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"Food gained by fraud tastes sweet, but one ends up with a mouth full of gravel." Don't eat dirt, eat bread. Live, not just survive. Discomfort is the pursuit of living. Comfort is just survival taken to an extreme. Both can be pleasurable. Only one is fulfilling. The value of work comes from the work. The value of a man comes from the man. The need for praise is the doubt of self. It hurts me to see people who value meaningless things. They waste their lives, and life is too precious a gift to waste.

Something about Edward, something about me being a detective or a whistle blower of sorts, something where I feel proud and just and just a little bit upset. Or maybe a bit more than a little.

I have a dream about Alex Ahn and a ski lift on this beach side cliff thing. It's very loose. If I fall I will die. I'm just a few feet from this waterfall in front of me. It's more like I'm just hanging over this abyss. I don't know why but I can't help but have this feeling that I was giving Alex relationship advice. I am very... controlled. It's not a life/death conversation, but it's still... important. Just in a more casual, haha let's talk about life while hanging over this abyss of water kind of way. Water, huh... Ah... I just remembered something. Isabelle Rameker was there too. I don't know for what reason.

I'm really happy for some reason right now. Which is funny, I was feeling pretty down the beginning of this week. As I said, one of the biggest reasons I'm not depressed is that it just doesn't last long enough. I'm really happy. Why? I have a couple of thoughts: First, I've been exercising more. After actually buckling down and working out for the first time in... a year and a half(?), I realize how much I miss exercise. Swimming especially. I miss that emotional outlet. That physical  outlet. How could I have forgotten? I used to exercise all the time, whenever I felt stressed out. Like writing now, except for more urgent emotions. Why did I stop? Because I wasn't able to maintain the intensity if I was to reprioritize last year. I had other obligations. I couldn't keep it up, so I stopped entirely. Which is dumb, in retrospect. Sure, if I didn't have enough time, then slow down; but why stop entirely? Probably because of my insecurities again; o...

Max told me it didn't have anything to do with him; it was more about the people who surrounded him. I'm not surprised. It lines up with my own research pretty well -- the inability to cry is innately psychological. It has to do with one's sense of security. I don't cry because... I won't let myself. I want to, but I can't. And my surroundings do not help, either. Why don't I let myself? Perhaps the reason is from before the move. I want to be strong. I can't show. Perhaps the reason is from after the move. Crying was a plea for attention. But I won't let my mother worry, so I don't cry anymore unless there's nothing to lose. It's all speculation. Am I really that fake of a person? Do I really cover up my emotions? No, I don't think so. I think that if anyone looks carefully enough, they will always see... If I let them. Today, I was a tad too open. I wanted to talk with Megan, but she was uninterested. It's a ...

There was a lot  to this dream. I don't remember it all, just a few points. *** I play capture the flag with Gavin. He's smiling with his teeth, his eyes bright. Man, his running is so mesmerizing. *** I see Adam. He's laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy. He's shirtless. *** I relive that night with Adam in the Staffin, but instead of Adam, it's Alice. It's 3 A.M., and I'm laying on a couch with her. We're beneath that thick, red blanket I brought. Like with Adam, we aren't spooning, but unlike Adam, we aren't side by side -- she's on top of me, and I have her wrapped in my arms. "Jacob, you're not the first." "Jacob, I still hurt." She tells me all her regrets, all that pains her. That she is sexually impure. That she there have been others. That she still yearns for lovers of the past, that she still bleeds from bygone relations. The lights are off, save for the dim, yellow...

It is done. Res Camp 1. What a session. Once again I am flooded with the sensation of having too much to say and not enough words. I am afraid if I do not write, I will forget. Will you forget, Jacob? You will. I know you will. There is just too much that has happened for you to remember it all. But I guess that just means that whatever you remember must have been important.  What will you remember? But you still might forget what is important nonetheless. Don’t risk it! Write what is important. What have you learned? I don’t know if I can put it into words, but I’ll try. It is good to pour. God will give you strength. It’s okay to have fun. Affirm. Forgive. There’s only so much you can do, sometimes it’s enough, sometimes it isn't. It’s okay to not do enough, as long as you do all you can. Pray. Trust in the LORD. Find rest in everything. Laugh! Seek out those memories. Teach through life. Be intentionally personal. Difficult lessons are necessary. Even if ...

I don't remember much at all. I'm sleeping in bed with Alice, and she has her arms wrapped around me. Her arms are very smooth. She rests her head on my shoulders, her breath on my neck, and asks me in a sultry voice, " Are you wearing your retainers?" I am, in fact, wearing my retainers. I turn towards her. She looks up at me, her arms still around me, and tries to pull me closer. Is it possible to cuddle too  hard? How hard can one cuddle? Heh. Super-cuddling. The alarm goes off, and I wake up. I desperately turn it off, wanting to go back the dream. I don't end up returning. *** A pleasant change of tempo. Cuddling is preferable to school shootings, I suppose. My mom never holds me that tight when we cuddle, so I wonder if I can imagine it now because of Adam. I am a very  physical person. I'm just not close enough with that many people. The current number of people I could cuddle with is two. One of them is my mom. I wonder how much Ada...

I'm hanging out alone in front of Mr. Dance's portable when I see them. A group of gangly lookin' guys, each armed several firearms. I figure I'll play it cool. Perhaps they'll think I'm one of them. I'm similar enough. I maintain eye contact, staring down the leader of the boys. He smirks, tossing me an assault rifle. I walk with them in cold-blooded silence. I recall an announcement telling me not to shoot the assailants unless they are in the student union. I think it over. That's stupid. When the others have walked considerably ahead of me, I raise up my weapon and open fire. But the recoiling gunfire isn't punctuated by the punch of flesh against metal; instead, my bullets float up like bubbles, lazily drifting towards the sky. They haven't seemed to notice, so I run. I run towards the football field, where everyone has gathered. A sea of faces surrounds me; the field is absolutely packed. I want room, so I start air swimming bre...

I’m in one of those moods again. I hold Cookie in my lap, pressing my face against his back. He presses into my hands as I scratch his head. He’s so warm... in a few years, he will be dead. I will never hold my dog like this again. This might be the last year I see my dog... I think of people. Christy. Alice. People I only have a few months with before they disappear from my life, maybe forever. There is only so much time. I need to make memories with them before my time runs out. Precious memories... I wish I had more of those with Alex. Even with so many, it is never enough. And I’ll need a lot. They always seem to disappear... To hell with not pushing things. I’m going to hunt down every last opportunity to spend time with the people I love. With Christy, with Alice, with my mom and dad. There’s only so much time... I have to. It will hurt — it always does — but at least I will this way, I’ll have no regrets.

Christy texts me. It reads something like, "Hey, I read your poem. I'm glad you love me, and I love you too! But just not sexually, sorry." I think, That's okay, that poem wasn't written for you. And it'd be nice to be sexually attractive, but what you think doesn't matter too much because the poem wasn't for you. She somehow reads my mind and responds with, "Oh, really? That's surprising. I thought that one time, in Mr. Brown's class, you were going to just marry me." I say, "No, I wasn't. That's why it's called PLTW. Project Lead the Wait ". Christy's eyes widen at this revelation. She's clearly in shock. She's thinking, What? No way. I have to tell someone. She runs out the door (somewhere along the way texts had turned to face-to-face conversation), bumping into Alice. She tells her the news: the real  meaning behind PLTW. Alice is shocked, too. I laugh. Did they really not know all this t...

Okay, so what was I feeling? It was sadness. But it was definitely loneliness. How do I know? Because when I looked for songs that conveyed how I felt, I inevitably returned to my old friend -- K-Pop. And that is markedly one of my personal symbols of loneliness. So why this time? Because I sensed, I suppose, an opportunity to regain what I had lost with Alex. Hence, K-Pop. My "lonely" songs tend to rather upbeat. This creates a sense of bittersweet recollection: sweetness as I remember what was, bitterness as I remember what isn't. The genre, in content and execution, tends to mirror the superficial happiness I scorned Katya for, but still tried to practice via escapism. Why K-Pop? Why not Japanese songs? Like DanMachi OP or aLIEz? Anime holds a different niche from K-Pop. It leans more towards the darker, bitter aspect of the move. There is a sense of anger to be found in songs like aLIEz or Unravel. There is only mourning to be found in songs like "Hey W...

I have this pet snake. It's frozen in this striking position and sits in this orchid pot. I'm constant wary that it will run off or bite me when I move the pot, so I try to find somewhere more secure to move it into. I find a fish tank, but when I return, my mom has decapitated the snake. I ask her why she did it, and she tells me its because she thought I was hungry and that I had wanted to eat the snake.

So I revisit Builta. It's become this incredibly high end prestigious school. Everything's changed. They've got all these fancy floors and hallways and ballrooms... but it's still Builta. They've got these super  shiny hardwood floors. I look over the horizon. There's still that hill I crossed every day. There's still the houses. But Builta's become this super-competitive elite school. There's this talent show. I'm watching these two girls -- I recognize them, but I can't remember who they are (Is it Zoe? No, they were Asian) -- Olympic diving into a pool in sync. There was more, but that's all I remember.

As Explained Through Chat: lmao i wrote that on the bus today because i got on the bus early and saw the bus driver walk out of the bus and he went over to the little waiting stop thingy where people wait for the bus he was on the phone he lit up a smoke and just started crying face down silently, no shaking, very quiet just a little puddle on the ground, nothing else and when the other kids came he just put on his mask but honestly if anyone stopped to look they wouldve seen it, everyone was just oblivious and on their phones as usual *** Yesterday I teared up. Not because of anything with loneliness, but because of this bus driver. His grief was so profound. So quiet, so practiced, so well disguised. How could I do nothing? But I couldn't talk to him. There were bus stops to be made. So I did what I do best: I wrote. I wrote and wrote, trying to soothe the anguish of this man I didn't know. What could I do? Once again, I felt helplessness clawing at my soul....

To: Bus Driver From: A Student and Concerned Human Being Dear Bus Driver, I could not help but notice you were crying. You seem to be suffering a great deal. I do not know anything about you or your life, but I want you to know you are not alone. I do not know how to comfort you, but I do know that all things come to an end. Sometimes we cannot wait, and other times the end tears our heart to ribbons. But no matter the case, ends are inevitable, and we must try our best to find peace. Sometimes there is action we can take; sometimes there is absolutely nothing we can do. But you are never, never alone. All men suffer; and somewhere out there, there is a man who suffers exactly as you do. Me, I know nothing about you, but my heart still goes out to you because I can understand your pain for I, too, am human. I'm sorry I do not know what else to say. Perhaps we will never meet again, but I pray you will find peace and strength through these trials. Know that there is always a...

Despite the rating, I actually remember this dream pretty well, but I don't really feel like transcribing it right now. I'll probably forget eventually. I arrest Geormond for drug-possession. I really hope this doesn't mean anything.

What the FUCK is this emotion? It's not sharp or piercing, but it isn't hollow or empty, either. I have no idea what I'm feeling. Is it sadness? Perhaps. Perhaps a muted, quivering dribble of sadness. Is it loneliness? It must be -- what else would it be? It is some variation I've never felt before. No, I lied. This is definitely not loneliness. It is sadness. It's heavy, but soft-- not empty, not gnawing. It is heavy. Like my chest is slowly being weighed down in a test of strength. Heavy and heavier. Like a weight attached to my sinking soul. It is a pulling movement, not pushing. It sinks, it sinks, it drowns. I now know what "heavy-hearted" means. But what do you call this? What is it called? --- Writing this post helped. But then I stopped, and it got worse and worse and worse. I'm so confused. Why do I feel like this? And WHAT the fCUK is it called lmao. There has to be a word for this. Ah... it just sinks and sinks. Heavier and heavi...

I couldn't wait to write today. I couldn't wait. Oh, my goodness, it took forever. I finally get to write. Thank you, God. I'm sad. Usually when I feel like this, I want to write poetry. I want to take my pain and turn it into something beautiful. To find peace. Today, ever since I read those texts in second period, there has been a sense of growing nausea growing in the pit of my stomach. I've been wanting to throw up for a while now. Like I almost want to cry. Not there yet, not at the point of actually wanting to cry but being unable to. Just kidding, I'm there. The feeling I tend to convey through my writing; a deep-rooted pain, gnawing and unrelenting, on the border of breaking down but too strong, too disciplined, to practiced to fall. Sometimes. It comes in waves. It's like half-way between almost wanting to cry, and wanting to cry. I don't know if there is an in-between for "almost" and "is". Ah. Why does it affect me so much ...

I am sad. What gives me my worth? Do you know? Am I truly the most worthless of my family? But I excel at games! But I am beautiful! No — I am still cripplingly inferior. For even in my beauty, I have married someone who no longer provides, someone who I do not love. What worth is my beauty? I have wasted it, and it will fade. My one redeeming quality is worth nothing. Truly, I am worthless in every way. Ah, but Alice! You have my beauty; but you must be more than that. You must succeed where I have failed because your failure is my failure. Look at all my sisters! Even their families are better. Am I worthless as a parent as well? Is everything I do mired in inferiority? Where is your god, Alice? Where is he? You are my one hope. I have sacrificed my life for you, and here you are, chasing after some fairytale that does you no good. I cannot stand to see you fail. Always talking about this god instead of working, always chatting instead of appreciating what I have given you! Whe...

I’m not one-hundred percent sure how the dreams starts, but I think it begins with two homecomings; the one in Califonia, and the one for INSA. We go to the onr in IMSA. there’s this advertisement for IMSA that happens and I’m not exactly sure what we even do. The next thing is this strange Kermit the Frog puzzle game. Where you have to change the situation somehow by drawing something or doing something. So one I remember is you draw a moustache for Kermit, but that moustache actually turns into an arm. But if you fail, you have to suffer an incredibly hard, very realistic (these are my dreams, my brain doesn’t know how to turn down the graphics I suppose) level of FNAF. It won’t let you exit, the only way to leave is to hard reset on the computer. We have to leave. My mom and little brother are already leaving. So I grab my stuff and hop into a kayak. We kayak all the way over to this island. It’s pretty low hanging, and has all this trees sprouting out of it. The island is re...

This is a response to a question posed during school last week. I thought I'd post my answer here. I'm going to be answering primarily from a religious context. This is in order to maintain the integrity of the Trinity; more specific, the concept of a divine human (Jesus). So what does it mean to be human? Literally: A human being is a member of the species Homo Sapiens. This is necessary for being considered human -- how can one be human without human flesh? If an amputee has a prosthetic, that does that make the prosthetic human, nor does it make the amputee part prosthetic. They are separate. Then what if I, Jacob, could somehow swap brains with a fish? Wouldn't Jacob, the seventeen-year-old Homo Sapiens, still be human? A human, trapped in a fish? No, I would be Jacob, who used to be human, but is now a fish. Albeit with the mind of a human, but physically, I would be a fish. You couldn't call me a human if I was literally a fish. So then, it would seem th...

I'm going to marry. I want kids. It's decided.