rebellion. With Arachne's adroitness, I fence the choleric flood, feigning bravado, my blazon Momos' dirge.

"Shrouded by his doggerel I assume the seraphic countenance of the sanguine and the decorum of the ascetic. Made amorphous with my own wicked intentions, I proffer the devil's protégés fame and recognition with a glass eye and a facile tongue.

"That vociferous mass, exhorting their dogma, is composed of a sundry of all things alive but young. With scurrilous words I inveigle the nondescript to discard the reasoning of the implicit, to heed the call of a nonentity as my parsimonious ears have done.

"They venerate the etymology of the immutable projections guarding my rotten pit. No man has ever dared broach that summit, for as they extol my vices they become predisposed to failure themselves. I seek the erudite, to subjugate and absolve me of my antipathies.

"My indulgent thoughts nettle me, infringing on the edge of reality. For we are ostensibly antipodal, those in the retroactive are the sole deniers of the specious truth.

"So who will mourn my extraneous presence here? Who will deliver a poignant eulogy at mundane abnegation of self? The sweet euphony of their copious weeping, the sonorous peals striking the end of my tenure, are those sounds that are fated to remain forever foreign to me? For I am not a person but a name, and not more than a name, and so not more than the progeny of an afterthought.

"What of the body that has engendered the name? Naturally we ascribe it to the humdrum, introverted life of which all actions outside of that we can see are inconsequential. Yet in reality, we are hackneyed paragons of idiosyncrasy, our homilies only empty negatives of our thoughts, lamenting our foibles in clandestine whispers, punctilious murderers preparing elegies, stifling our exhilaration at shedding our true selves.

"We are connoisseurs of out experiences, precocious and sweet, split and driven into gregarious piñatas. Upon us is enforced the gentle hand of civility, but as it is twisted into obscurity by the self-loathing, the fanatic desire for germaneness arises.

"In retrospect, a death of information often leads to such a situation, in whence, an aberration is not unwelcome. The ludicrousness of this behavior only corroborates the evidence that we are conflicted beings, hiding what others adjudge unworthy, the pendulum inching every closer to carve the salient candor from our flesh. We are diurnal creatures, yet we invoke a herculean effort to cast the shadows over our still-extant artifices."

"So extensive is the damage of our chicanery that often the person we once were cannot be deduced. No matter how deeply one's configuration captures the scrupulous attention of prying eyes, the proponents of disguise have already divined the future through street augury, leaving nothing to be proved and everything to be refuted.

Behind the name I call myself, a guffawing and querulous brat lurks. I incarcerate it in cold and stone, waiting for it to capitulate to my smooth exterior of magnanimity. But when I become to munificent, or perhaps too indulgent for want of a spark, the ego spares no propitious moment to burst from the crevice, a cascading effusion to affront me once again."

Well, there it is. I've been wanting to do that for a while. If I showed it to a friend, they'd probably be like, that's real good. If I showed it to my English teacher, she'd say, "What the heck is this? You swallowed a thesaurus, took a crap, and wiped your ass with this paper."

And I would agree wholeheartedly.

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Like a leaf in a pond, I have somehow found myself drifting to where I originally started--digging my way through nuTang after a two-year absence. All my old posts are gone but not forgotten. I felt it best to start anew. It surprised me that my friends were still here and quite active, because I've lost touch with them and I'm a little embarrassed by that.

A lot has happened since then, too much to fit in one post. I'll be visiting Denver again this summer, which ironically was the subject of my posts two years ago. It's a weird feeling that despite all the changes I've been though, this hasn't.

But then again, I've never gotten used to the feeling of normalcy.

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