Oedipus Rex and Hauteur

Oedipus Rex.

Oedipus complex.

Electra complex.

Greek mythology.

Tragedy befalls.

Romeo and Juliet.

Mercutio, Mercutio...

The world is funny.

Here are some of its jokes:

It's funny how damn interesting the world is, and how much you really are missing out on when you don't search.

It's funny how many words there are in the English language and then translated to be said in 300 different ways by people of different tongues, yet you only know but a handful.

It's funny how people on the street are just people to you, they're just scenery. They're background props to a moment, elated, over-exaggerated, or pretentious may it be.

It's funny how we're their props, too. Just a silly face passing us, but a beautiful one should they be in love, but a mocking one, should they not.

It's funny how when we say a big number, we don't truly know its quantity. Yes, we fully comprehend the immense quality (provided the subject), but the quantity? It's just a mathematical term we've learned, memorized, and forgotten.

It's funny how people give Christmas gifts with nametags. Why do you want to be uncovered? Why not leave the tiny surprise just that: a surprise. Leave it lingering with mystery on their front porch, and walk away?

It's funny how poets may have thought in prose. Do we all think in prose? It is much more enjoyable to think in poems, in alloted increments of syllables. It keeps your thoughts in check, keeps them controlled, severed, cut, and chained. We become like Petrarch: our minds grasped by our Lauras, our divine Lauras, but we torture ourselves with rules...

It's funny how poetry has a rhyme, reason, rrrrhythym... Yes, O Humanity, we've conquered our very minds. Though elusive and hesitant, we did it. Good job, ... Great job!... What now?

It's funny how some choose to live out of a screen. No, not without movement. That period lasts for what, 2 hours? We carry it with us, the quotes and the actions, the magic we wish we could have. We live out a character's (or multiple... Yes, usually multiple) dreams in real life. 5 stars.

It's funny how, the more we think, the more we think. Redundant? No, it's not. Thought is like learning: slow to start, but once it begins, it builds and builds and builds itself, by itself. Then, like Galileo's experiments, they end on the floor, SPLAT! Whether it be a watermelon or a drop of water, the object will reach the ground, its opposing force, in due time and end like all great thoughts end.

It's funny how the mind can hold more than the earth ever could, yet there are 6 billion of them on the earth at the same time. What a paradox... A space that can hold "x" amount of material houses "6,000,000,000x" amount of thought. Yes, my numbers are just figures of approximation, I understands. Some of the world's potentially loveliest and greatest minds are wasted on heroin, and some exceed such standard as stated above. But still, what a paradox!

It's funny how- Well, do you find it funny how... My jokes have been getting progressively longer? Yet... Where's the punch line? You're surely not laughing yet. I know I'm not.

Well, here's the punch line:

...To get to the other side.

Yes, my surplus of useless thought is made up for in my lack of creativity pertaining jokes... Or anything of the hilarious sort. I go without a sense of humor, really. Yet I find the world incredibly hilarious (as you can probably see above).

In 10 years, my elevated and strained language/vocabulary will be absolutely necessary and expected. Everyone (if they haven't already) will catch up with me, and I'll look like a dunce for just being another one of the general public... But doesn't that include everyone?

So, in preparation and in true nerd spirit, I'm increasing my vocabulary. Dictionary{dot}com has this wonderful sidebar selection called "Word of the Day." I'm using this to my advantage, and using the "Words of the Days."

And today's is... Drum roll, please!...

HAUTEUR.

In case you don't know the meaning, it means bearing a haughty or arrogant manner. I hope my "elevated" language does not cause me to display myself as a person of hauteur!

So, my reason is stereotype-worthy. Also, on a more typical note, I hope to use these words in my English essays in the future... In fact, I should definitely make a list! Yes, this year will be a Year of Knowledge. Mmmm.

So, my spiel is done. Begone, dull care.

I wake up.

I wake up.

In a cold room.

I go outside.

To a cold world.

I get dressed.

To hide myself in warmth and colour.

I put my glasses on.

To be able to see the shades of grey.

I don't laugh.

Because I've been coupled with cold .

I don't smile.

Because frost collects on my lips.

I don't think.

Because it won't be thoughts warm and damask.

I don't open my eyes.

Because I'm tired of grey.

And somewhere, deep within the fences of my mind,

I've sewn myself a quilt of colour.

To withstand the grey.

I've sewn it with warmth and colour,

To cover up the grey.

I'm cold in a cold room, inside a cold world.

Or Did You Get Lost In Amsterdam?

So, completely normal post.

Wouldn't it be funny if you still read these? I just thought of that! You can't seem to muster up any nerve to say an insult or apology to my face, or even over the computer or phone. You're such a man.

But anyways, I'd like to thank this person. For insulting me. No, I'm serious!

I talked to O.T.H. today, and he said that this person insulted me and mocked me. You see, there was a bit of a problem because I play SO much better at soccer when I'm mad. Yesterday, I got so pissed off during a scrimmage against the boy's team that I was like "UGH! I'm fed up!" So I came up and like shoved Josh, and I was so happy because Andrew even said I was getting better! And he would NEVER say that about anyone. It made me proud. So today, E.B. was like "Ah! I need to get you angry, so you can beast at soccer!" And I'm like "But nothing makes me angry..."

UNTIL NOW! I heard what O.T.H. said, and I felt quite indignant. So, I've decided to carry this pissed-off-ed-ness with me over the weekend until Monday's soccer practice and Wednesday's GAME (maybe) and be aggressive. So thanks to this person for giving me a reason to be upset! It really helped.

Love forever and always,

Bianca!

Feeding Time With TV

Feeding tubes are the wires.

Subconsciously racked onto our brains, unaware of the origins.

The wires, though sitting halfway across the flickered room,

are impossibly linked to us, halfway across the flickered room.

The shadows dancing of hues and saturations,

of hints of what could be words, what could be substantial.

Containing the standard, yet shirking to provide just this.

Bare minimum we are fed through a screen, meals pushed through the pores.

Bare minimum liquid words, from the station to the brain.

Bare minimum accepted with rush, with fervor.

Accepted as substantial, for it's all we know.

Yet should we look inside, the meager meals become known.

The human mind, starved weak, stretched taught on thin bones,

still accepting the meals with fervor and delight.

Skin doled among bones, bones assigned skin to protect the vulnerability.

The collapsing skeletons of human minds wander in and out,

weaving through what we are given, trying to piece a thought.

From what lacking we are provided,

such lacking the harvests reaped.

Still, every night when sunlights and skylights flicker out

and man-light replaces these with its odd hues and saturation,

we partake in this restricted meal,

deemed the appropriated dosage, a standard set by invisible hands.

The Invisible Hands, the framework behind our words.

The same hands that coax the skeletons into submission,

to believe what is given is plenty.

Night after night, we sit,

eyes shoved with blasphemous meals, ears clogged with useless "must-knows."

Night after night, sitting in a human-lit darkness,

we wait and wish for the feeding tubes to deliver something new.

Praying for this meal to finally be enough,

for this feeding tube to present us with the new standard.

Yet night after night, in our self-imposed

hues and saturations,

the same meals are recycled and shipped straight from the Invisible Hands.

The wires as feeding tubes.