The Shitpile

Saturday, January 06, 2001

posted by Yossarian 9:00 PM EST
Gamadan continues, one recent highlight being a seven hour communal rpg binge (on a school night, no less). I'm currently in the 60th hour of FF9, wrapping up the loose ends, ready to escape the shackles of the Mist Continent and put on the shackles of FF7. Also got a few thousand pages of reading material yesterday which, in addition to the few thousand I already had sitting on my floor, will turn me into a crazed hermit for the next few weeks. I am in the land of milk and honey. link

Thursday, January 04, 2001

posted by The Dark Intellect 11:57 PM EST
Pre-Calculus has a special place in my heart. It is right before this 3rd period class that I procure from Mrs. Richards a wide selection of magazines including and limited to Time, Newsweek and Entertainment Weekly, which I peruse during pre-calc. So aside from the homework, it's not a class I particularly mind. Every once in a while someone corrects the teacher because he makes silly mistakes. I smile. Then I take my notes like a zombie, and when everyone else does homework I read. I do my math at home so I can finish it all in one fell swoop. This usually works fine, but today it did not. There were several problems which were bad. There was nothing good about these problems. They weren't hard or easy. They were bad. After disgustedly throwing down my pencil, attempting to sublimate my anger through physical exercise, and then trying to bury the stress by consuming large amounts of delicious food, I decided not to do these problems.

Here's my message to you, Pre-Calc Review Packet: you give me another bad problem and I'm going to give you a cremation. You need me more than I need you, you sorry sheaf of papers. You've already got more than a hundred problems on you- but I can give you one that will really make a difference. I never liked you, but now it's personal, and even though you've got more personality I've got more limbs; mark my words, biatch. You fuck with me again and I'll tear you up with a quickness. link

Wednesday, January 03, 2001

posted by The Dark Intellect 6:45 AM EST
There's something not entirely unpleasant about getting up at five in the morning. Perhaps it's having two hours to prepare yourself mentally for the rigors of school. Perhaps it's finishing that Health review packet that you really didn't think about, and that's probably not worth thinking about, but Goddam! the feeling of pride you get when you're doing your homework at six in the morning, it's amazing. If only I'd known it felt this good before, I might have gone through high school a different man. As it is, sadly enough my senior year is my best one in terms of grades. Let's all cry now. Ok, moment over.

Things I did over break:

Play Fallout 2 continuously for five hours at night, and got a nice shotgun so I could shoot people in the eyes from lots of feet away
Buy lots of candy and then not eat half of it because that's what happens when you have an embarassment of riches
Mastered the use of my electric razor (well, nine times out of ten it's an electric razor)
Found out I was human
Read Crime and Punishment
Some other stuff which I don't have time to write now. link

posted by ReaverXvX 5:43 AM EST
The time: 5:28 in the morning. The place, Ryan's dark and secluded bedroom were he sits hands shaking eyes blood shot and horribly twisted on caffiene. It's that time during just before the long run of going a whole day without sleep. That crazy insane time were nothing is happening and no one is about to keep your senses about. The time when the sleep comes up and grabs you by your balls and says "Oh yes you crazy, crazy, boy you want me. I know you do. Come and get me." It's the time when i must fight back! I must say NO to sleep. I have 12 hours of crazy schoolness to go through then I can submit to you, but this time around Ryan is not alone. Jesse is online with him, they are both battling the shakes and the fatique. Fighting the delerium. Who will win. Only God knows, and he doesn't exist. The worst is yet to come, the time when must pretent that he has succumb to the sleep and listen to the parents awake, and moving about while they hustle and bustle. The worst time of them all. Lots of crazy thoughts pass through your mind then. Maybe i'm really sick. Maybe i shouldn't go. Did i just piss myself? Crazy things that can't be stopped. Well fuck you! I'm not gonna let it get to me. I'm gonna sit here in my twisted, incoherent drug addled state, shaking and drooling for the next hour. I'm going to get through this. I WILL BEAT IT. Then i'm going with my comrade in arms to the awful waffle and we will have a nice breakfast with orange juice and .....waffles and then for 8 hours we will attend school and then come home, and crash like a mother fucker. Into sleep. Is that my dog? NO it's just my pillow mocking me with it's fluffyness.....that reptilian bastard..I kill it later. Wait we musn't scare the locals, the termites and such. If it weren't for his racist deficiency, i'd like Pillow a lot more. Who ever gave me access to this ultra-secure sight, was one stupid mother fucker...because now i'm going to lead an army of aardvarks to victory over the world. Maybe some Koala bears too. The shakes are taking over me now. I'm going to have to get off and dddeal with tttheem . I will talk to you aall on a seecccure line lllater. link

Tuesday, January 02, 2001

posted by Yossarian 10:24 PM EST
The Lost Week, a week of sleep and Dostoevsky and a New Year's party and 50 hours of FF9, a week I can barely remember, is coming to an end. School recommences tomorrow morning and I have to haul my carcass out of bed at 6 a.m. This is an opportune time to say that I hate fucking school and, by contagion, despise everything and everyone in any way associated with it. I loathe them all with a cold and piercing disgust that rivals the unilateral hatred in the heart of Lucifer himself. In fact, I cannot bear the sight of anything except my PlayStation, my bed, and the insides of my own eyelids. Congratulations, winter break, you have made a broken man of me. link

Sunday, December 31, 2000

posted by Kiyorf 9:55 AM EST
"Everything can change on New Year's Day. Everything can change on a New Years Day. And everything changed on New Year's Day." - Zack De La Rocha

12/31/00- 9:54 AM

Even though it's not New Year's Day, it feels close enough. All that was running through my head while Mom and Michelle were crying was the eerie, triumphant lyric: "Everything can change on a New Year's Day. Everything can change on a New Year's Day." I don't know what I feel. Diconnected, the shock has hit me but I still don't feel.

My mom and my sister seem unreal to me. Their tears and cries do not echo the emotions that have confronted me, so I think they are acting out upon some psuedo-grief. Mom kept saying, "She died on her sleep. It's funny, because with Eileen's dad we've been talking about it this week and that's how I'd want to go. She lived life to the fullest, right up to the end." This statement only made her cry and suffer more. I don't understand it. It just didn't seem real, like they were just crying because they have nothing else to do. I think I've accepted that dying is a part of life (to use the phrase from "Forrest Gump"- sorry). Maybe they haven't. Maybe they have, and the crying is just the expression of a need for an outlet. That is their outlet; this is mine.

So as "The Battle of Los Angeles" pounds into my skull, I sit at my computer and write. The song really has nothing to do at all with my situation, in reality it's about the plight of Mexican workers or somesuch. But that lyric gets me: "Everything can change on a New Year's Day." I guess it's made me realize that everything can change on any given day. I hate to be cliche, but never take anything for granted. It might be gone when you wake up some day.

I think back to the past and try to remember the last time I saw her. October, when they partook on their annual migration from Rochester, NY to Ft. Myers, FL. They were here for a few days. I last talked to her on Christmas. Never again.

I just thought of thank-you cards. This year mine will be to "Grandpy." Not "Grannie & Grandpy," as it has always been (whenever my mom strong-armed me into doing them). Never again to talk to her, never again to recieve a letter from her in the mail (how many has she sent without getting one back???), never again to hear her laugh, never again to hear her happy voice on the phone.

I understand. I feel. I cry. link