A Good Poem, Suitable for this Time of Year.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
- Robert Frost

A Math Equation, Designed to Make You Understand the Self.

I wonder at my sense of self. I take it for granted that I exist. Being is a quality every human possesses. We would do well to act like it. Here is a neat question to make you think:

Statement #1 - I raise my arm.
Statement #2 - My arm goes up.

Subtract Statement #2 from statement #1. What is left over?


The answer is, very profoundly, "I".
Neat eh? I hope this makes you understand the idea of being. It helped me. Philosophy class, if useless in the real world, helps me to take my mind off things for a while. i think that's a little bit backwards.

Hello.

Dear blog reader. Thank you for wasting your time reading this and leaving comments. It's pretty neat that there's nothing better for you to be doing.
Hypocritically, Ben.

Illness.

So, everything is a little ill. Just as in every good thing there are some bad marks, the spoon I was using to pig out on dessert at the campfire! banquet had some dangerous bacteria/virus on it. and now I am recovering from sickness. Interesting that I think I am recovering, because one day I might die of the same sickness. Does it still count as recovering? I think so. Also, my computer is a little ill, having caught a cyber-virus. It also is recovering, slowly. Windows is the bane of the western world. Slowly, tentatively, I am coaxing it back to where it needs to be. This is the plan, anyway. Yupp, illness sucks. except, I guess, if you're talking about an extreme sport. Then, to be ill is to be sikk. Or nasty. Or wicked.

And Still it Moves

It's tough to love
When your breath still smells like booze
From last night,
The night before,
And the night

before(.) I can love,
I want you to brush your teeth
Quit swearing
Find some truth
And be loveable.

Smell my breath
Hear my lies
and know that I
Am unloveable

And still you love me
With my breath like booze
And still it moves
And still love moves...

joy

I remember praying for joy about a month ago. And someone at school called me a "ball of joy" the other day. PRAISE GOD!