Hope

Its sad to consider the possibility of life devoid of "Hope". Hope is the exercise of positive thought, affirming the goodness of reality, and embracing the intrinsic possibility of all things.

It has become increasingly difficulty for the modern-teenager to feel "hopeful", as our generation has been exposed to the suffering of the human condition early-on in the time-line of life. People claim to be realists, pragmatists, and naturalist. The reality is that existence is consumed by the darkness of suffering, but every moment of suffering is nothing more than a block, a block in the construction of a comprehensive frame of reference. A reference for the in-depth analysis and enjoyment of happiness. This can be explained in simple analogous terms: if one year a boy is given a small-amount of Christmas presents, due to his families relative poverty, and the next year the boy is given a significantly larger amount of presents, due to his father's promotion, then he is infinitely more appreciative of those presents than a boy that consistently receives a huge-amount of presents. The man that has suffered is infinitely more appreciative of comfort and happiness than the man that has never experience true sadness. A teenager cannot healthily proceed through this fortuitous existence devoid of hope. Hope in the goodness of reality and the relative just of all things gives meaning to life, meaning to being. People need to be able to hope for something more, something better, than the status quo. Hope, and its many states are irreplaceable and paramountly important.

抑鬱症 The Ghilen

There is a monster brooding in the darkness. She commenced as nothing more than a fleeting thought, an unrealistic, melodramatic, notion founded-upon the over sensitivity of the teenage psyche. I ignored her, I scorned her, I opposed the possibility of her existence, yet she remained hidden in the shade of the undeveloped psyche, retreating into the caverns of my ever expanding reality. Pushed further-and-further into the darkness by love, brotherhood, connection, but I heard her the other night, as I attempted to sleep. I heard her scraping her long, mucronate, nails on the underpinnings of my mattress last night. Her voice drifted through the corridors of my mind, giggling, screaming, crying out for compassion. I hear her moans-and-groans every night, in some regards, I have become accustomed to her presence, even finding comfort in the company. Her once shrill, corrosive, voice becomes a source of relaxation a calming song, yet I can never close my eyes. As I tremble in my bed, eyelids clutching to my cheeks, teeth grinding against my mouth, she slinks out from underneath the bed. Her icy fingers massage my temples, filling my mind to the veritable brim. Memories cascading from corridor to corridor, faces, sensations, desires, and experiences. I hear footsteps echoing behind me in the school-halls, a fleeting giggle. Is it the gaggle of giggling girls staring at me, or something else? I feel her breath on my neck, as the smile fades from my lips. Her hands cup my hears, as the laughter dissipates. She calls me back to bed, back to another night clinging onto consciousness, trapped by that beautiful monster.

An Epic Journey...if thats the proper title

"Shit, he's getting out of the car?!!? Drive! Drive! DRIVE!"

"Thats the fourth fucking time I've driven through that ghetto. Shit Jack call your mom. FUCK YOU BILL!?!"

Earlier that night

The team strolled out of the school, smiles spread across every face. Bill beamed from rosy cheek to rosy cheeck, panting for the next breath of air has he hauled the heavy tub across the parking lot. The lights in the school shut off abruptly, for several moments the team strolled in the darkness, lost. The street-lights flickered on as night consumed the little city of Evanston. Garrett, Noah, and I jogged over to the car, laughing at some obscene joke, reveling in our youth and freedom...the glory of a car.

"Garrett!" Bill shouted across the parking long, begging for attention.

"Yea Bill!" Garrett replied, breaking from the revelry to handle logistics...the glory of adulthood.

"The hotel is only a couple of minutes from here sooo Charlie and Butters thought it might be fun to check out the IHOP a couple blocks from here, grab some hefty food for 'the fatty'".

"Sounds good fatty *chuckle*" Famous last words...

The city of Evanston is most famously recognized as the host-city for the Northwestern campus. The campus encompasses approximately three-fourths of the city. The team had been there for a local school tournament, hosted by the Illinois League as a intensive practice before the State Tournament several days later, but it remains true to this day, that the most memorable moment from that tournament is not the unconventional round, but the journey home. Several blocks later, Bill turned through a red light, from the center lane, into oncoming traffic, managing to completely avoid harm but severe Garrett, Noah, and I from the rest of the group. An odyssey of epic proportion began from that small, nigh suicidal, act.

The story is gonna be presented in installments, episodes of a series, chapters of a novel. Goodnight and Good Luck.

A Heavy Dose of Atmosphere

Final Memories

A place, an atmosphere, the luminous night seeps into my face, numbness spreads across my limb as the inebriation sets in. Darkness flirts at the edges-of my perception, as the numbness trickles along the contours of my face, chest, stomach, legs...nothing. I reach out, flourishing my hands in-front of my face in an attempt to recapture my bearings, but my eyes cannot focus, cannot see. I attempt to speak, verbally calling for assistance Jai has gotta be close, but I hear nothing in return, as the darkness consumes me.

"Get up boy, its getting late!?!"

OUCH!!? Pain cascades into the void. Prior-to this experience I had never experienced the excruciating pain of a hang-over, I honestly could not think of anything else to do, except stroll around my front-yard spitting and hand a couple-of beautiful young ladies some concert tickets. I could not stand, the pain made it impossible to move. Despite my obvious suffering and immobility, my father, constantly the disciplinarian, the stoic man, the forceful hand, strolled into my cavernous, dank, room and aroused me from my slumber. He then proceeded to systematically destroy my body, forcing me to complete everyone's chores, coddle the dogs, run, lift, study, practice, play, all before I had breakfast. The boys on the court or at the gym gave me no respite, making sure that every conceivable ounce of alcohol drained from my body. Staring across the isle, I glared at Jai as if to scream "Fuck you" across the expanse of existential space. I collapsed after practice, permitted several moments of rest before given a heavy-handed lecture by my father. The complex, eloquent, rhetoric of a man renowned and promoted for his charism echoed in the black-buzzing expanse that pervaded my skull. Each syllable slamming into the corridors of my minds, and quickly exiting out the back door, ear. Grounded...Fucked.

I lay in bed, regretting every moment spent in Hong Kong. Thousands of moments, thousands of opportunities, thousands of kisses and hugs, lost through the selfishness of 2 people. 2 people too self-absorbed to realize that they are destroying their child, sapping his former strength through constant struggles, emotional traumas, and loss. The atmosphere around me pressed in, harder-and-harder, choking the air out of me. I closed my eyes and hoped, prayed to some unforeseen deity, that the nightmare could be gone as soon as they opened again. I opened my eyes, ceiling, floor, door...nightmare.