Misplaced Hate

Good evening.

Tonight, and these days, the line of friendship has been blurred to a dangerously dramatic level, and a line has been drawn in the sand, where we now divide ourselves where we should be gathering.

Tonight, I do not address anyone as friend, for that term seems to be nothing but a loose term, used as casually as a day-to-day cigarette.

It took me nearly three months to make this entry before you now, slightly because of lack of ideas but mostly because of my own inability to take advantage of the ideas that are truly good.

For a few weeks, I toiled at trying to make my feelings, my toils into written word, but I relented because I hoped that these feelings and this frustration would resolve itself and I could address you on a more positive note. But this time, I will speak my truth.

(**Story Of The Year - "And The Hero Will Drown"**)

The halls of education have changed me into the person I am in this moment, and it was the people that helped me, whom I helped, that shaped my spirit. It's no secret that friendship is the most treasured thing in my life, and I do my best to ensure that no friend gets taken for granted.

As well, there have been no poor choices for me, despite the contrary opinions of others. Which is why I scribe tonight.

At the end of Grade Ten, the group of friends who had accepted me and who I believed in more than anything, disbanded. We all branched off into three seperate groups, each of which held I held both measurable admiration and contempt for. As well, I have other friends that do not factor into any of these groups, but are still very important to this piece.

It was myself and one of my closest friends who sat in the middle as our one group was torn in three, and we were left in the middle. Our loyalties lied with all three, and we knew we had to choose.

And then the hatred.

My friend made his choice, and went mainly with the group he felt would treat him best. Meanwhile, I tried my best to maintain relationships with all three, but I was being torn. Even worse, the group I slowly slipped away from was the one where my best friend lay, where he stayed. All the while, my friend told me why I should cut my ties to my best friend, even at one point calling our friendship an "abusive relationship", where I would keep coming back to my best friend after he would hurt me. I initially disagreed, but he wasn't incorrect.

So, I split from my best friend, who had been there for me so many times, and went with my friend to Group #1. And as I sat with Group #1 every day, I saw that they cared little for him, and he seemed oblivious. I soon expressed my contempt towards their reprehensible behaviour, and I suggested that we stick with each other, just us two, whcih he agreed to.

In the few weeks that we were Group #4, my friend took it upon himself to verbalize his dislike for the individuals in all three groups. I remained neutral, for as much as they may have hurt me, they were still my friends and I loved them.

What's more, as much as he displayed his contempt, I began to see others (not involved in the three groups) tell me of their annoyance with my friend, and I was caught in the middle. I still am.

Soon, my friend decided to go back to Group #1, where he still gets no respect (I now question who has the abusive relationship). I understand that he sometimes is not the best person to tolerate, but I still believe that he deserves more respect than he gets from others.

I'm sure there are those who dislike me, and I only wish they could be brave enough to vocalize their feelings to me. Don't be a coward and moan to people who sympathize, specifically myself, because I am sick of hearing it.

Most days, I just wish I could see my best friend. But he's not there any more. Every day, I wish he would call me, and ask me to do something. Every minute, I wish I had a best friend. But it won't come soon. I know that.

Here is where I would preach understanding, but if we grow up in a society that is still mired by hatred, how can we be expected to be much different? I cannot make myself perfect, and as much as I try not to, I backstab my friends and my fellow students more than I wish to.

All we can do is try. I try. I try every damn day. It's frustrating, for as much as I try, I always see people taking the easy road, the road to silent hate.

Compare it to one man running a marathon, while the other runners drive to the finish line.

(***P.O.D. - "Southtown"***)

Let me ask you: What do you hope to gain from hate?
Do you seek the validation that comes from being the person everyone agrees with?

The hatred, the squabbling, the backstabbing that I see every day is nothing short of bullying. And every day, I come back, because I am afraid of being alone. And every day, I pay for my decision.

Is our small society doomed to this circle of misuse?

Please, I plead you, prove me wrong.

"If you have been foolish enough to be arrogant and plan evil, stop and think! If you churn milk, you get butter. If you hit someone's nose, it bleeds. If you stir up anger, you get into trouble." Proverbs 30: 32-33

"Speak up for people who cannot speak up for themselves. Protect the rights of all who are helpless. Speak for them and be a righteous judge. Protect the rights of the poor and the needy." Proverbs 31: 8-9

The Children Are Our Present

Good evening, friends.

Today, I happened upon an old friend of mine. She and I have had a very quiet relationship, one that always leaves me wanting more. You might say that she only likes to come around when I'm at my worst, and seems to leave me when I want her the most.

Her name is Inspiration. I thought putting "she" and "her" would allow you to see the nature of my feelings on this...feeling, because much like a relationship with a partner (a concept still quite foreign to me), it can be demanding and it can have the most inopportune bumps, but there are always those times when it was worth it.

Tonight is that time.

And I found her again in the strangest of places. But...not yet. I write tonight with another pearl of reflection and meditation for you, but it all leads back to 'er.

(**Boxcar Racer "There Is"**)

The imagination is amazing. I'll defend the mind of a 5-year-old to my death. Imagination, the innovation and individuality of your precious mind, is the second of two very important things that keep me alive at the end of every day. No wait, three things. Sorry.

When I was a lad (I'm still a boy), the one thing I loved, the one concept that arose a fire in me like nothing else, was superheroes. The television shows of the '90s, I love them with a fiery passion. Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Big Bad Beetleborgs, VR Troopers, Spider Man, Batman: They all made me feel that I could become more than what I was at the time, and I could be big and important.

Now, still a boy but now a teenager, the magic is all but gone. And I know I'm not the only one who believes so.

What was it that captured us so much? Sure, on the outside, we saw the big swords and bright colours, but what makes the memory remain after all those years? As I said, it's the empowerment that comes with being a protector of justice, and defender of the innocent, the feeling that you make a difference and you are admired. It's powerful.

(**Metallica "Bleeding Me"**)

It was these super men and women who instilled in us these feelings, and made us forget that we were children, and our opinions would ultimately go unheard. And buried deep inside the Red Rangers and Robins of the cartoons we loved was what drove our little minds. We called it imagination, but it is also called Inspiration. The great woman behind every great idea.

Which brings me back to my story, of where I found her again. In essence, it wasn't until I could go back that I could dig deep and find the strength to write these words. It was at the park where I spent some great childhood hours, Ardmore. The minute I stepped on the faded wooden and metal equipment, I knew it was different. I began to crawl around and stand on places that used to be either too big for little me or too fear-inducing for not-so-little me. And it wasn't until now that I was able to realize that, in a sense, by becoming the big kid in a little kid's world, I was able to look at William at age 5-7 through the eyes of William at age 16.

So, when I finally stood atop the chain grid of steps, and surveyed my old haven, I found her again. She came back into me with a ferocity that I could not ignore.

Ardmore is my haven.

(**Nickelback "Far Away"**)

I know that there are you out there who would love to be a child, innocent and care-free. I was, and still am sometimes, like you. But we all must accept that in life, we must always move on. Through tragedy, through puberty, through liberty. We move on.

But moving on doesn't mean not going back. So, tonight, I pose these thoughts to you:

Where was the place you loved as a child?
What were the things you adored as a child?
Who was the person you looked up to the most?

Friends, go back. If only in your mind. It is there that you may find your salvation, if only for the moment. It is there you may find what you seek.

Good night, and happy trails to you, beloved.

"Then Josiah looked around and saw some tombs there on the hill; he had the bones taken out and burned on the altar....King Josiah looked around and saw the tomb of the prophet who had made this prediction. 'Whose tomb is that?' he asked.

The people of Bethel answered, 'It is the tomb of the prophet who came from Judah and predicted these things you have done to his altar.'

'Leave it as it is,' Josiah ordered. 'His bones are not to be moved.'

So his bones were not moved, neither were those of the prophet who had come from Samaria." 2 Kings 23: 16-18

You Sold Out! You Sold Out! You Sold Out!

Blessed evening to you, fellow North Americans.

And a criken' good morning to you, Australians. (Hello, Chris, you tough S.O.B.)

Tonight, I want to share once again a deep personal reflection, to all who are willing to listen.

Since these are the words of a fairly normal teenager, I want to discuss something that is in the soul of all those teenagers out there, normal or not. You see, throughout our lives, we are faced with times when we must compromise the very fibers of our beings, the "je ne sais quoi" that defines all of us as individuals, for momentary, hollow glory. Power. Promises of a false or deeply unwanted nature.

I'm talking about (in layman's), the act (or art?) of Selling Out.

Of course, Selling Out would be thought only to apply to those actors or entertainers who either turn their backs on what/who made them, or who they are in order to seek to fulfill a hole, which can only be achieved through thought, reflection and perseverance.

But, it is not without excuse or "reason". A respected, intelligent director who spews out 2 hours of a crazy couch-jumper versus aliens has to Feed His Family.

A company that churns out third-rate sequels to a children's martial arts fantasy television show long after its prime needs to make money to feed THEIR families and make new episodes so they can Expand Their Audience.

A respected up-and-coming athlete turns his back on his "beloved" team for fame and glory on another does it for the money, because he's a businessman dammit, not an athlete. Cheap Gain is what I call it. (This can be merged with Feed Their Families, but young athletes tend to make these types of naive decisions, trading the Oilers for the Escalade)

There are more reasons, but these seem to ring true there, and here back on Earth, er, the schoolyard.

In fact, these three points seem to be the most common in school circles, where a young man or woman will change who they are to "fit in", look appealing to someone else, or just get what they want. So, let me relate:

• Feeding Families: Of course, in high school, your popularity feeds nobody but yourself and your ego. To some, they are their own family. Or, in the moment where the decison rests with them, everything and everyone else is erased, and all that remains is One, Number One. They are their own family. They helped themselves get here, and dammit, they don't need anybody! And once their group accepts them, they must feed their new family, be it with accoutrements undeserved or simply put, ass-kissing. As long as their family is fed, they still have a reason to exist. It's a stretch, I know, but all you need to think about is that sometimes, not every family is perfect...biological or not.

• Expand Their Audience: You get a comment or an interested look from a cute girl or a hot guy. With one look, they stir something. Suddenly, you're interesting, you're A1, you're the s%!t. And you got yourself there, so I'll give up everything to stay here, to be another hottie, or so I believe. (Believe me, buying into your own hype does not turn out for the best) So, I obviously don't need my friends anymore, because that random girl/guy must care about me, so I'll talk to her and date her and kiss her and get to know her friends and be popular and it'll be mine, mine, all mine...And so, with all this hype on yourself, how can you possibly deliver in the end?
  

• Cheap Gain: Popularity, "love", "friends", access to booze, drugs, straight A's you don't bother to earn. Simple. All you need to do is change everything, sell yourself and buy into the faded promise of the flawed teenage lifestyle...but hey, you'll try anything once, right?

I've seen this before, and it saddens me that a friend could forget you as soon as the 'Dude, you're great' slides off their tongue. You miss them, but seeing what they are, you don't want them back. Not anymore.

And unfortunately, this is an essential part of self-discovery, the errors of your ways sadly make who you are and who you will be. But the choice can still be made, you don't HAVE to make mistakes.

Think about what each of your friends mean to you, how they affect you, how they lift you up and/or bring you down. Think about where you want to be right now, and what or who you'd have to give up to be there. Is it worth it?

(***Lamb Of God "Ashes Of The Wake"***)

The choice is yours.

Bon nuit.

"Israel, you are my dearest child, the one I love best. Whenever I mention your name, I think of you with love. My heart goes out to you; I will be merciful. Set up signs and mark the road; find again the way by which you left. Come back, people of Israel, come home to the towns you left.

How long will you hesitate, faithless people? I have created something new and different, as different as a woman protecting a man" Jeremiah 31: 20-22

Violent By Design, Not By Nature

(***"Lose Yourself" - Eminem***)

The game was Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty, for the Playstation 2. An action/adventure title, incorporating intense gunplay with ninja-like stealth manuevers and international espionage.

Yourself a neo-ninja, working for his own agenda against a secret military organization producing giant nuclear walking battle tanks. A literal one-man army.

A game bound by violence to the real world. Violence and politics.

Thursday, August the 10th, in my self-induced sentence of lethargy, I slid the disc in the dusty game console, and began a new save file.

10 minutes later, I am inside a giant tanker ship off of the New York harbour. The one-man army.

In this game, at the beginning, you are equipped with a small handgun equipped with knockout darts which impair your enemy so that he falls asleep. You may also use stylish kicking to knock out your enemy, or sneak up on them and break their neck.

I started out by using my sleep darts to impair my enemies, and I would occasionally dump a man overboard, so he would not surface ever again. A slight twinge of guilt, but nothing noticeable.

After a certain point of sneaking and body-hiding, I acquired a handgun: No impairment, no sleep, only death. Of course, it was elementary that I HAD to use this, to survive.

I complied with the creator's wish, and upon being spotted, I held nothing back in shooting my enemy in the face.

...Now, it was thankfully not well-animated, but still, the pity for a non-living CGI soldier working for EVIL became clear after seeing a large gush of blood escape the man's head and his face become a mixture of fearful pain and anguish over my malicious act.

Who the hell made me God?

Some game master banking on my basic instinct for entertainment and violence?

Now, this is not an attack on Hideo Kojima (the creator) or the game. This is not even an attack.

This is an expression of my guilt.

We all get angry, mad, enraged, hateful, vengeful. Some even enough to kill. Without the slightest pity, remorse or guilt.

But, it was through this senseless act of fictional murder that my guilt overwhelmed my urge to win and fight, and I wished I could take it back and put him to sleep, so he would wake up.

It was after this that I felt I had already gone so far, and I would break the occasional neck for a clean, bloodless kill, as morbid as it sounds.

In the veil of fun, we can lose our love. We can lose our capability to emphasize with those in need, sickly, dying.

I won't lie that seeing a hungry African child does not affect me as much as other people. Watching the opening massacre of Running Scared, while realistic, did not stay with me. Seeing a man with a bloody face and thumbtacks in his bare back makes me gasp in welcome surprise. Like a birthday present.

Death has rarely affected my life. Too young to understand my grandparents' funerals, except for my beloved Baba (Rest In Everlasting Peace and Salvation). I cried when my friend's life was in danger of being in danger, but that was it. I am blessed for my lack of tragic events in my life, and it is better that way, for fear they will become nothing more than sympathy fodder.

I can not physically kill another, my conscience remains, albeit battered, bloody and broken.

In a sense, my promise to never drink or do drugs is because I would be killing the voice that says "think", and risk becoming a shell of everything opposite to what people tell me that I am. I admit that I have an addictive personality, and I will never put my future, family or friends in jeopardy from alcohol or narcotics.

I wanted so desperately for that non-existant militia man to live, but I know I was the one who had prevented it. A premature death...I think, why can't the world listen to their voices? Can we not be helped?

How are you violent, how do you kill in your everyday life? Is your conscience alive? I pray they are.

Good night.

"My child, when sinners tempt you, don't give in. Suppose they say, 'Come on; let's find someone to kill! Let's attack some innocent people for the fun of it! They may be alive and well when we find them, but they'll be dead when we're through with them! We'll find all kinds of riches and fill our houses with loot! Come and join us, and we'll all share what we steal.'

My child, don't go with people like that. Stay away from them. They can't wait to do something bad. They're always ready to kill. It does no good to spread a net when the bird you want to catch is watching, but people like that are setting a trap for themselves, a trap in which they will all die.

ROBBERY ALWAYS CLAIMS THE LIFE OF THE ROBBER - THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO ANYONE WHO LIVES BY VIOLENCE." Proverbs 10-19

The Wasted Words

Hello to all in the Blogspot centrum. My name is William.

A bit about myself before we immerse ourselves.

I am a teenager living in Nova Scotia, Canada. A MALE teenager. My hormones are extremely frustrating.

You can piece the rest together through the upcoming posts.



I decided yesterday to make a REAL blog for two reasons:

(***Danzig "Five Finger Crawl"***)

1) Publicity: I'm no celebrity, I mean publicity in the sense that other blogs are more...public than I care for. Or not public at all.
Live Journal
MySpace
MSN Spaces...
These are 3 examples of the more popular network-style blog sites out there. I have an account with all three, and it's never really worked out.
Live Journal? No one uses it.
MySpace? Everyone uses it.
MSN Spaces? What's that?
As well, MySpace is a complete waste of time, and I'm regretfully sucked in.

2) Art: I LOVE writing. It is my saving grace, the one blessing that I have no regrets saying is my own. I dislike writing in Live Journal because I only ever get feedback from the same person. I dislike writing in MySpace because it always sounds the same, and my voice is lost in the incessant chattering of 54 million others. I dislike writing in MSN Spaces because it's that orange dot beside your name that everyone ignores. Every time I pour my heart into one of these sites, I regret it, because it never ends up the way I want it to, and nobody bothers to rad it, even though I subscribe to most of my friends' blogs. It takes away my passion. My passion for my craft.

Hopefully, with my own "website" (within the parameters of BlogSpot), I can find a place to blog my own way.

Don't take me as a specific young man with problems and gifts of his own. Observe me as any other teenager. Or take me as an individual little snowflake, never falling up.

You don't need my last name.

All you need is

(***Sevendust "Break The Walls Down")

my voice, my words.

Listen.

I do.

"Your wickedness is evident by what you say; you are trying to hide behind clever words. There is no need for me to condemn you; you are condemned by every word you speak." Job 15: 5-6