Tigers Tigers Tigers Tigers. Cadydid And Cadydid.

the "alt" button came off on my computer keyboard. now all there is is the little black, plastic nipple surrounded by now useless plastic. stupid "repair shop," ruining my computer.
it was one o'clock in the morning, and i had brushed my teeth and done all the prep for going to sleep, but once in my bed i was too restless to actually go to sleep. so i just listened to the whole entire Sung Tongs album by animal collective. then it took me thirty minutes to finally go to bed after that. what was weird, is that i was listening to the album, and when it ended i still could hear the music playing. it must've been at least three minutes until i realized i wasn't actually listening to anything, and all the music was coming from my head. i've had stuff like this happen to me before, like when i'm on the bus and the music ends and i don't realize that the music has stopped, but all the times like this i just thought it was taking a long time for the next song to load. last night though i actually came up with my own unique music, though i don't remember at all what it sounded like. i feel as if i've been exposed to a side of animal collective no one will ever even be able to experience except for myself. it's odd.
i can't help but looking at 10-14 year olds like humbert humbert does. i finished Lolita a few days ago, and it's changed my whole view on young girls. it's extremely disturbing. i'm convinced more than ever that pedophilia is wrong, and i know that i would never ever do anything to little girls or anything, but i can't help but think, "i wonder if that girls a nymphet..." i hope this habit fades, cause whenever i do it i feel really perverted. it's amazing how much books influence me.
in my government class my teacher has a few famous quotes by famous people above his white board, and one of them especially stuck out for me. Aristotle said it, and it goes like this: "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." and i think it's very true.
i don't think rape is that big of an offense. this might be becuase i've never had sex, so i don't know how "meaningful" it is, but it's just using our body what it's made for. it's definitely a bad thing, but i don't see, at least on a purely physical level, how it's any different from someone beating you with his/her fists. you can use hands to create, or you can you use them to destroy. when you use them to destroy, such as beating your wife or another person, i'm not sure, but it's my impression that you might only go to jail for under a few years, and that's only if it's really bad. but if you use your penis destructively you can go to jail for multiple decades, and you'll probably be killed by prison inmates for doing it. it's bad, horrible, terrible, whatever, i get that, but is it SO much different that if you compound rape with murder you run the chance of being put to death? that doesn't seem right to me.
i don't do this much anymore, but back in sophomore year, and the first semester or junior year, i used to imagine me sneaking a gun into school and shooting people. have i already talked about this in my blog? i forget. if i have, and you've already read my talking about it then you can just disregard the following paragraph. whenever i would imagine myself with gun (usually a handgun, though sometimes a shotgun) i would think of how it would affect people. for example, i was in the farthest back seat in my history class and i would consider things like, "if i shot michael in the head at this angle where would the blood splatter? probably all over Ali, but of course Ali wouldn't die. would she need to go to therapy? would she tell her children about how she actually had a class with the kid who went into a murderous rampage and killed numerous kids at harbor high?" or i would think about what angle i could shoot myself while still keeping myself alive, and i would think of how it would affect each student, and how much publicity harbor high would get, and about the detectives who would try to figure out why i would kill msyelf, and about the detectives wife, and how she never gets to see her husband because he's obsessed with his work. i would create these elaborate stories and scenarios and exaggerated reactions, but they would always start with me and a gun in class. i did this just to kill time (no pun intended) but i wonder if anyone else thinks these kinds of things.
i think there are two things that separate young adults from children.
1. when you're a child everything is a mystery waiting to be discovered, understood, and integrated into our lives. when you're a young adult you realize how disappointing humanity is, and how little satisfaction you actually get from discovering new things, and how disgusting some of things you found out are.
2. when you're young you actually think you're unique, and that all the feelings and experiences you're going through have never happened to anyone but you. when you're a teenager you realize that's impossible to do anything but conform. (as a side note, this is why i hate pretentious, punk-as-fuck douche bags. don't you understand that ALL of you have dirty hair, ripped pants with patches, and biased hate towards democracy!)
i was in L.A. at Venice Beach with my friend over spring break, and i saw a small group of kids, and every last one of them was all decked out in American Apparel. i looked at myself and i had pretty much the same clothes on that they did. it reminded me of a brief conversation that i had with my sister's friend Tosh. we were talking about how all the hipsters have American Apparel, or i should say he was talking about it, and i commented that he had one of their sweatshirts on to which he snidely replied, "Nope, i found this one at a yard sale, and it's [not american apparel]." i smiled and said nice, or something like that, but once i got home i realized how stupid that is. if anything you're worse than all the people who admit that they like to look similar to hipsters, because you are simply a fake imitation of what you despise, and you can't admit to yourself, or simply have the courage, to just go and buy an actual american apparel sweater. psshhhhhh. i'm tired. rired. fired. knired.
NEways, time to end this too-long-of-a-post/big-waste-of-time/blog-that-no-one-reads/blah-blah-blah