moonfire_1

Well now, March break drawsto a close, and I look upon the stacks of homework I have and simply want to cry. I did less than I could have done with what I can do, therefore, I have much that must be done whether or not I can do it. ahh well, we reap what we sow, yes? I played video games most of the break, spending time with people, had fun. Yet, I still feel stretched. To quote Bilbo Baggins "like to little butter over to much toast".

Honestly, I can handle the essay due tuesday, I'm almsot half done now and I haven't even inserted any real facts. I can handle the journal compliation assignment, I jsut have to do some look backs. What realyl bothers me is the group assignment.

Now, the group assignment bothers me first off, due to the fact that the group has not had a meeting yet. However, that can be worked aronud. Perhaps the fact that my system lost all of the info and even my topic that I had for the project, thereby making me have ot do it all again? Perhaps, but not entirely. What bothers me most is the pointlessness of this assignment.

I honestly feel like walknig up to the professor and tellnig him that I do not beleive that this project truely has anything to do with the course material or the objectives of the information of the course. Now, why? Good question. Simply put, I believe information to be alive in a sense. Not as a breathing organism, yet as a distinct entity. Information grows, shrinks, is borne, ceases to exist, changes, alters behaviour... all things that tell me it is alive. Everything alive, IMO, has some purpose. If it has a purpose, then that purpose is what allows it to go merely from existing to living. Defying that prupose is to force information to not live, but ot merely exist. This project is one such denial. It denies the purpose of the information of the class, which is to allow you to grow "wiser" from learning the material. A project which deviates from such material, which encompasses topics and relevancies that have little ot do with the class information, is thereby pointless and denies information it's purpose.

Essentially, this project kills the information of the class.

Often thei dea of Repentance comes ot mind. The reasons why to repent are varied, it is true. In the given course of an average day, there can be dozens of things said or done that could and probably would if opportunity arise, demand repentance. This then is not to list off the innumerous plausible offenses which I may or have incured over the tenure of my life. No, this is to discuss two aspects of repentance, the cause for it, and the emergence of it.

First the cause of repentence. The tittle for this update has given some hint towards the viwed basis for it. Regret. Something is only sought after to be remedied or justified once it is regretted. It makes no difference if the regret stems from legal consequences, moral or ethical consequences, or even violation of personal preferences. It still stands that Regret is the source of Repentance, or Atonement as I have preferred to have it called. Now this begs a question, though simple, that reaches far for implication. This question being, is there Atonement which is not borne of self - interest? To justify the remedy of something based on regret, then to Atone is merely to soothe the ills of one's own life, not the ills of the offended life. Essentially then, Atonement is not the remedy of our actions, but the justification for them after the fact. I'll leave this idea to muddle.

Next I touch on the ideal of emergence of repentance. When or why does it emerge? Now, to attempt ot tackle this question in my current state, that being sick with the flu and barely able to see the keyboard on which my fingers now place thism essage, would be foolish. Hence I shall endeavour to tackle merely the aspect of which I am the most recent acknowledged of. This is the emergence of Repentance through delerium. To clarify this, a short tale. A few days passed, I was laying in bed, plagued by a high fever. I eventually managed to drag myself to the shower and toss myself into the cold running water. Obviously my fever rapidly decreased. Before that however, and as I subsequently attempte to reach the shower, my mind began to burn and spin with fevered delusions. I began to see and recall those whom I had wronged, those whom I had hurt unduely. At least, those I have percieved as having been hurt unduely by myself. At one point during my short, yet lengthy journey, I began to ponder the concept of atonement. All that rested in my mind, aside from releasing the fire that plagued my every joint, was to remedy the ills I had caused. Many scenarious pulled through my mind. Now, with a somewhat less fevrish mind, I am able to look through them and see none that are actually applicable. One that came strongest, was to merely fall where I stood, allow the fever to take me and let my mind work through it's own atonement. The fact I am still living to type this should make it obvious that did not happen. What then caused this resurgence of repentance within a mind to consumed by fever to process rationally? What instinct could have soguht a remedy to it's own misery so strongly that it brought about such thoughts at the pinnacle of it's own misery?

Here, I have no more to answer or guess at. I have typed my piece, barely at that. In my current state of being, I attempt to heal, only to find I am unsure of where the ills actually lie. There is more to this being known as human than even we ourselves are aware of. In time, more shall be revealed. At least, that is the presumption.

On a side note before beginning, it's getting relatively difficult to think of different subject tittles for these rants. Of course, I have the same problem naming my cds as of late. Ahh well, such is the mind which writes from behind a wall without pen or page.

I'd imagine that this rant would be merely to comfort my mind of my two greatest worries at this point, relationships and school. Since I tend to.... speak... more of relationships on this journal, let me then open with school.

School is.. well, progressing. lets see.. I have a group project due at the end of march, and my group has yet to finalise a topic. It is wonderful, truely it is. I am required to write a weekly behavioural journal for one class, of which I find myself constantly with blockage. The mid - term week is upno everyone at school, hence their tensions are rising. Add in my smart - ass mouth and over - active punny bone and I know there will soon be arguments abound. I don't mean for them to happen, I see humour as a manner to relax. Crack off a few jokes, get some smart - ass replies, counter with a few of my own, repeat until the subject is being beaten like a dead horse. Then move on. Yet most don't seem to share this point of view. Pity really.

Now, on to relationships. I just don't know. I'm honestly thinking I should merely compromise my morals. Betray my ethics, go t othe club, find someone with more boobs than brain cells and rock the night away. The problem here - in is the same as the soultion. I cannot, ethically or morally, do that. I can't just go pick someone up for a night of sex and walk away. So here I sit bitching about the lack of sex and relationship, yet I am bound by my own convictions to not pursue the easiest path of release. I often wonder if it's not life that is hard, but our own self - inflicted approximations of it. Perhaps one of my old girlfriends was right, maybe it is best if someone like me doesn't have the chance to procreate. Hard to judge really. After all, the human species does live life by the moment, irregardless of our awareness of it.

Well, I was at the bus stop today, and a thought crossed my mind as I stood there inhaling in the beautiful -30 C weather. A thought came to me then, and it's persisted til lnow, so here it is for all:

Has anyone ever exhaled a nice cloud of breath on a cold day, then inhaled before most of it had left the front of your face so that you inhale the cloud back in? I did, and when I did, it felt like cigarette smoke, yet tinged with a warm comfortable feeling, kinda like I was ready to cough but didn't have to, sort of a tensed relaxation.

Anyrate, the thought is, what the hell is that called? I can't be the first person to feel or experiance that. What is the scientific terminology?

Sorry, I jsut have a need for a lil bit of order and boundaries in my life lately. Don't ask, I don't know.

Well, first and foremost, a happy new year to all whom read these words.

Secondly, the reason for this medium of communication then? Yes, that may be more pressing than well wishes. However, bear no play in mind of my lack of joy concerning the new year. Each year is a new attempt to find a place in life. Each day is the immediate medium for that attempt. Thusly, each year is an infinite mode of methods and mediums which can allude to happiness, or produce happiness. The chance of production of said sorts allows me to enjoy the prospect of a new year.

However this journal, for that is it's best approximation, is now to hold my recent past and modern history. Christmas break to be precise. Ahh, but what a time that was indeed. In fact, it was so grande a time that I beleive I will share it here. Of course, my alterior motive is my need to organize my own thoughts in a more permanant fashion than can be relied upon with my mind.

Well, my break in Bathurst was as it could best be. A loss and a gain. A hatred and a love. Ignorance and enlightenment. But I tel lthe results before I tel lthe lesson and tale leading towards. It started with my friend, whom I'll place here as C. She was someone whom I used to date, a few years back now, that I still called friend and talked to. She had a rough go of things, having two children by differant fathers and is currently undergonig therapy for anger management before she can have her children now returned. Now, where this tale will lead, was in what C said/did to me. You see, it is relatively funny how the term respect can be thrown aronud without it ever being used or understood properly. Such is the case for C. For the purpose of this update, respect will be simply defined as not lying, not injuring, not debasing of another human being. Now here I tell my tale fully. C had told me she was with a guy. No problem, her perogative. The next day she told me she had broken up with him. She said it was simply that they were incompatable. From what she had told me, I would have believed that to be true. So I did. The next day I was driving with her to go get some coffee at one of the Tim Hortons. She then called her currently ex - boyfriend and started talking to him. The conversation implied that she had not broken up with him, that they were still gonig out, and that he was the one considering dumping her. I questioned her on this and she said that she just wanted to be with someone for the holidays, that was the sole reason. After coffee, she called him again, with more apologizing, and many I love yous. After her call, she giggled as if sadistic and asked me if I knew why she had just did that. Now, for those whom know me, this is where the "shit hit the fan". I asked her plain and simple why she felt the need to lie. She gave me her simple answer. It gets her what she wants. Now ,those who know me know that now, the fan and the shit have been "thrown out the window". I proceeded to give her a ten minute lecture on human morality and the ideas of human existance. Essentially, it came down to the ideas that humanity can only exist by co - existing. Life is not a matter of achieving al lthat you want, but by achieving what you need. I then told her only to call me once she could stop lying. She has yet to call. I cannot trust anything from her mouth. she has stabbed people in the back, one that I saw directly over this break. Such things debase a being to the point I no longer consider them human. Whomever is no longer human, no longer is deserving of the rules and regulations we have in place to protect human beings.

Now, for the gain. My female friend, A. I had not seen her in years. Last I had seen of her, was with a rather unsavory fellow whom I fonud out she was married to. Married, yet seperated. This was how I ran into her truth be told. WI found otu where she was, and went to see her. She has the cutest daughter. Anyrate, I spent time with her and her daughter, helpnig them to relax somewhat. I comforted her, held her, talked with her. I did al lthat I could for her. Ahh, but yes, there is an alterior motive here as well. a is the very first girl I had a crush on back when I was 5. For twenty years I've held that same crush, as well as a very basic fantasy. For the longest amount of years, I had wished to merely hold her, to be with her, to be able to be of some comfort to her. This break, I was able to do all of those things. To watching her fall asleep on me watching dvds, to holding her while we sat overlooking the beach and listening to the rain fall. With that part of my youth fullfilled, I am able now to look at things from a differant angle. I began to ask the questions of would there be a her and I? Could I go out with her? In truth, if there is a yes to this question, it is not now. I have many things to consider before I palce a vestment as such upon her, or upon myself. What I do know, is that I realised laying there with her, listening to the winds rage outside, that I do wish to have a family. I do wish to have a wife to love, children, a family. There is onep art of my life that no longer troubles me, one less line of thoughts to torment my mind with.

All things in life are balanced. For every positive there is a negative, for every debasing of humanity, there is a redemtion.

Well now, it appears that I am to now fulfill my previously stated obligation. That obligation being the story behind my recent dispersals of mood and mind. I would well imagine that the beginning is the best place to start, yet it is only half the story. Truely, there is a beginning to follow to this tale, but not the one presumed.

To say I had an over - protective mother is an understatement. Even now she is protective of me, almsot obsessively so at times. It is her way to show love. I know this now. I did not then. As do most of my age, I rebelled. It was my life to live, not hers. I was capable of my own decisions, and capable of following through with the consequences of them. Those things were mostly right, mostly. It was a chill Summer's eve at the house, same procedure as every night. I had to crash out due to morning obligations. My father was bitching about something or another. My mothermixed herself a glass of heart burn relief. She was the last one up, as she wasdetermined to get rid of her heart burn before gongi to bed. I had just drifted to sleep when I heard the crash. A few moments later my father burst into my room and told me to get ready. Next thing I recall was the chill of the night air on my face as we rushed to the hospital. My mother had suffered a heart attack and had been unconscious for over five minutes by the best placed estimate. The only reason she was alive was due to the chair she was sitting in tipping over.

The next two years were spent for the most part helping her to recover and to try and figure out, for myself, the exact context of life. Ironically, it was about this time I first fell in love and first found my calling, though it would be a while before I understood the second, and realised the true lack of the first. During this time my mother acted slgihtly odd, but it was acceptable. How many could look into the face of Death and return the same as when they had left? As time passed however, things began to shift ever deeper, ever darker. Soon her actions began to reflect the darkness which clouded her mind.

It began one night, again during the Summer. This night however, was humid and warm, yet felt sickly. And truely, a cancer bubbled forth that night which I shall not forget the depths of. It started as a contest between the two it seemed, on whom could scream the loudest, my father and my mother. Another fight over something that truely didn't matter in the long wrong. Yet it went a step further. She, throguh words, kicked myfather from the place I called home. He left that night. He had to. The rage burning in his eyes at her words almsot would have guaranteed physical harm to something/one that night had he not. So She began to cheer and sing a happy song after he had gone. She even invited her mother, my grandmother, over for a few days. This was the very top of the spiral, the descent which I had no idea could grow so dark.

My grandmother stayed but a few days before she retreated to her own home. Yes, retreated. She saw what my mother had become, she saw it far more clearly than I. Instead of facing it, she fled. As I reflect now, I understand her logic, I understand why she left. She was raised Strict Roman Catholic. One side effect of the Religion is the heavy burden of the "Sin of the Father". Anything that was wrong with my mother was her fault, and most likely due to her suffering it as well. Sometimes it is not the fear of another that drives one away, but the fear of what oneself may be which inflicts the most terror. Such was an occasion. At this time, I worked regluar shifts, 8 till 5, at the DNRE. Needless to say my sleep pattern was shot to hell with a Glok semi - auto. There were other things, physical things which stirred trouble into me. These physical things were in the form of my mother. She would burst into the room at random intervals of the night, screamnig something of snakes or other such things in my bed and pull/toss me from it. Thankfully, my work term was a short one. Unfortunatly, that left me with her all day long. There is a condition, Shared Psychotic Disorder if I'm not mistaken, in which the delusions of one being become the delusions of another through repeated exposure. I did not know this at the time, but what I did know was that her ideas were beginning to make sense. That frightened me beyond recognition. Thankfully one of my cousin's slept over from that point on, for the next week and a half. Over that time, we timed it perfectly so that we slept in shared shifts, always one able to watch over the other and my mother. Over this time, she began to carry about a large kitchen knife and mumble to herself. Then Speak. Then argue with. By the end of this week, she was arguing venomhently with these "phantasms" within her mind. Most of thier discussions involved death, either of myself, of her, or my cousin.

One night, we drew the line and acted. She had been screaming for well over an hour about Death being within the house that night. In a fashion, she was right, though not as she would have been able to surmise. My cousin and I called the police ot come get us and arrest her. They came silently in the night. Seeing them we went to make our escape, yet fonud another obstacle before us. My mother had palced the kitchen table, large enoguh to seat six people and made of solid wood, against the door. Onto this she piled glasses and bowls, forks and spoons. Anything that would make noise when and if the table were disturbed. We grabbed the table and somehow managed to move it, despite the devices of noise and clamour. Only ast the very end did we hear the falling of one spoon, followed quickly by her racing footsteps. We fled into the night, into the ploice car to be brought to the station. My cousin's parents came and got him. My father came and got me. We then did what we needed, we went to the hospital. We found out my mother was in the psychiatric ward and we would be able to see her if we waited long enoguh for the sedatives to kick in. At this point my grandmother showed up.

She pointed ot my father and accused him of it all. Her illness, her confinement, the ruination of the relationship, all was upno his shoulder to burden. Shoulders which stooped far to low by my eye, so I confronted her with what had truely happened. Her next words are a source of regret to me. Her next words are the reason I did not speak to her for years. The words spoken by her that night are the reason now, after her passing, I regret the time I did not spend with her. She said: "You did this? No. You are no grandson of mine. What type of child would do this to their mother? What type of child could?" Then she walked away, to go home. My father and I went to see my mother. After speaking to her briefly, she did not recall anything that had happened to her, or that she had done. It would be this way as long as she held onto her medication, taking ti regularly.

If I were to say it went smoothly from there I would be taking a large leap from reality. No, she had two relapses. One forced me to go throguh legal process to have her committed. There is nothing quite like having to tell a judge that your mother is clinically insane at the age of 17. My grandmother, after being forced to stay with my mother during her regular phases, then into her active phases, realised she was wrong. She realised my mother needed the treatments, that what I had done was correct. I could not bring myself to forgive her though. I could not find the humanity to do such a thing, not at that time. Scars which are fresh will still bleed after all.

This then, is the basic story of my recent preoccupation of mind and spirit. Did I do what was right? I did what was needed. Am I a horrible person for doing such? I know I am not. However, what one feels and what one knows are often very different. This case does not vary far from that respect. Am I frightened? Yes. Beyond measure. There is a rough percent chance, 14%, that I will inherit this illness of the mind, a 14% chance that I will dance down the Black Spiral. A 14% chance I will loose all that I am, be unable to aide my friends and those I love. A 14% chance I will fail in my oath.A 14% chance that the eprson I am will cease to exist. All that I can truely say to this, is so be it. I have entrusted my life to the Machinations of Fate before, and I shall do so again. Should this overcome me, then I shall learn what is needed from it, recover and become as best I am able, and move on to the next wall in my path. I am terrified still, make no mistake. I shall not however, fail to face this challenge as I have any other. Honor, courage, strength. I know not the quantities I possess of these, nor if they shall be sufficient, but I shall employ them as best I may.

I have vows to keep, truths to uphold, general chaos yet to sew amongst the organized and self - righteous. I will never abandon those whom I care for. As long as I am able I shall fight what attempts to eat at my nature. If for nothing else, than for those whom rely upon me. With this said, or more accuratly placed to font, I hope my recent moods and dysfunctions can be excused and perhaps better understood. If not, my apolagies.

Here is my tale then, take it and learn well from it.

~Behind Blue Eyes~
No one knows what it's like to be the bad man
to be the sad man, behind blue eyes.
And no one knows what it's like to be hated
to be faded, to telling only lies
But my dreams, they aren't as empty
as my conscious seems to be.
I have hours, only lonely.
My love in vengence, thats never free.
Noone knows what it's like to feel these feelnigs,
like I do, and I blame you.
Noone bites back as hard on their anger,
none of my pained will, can show through.
But my dreams, they aren't as empty
as my conscience seems ot be
I have hours only lonely.
My love is vengence, that's never free
No one knowns what it's like ot be mistreated
to be defeated, behind blue eyes
And no one knows how to say, that their sorry,
and don't worry, I'm not telling lies.
But my dreams, they aren't as empty,
as my conscience seems to be.
I have hours, only lonely,
My love is vengence, that's never free.
No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man,
to be the sad man, behind blue eyes.

Well, as odd as it is, this song seems to fit currently. Here I sit, a few hours later than it should be, a few more pages less read than should be, and myself at the cusp of something I am unsure of. In a few hours I have an exam to write. This exam is, and thusly, will be, on the topics of Eating Disorders, Legal and Ethical Issues in Psychology, and Schitzophrenia.

Yes, this is the same topic as that discussed last post. However, now I have had, unfortunatly, plenty of time to ponder it. As I sit here and recall what my mind will, I remember the events of that ngiht, and those leading up to it. I remember the fear, the pain, the doubt, the hatred. Beyond that, I remember afterwards, the loneliness, fear, the worry. My father was there phyisically, at least as much as his rearing could allow him to be. But it wasn't enough. Not when the only person you could ever truely turn to is taken away, is replaced with someone who is almost the same person, who is close enough to be only a shade's differance. Yet that differance is beight enough to see world's by.

Yet, by what rights do I have to complain or to cry? I could imagine the answer being both plenty and none. Yet here I sit spiraling downwards. What keeps me from my descent? My duty and requirements of me here, within the world of filtered light. Honestly I wonder some days how I cease my own spirals. Now, however, this had gotten more into bitching and complaining, so I will end things here. I will promise that at some point I will further explain that night and it's noticed ramifications. Another night then. Fro now, to allow my mind some solace of slumber before I have to drain it to paper. Lovely

Well, it comes now that once again exams loom above the heads of so many studious, and not so, individuals at the fine academic institutions which surround this globe, or at least within the Western Hemisphere. Perhaps it is the new scent in the air from these exams, perhaps it is merely the subject matter that I spend my time reviewing. Whatever the cause, I am once again burdened by thoughts which both disturb and enlighten me. Once again, I find myself to write upon this board, this place which bears the reflection of what light finds it's way to my soul. Once again, it is time to bitch insurmountably about things which may or may not truely matter in the even - handed view of the world, yet still they come to the fore.

I would imagine the best way to begin this is to state the nature of my reviews. Begin with statisctics, followed by Societal Ethics, and end with Adult psychopathology. The last of these three is the one which spurs me to thought, based upon the reflection of the second. What I was reading today, was the review of Schitzophrenia. Now, I imagine for this to impact as it should, some background will be required. I will have to dig a fair bit further back than earlier today for this however, as these memories... well, that is another matter, but suffice to say it is from a fair ways back.

I was fifteen becomnig sixteen as I recall that point, theripe age for dissention and hatred to run rampant with random bursts of confusion and the ideals of invincibility. I would guess that for all that happened, for all that I can claim to be, I would at that time be considered your average case file, at least my reactions and the events and thoguhts that followed were. But I digress. My mother was recovering well from her heart attack, this having happened the year before. Well, saying well is an understatement. She still did her usual routine of smoking, gossiping and drinking coffee, but who was I to judge someone who had gone through something I couldn't comprehend? She had, after all, almost died from her heart attack. Things like that can change people. Sometimes, it's what you can't see changing that is not the problem, but more what you see and don't realise. When my mother had her heart attack, the oxygen to her brain was cut off for a duration. During this time, there was a permaanant chemical imbalance caused within her brain. This caused her to develope Schitzophrenia. Now, I knew roughly what it was, but nothing more. At the time, I knew little beyond the fact that I was nearly sixteen and hadn't had a girlfriend yet, and was severly bothered by that fact. I would imagine it's poor justification for not seeing what was happening to her, to the family, but at the time it was an all encompassing justification. After all, our immediate thoughts are the ones that stay closest to us. But, she failed. Not anyone in particular, but simply failed in her mind. Her world became a tangled mass of confusion and delusion tempered by paranoia. It was during this time that I saw her at her worst. It was during this time that I fell into her delusions. What she said, on some levels, made sense at first. What she said, consumed me. Up to a point. At the height of her delusions, when I was alnoe with her, fearful to sleep for what deamons may come to me in said slumber, I realised she was gone. She was not the woman who had borne me and raised me. Here now was someone who loved me by word, yet terrified me by deed.

The culmination of this was a midnight run from a barricaded home into the waiting arms of the local police force, whom then forcibly removed my mother for medical treatment. Then, at the hospital, an encounter with my grandmother, loud and dividing. It was three years before I went into my grandmother's house after that event. It is three years that I regret now with all of my being, but one cannot change the past, only learn from it. Here then is the current dissolution of self.

Reading the section on Schitzophrenia, I was reminded of the nights of terror I spent wondering if perhaps she would see me as one of the delusional "bad guys", if I would be the next to be lined up with the butcher knife she held close to her. I was reminded of the very thoughts I had the first time I saw her within the psychiatric ward, swearing that she was fine and that there was no reason for her to be there. I remember..... "Will I be like that?" Will I be as confussed towards the world, will my mind fall into an impenetrable abyss which seperates all that I am from itself? Will I be taknig medication which dull my senses and cloud my judgement, to wrestle eternally after with the concept of sarcasm? Am I to lose all that I am?

The honest answer, the one I can give as a student of the mental arts, is yes, there is a chance that I am to become that. Frankly, that is one of the most terrifying thoughts. I will admit to being far from perfect. Hell, it is unlikely that I can attain any form of perfection in existance. What I am however, I do wish to keep. There are parts I wish I could change, almsot all have these thoughts. It's part of the socially conditioned human. I would imagine, to draw sense from this, my current train of thought is what would become of those whom I call friend should I fall into the madness of my own potential for madness? What will happen to who I am. will I even accept such a fate? Do I have such strength?

As I said before, how I react and have reacted thus is just a text book case, all expected and fitting to the listed reaction charts. Yet here I sit, and throguh the day, struggling with tear - filled memories of dark nights and recesses to the mind best let unexplored. I sat wondering if that fate was to be mine. Yet, it is all according to the proper path of mankind as proposed by science. For some reason, that does not give me comfort.

On reading about Euthanasia for my Ethics class, I have come to a realisation. Philosophers like those presented in my textbook are the reason beings such as Bush keep getting elected. But, I digress on that point, as it is not the focus for this "rant". While reading the section on Euthanasia, I can to an epiphany concerning something one of my English professors said to the class. It was during a bout of giggling and laughing, by most of the class, at the idea that Shakespeare wrote his "love" sonnets to a man and not a woman. The professor said plainly: "Gorw up, homosexuality is natural, the Puritans made it bad". Now, a few days later, I have pondered the ramifications of those words and will now present those ramifications here.

First off, my argument will require a few presumptions if you will. First off, the existance of some greater power, be God, Goddess, Nature, or any other form of power. Merely some Power above and beyond humanity which is not created by humanity. For simplicity sakes, I will term it The Divine. Second, the presumption that the Divine cares about the progression of humanity and that it has not all been one guidless accident of evolution. Those things in place, I shall begin.

First off, we shall presume that since humanity follows a course set by the Divine, then humanity would not grow in population beyond what couldbe sustained. Hence, there would be guards or preventatives placed within to prevent the growth of humanity beyond it's boundaries of acceptability. Obviously, prevention would be the first step. How might one prevent it? Discouraging is an effective for of prevention. To accomplish that, basic psychology dictates you attach an unwanted result with a wanted action. What do Humans not want? to be sick or to die. So, you attach that to the idea of procreation. Hence, STDS such as AIDS and Ghonneria. What else could be done? Guide the species to develope it's own methods for ceasing procreation. In the case of Humans, birth - control and condoms. However, the first has proven an inneffective deterrent, the second an innefective prevention. Hence, there needs to be something greater to restrict Humanity if it is to stay within the boundaries the Divine have guided for them.

What is it that drives humanity to procreation? The desire, the urge, for fullfillment. As well as the desire to not be alone. Hence, the urge of procreation derives from the sexual need to be fullfilled and for there to be something else in one's life that accompanies their life. Herein, the solution is simple. Both conditions can be met by memebers of the same sex. Sexual fullfillment can be accomplished by same sex partners. The partnership of same sex relationships fills the need for comfort and love.

Therefore: Homosexuality is the Divine method of population control, and is hence, wholistically natural.

Well, this night was interesting fro mthe start, and not in the way which is beneficial towards my continued sanity. I guess it really doesn't make sense, my trail of thought which has led to my current mind - frame, yet here it rests, at the point of turn and lock.

It began with the promise of a halloween party/club visit. Come 8 o'clock, I began to drink, by nine I was told that everyone else was already half tanked and to meet everyone at the club. I was somehow, mysteriously, excluded from the pre - club party. Anyrate, from there it went to the club, go anoniminity. I danced, and even got selected for the semi - finalist for costume. When it was my call to go and be center stage, was it my name my friends were calling? No, they called the name of the other fellow from the "group" whom was selected as a semi - finalist. As such, I stood there alone to face the calls of those judging, bearing nothing but my own confidence as a shield. Oh, but how it becomes yet more savoury. He, the other fellow who got selected, won second place. Congradulations. His costume was pretty good. Al lthat really mattered to me was that the one whom had the best costume won, which was the 2 people dressed as a coffin. Anyrate, I was dancing, he came up to me and said that all the semi - finalists had a running 25 $$ bar tab, ie free booze, due ot contest. So I, trusting in the basic tenants of human nature, went to check it. I find that he had tried to get me to pay his bartab. Great huh? So I go and sit down in the back and ponder for a while.

All that really, truly bothered me was that not one of the poeple I considered friend cheered or called support to me. As it stood, when I talked ot them all they could hoop about was the other fellow's costume. Then for him to pour salt into the wound of that with the bar tab? No. Not good, not ever. So, I walked downtown, leaving the group and early to find a cab. As I left, I passed by everyone, maknig eye contact with each, not a boo from any of them. I beleive I can see when my presence is not wanted rather well, that was oneo f those times. So I managed to find a phone booth and waited outside the bus station, leaning against the brick wall flooded by a light like some poor filme noir, for the cab to show up.

Needless to say, I was not impressed by how the night had turned out. One depressant unto another, unto another, then to the final culmination of emptiness.

Yet.

Life had another trick to play upon me. I swear to the Divine, this is the reason I follow the will of the Goddess, simply, if nothing else, her crueal sense of irony. Her humor which goes beyond all reason and levity.

As the cabby was driving me home, he asked if I minded stopping to pick up another passanger, I frankly did't care. In comes this gothic type. We get to talking, and I find out she's taking massage therapy and loves anime. We talk more, and I get to find that she lives maybe a block from me and I get her phone number.

So, the basic equation is the night was a deficit. The factual equation, I can't stay angry long, so the night wasn't that bad. Irony seems to envelope me as a cloak some days, yet, I cannot escape the same thought each time: What mask can I wear which will abate my lonliness?