14 posts tagged “interests”

Restructured to make a little more sense.  Still haven't gone chronological, though.  Everything that has been added in this iteration of the compendium has (new) next to it.  Six (new)'s under non-fiction and five (new)'s under other.  So, eleven entries worth putting on the revised compendium.  The last time I did one of these was about this time last year.  Not a good sign.

Non-fiction Stories(with no organization whatsoever):
(new)You're Creepy, Hunter - A girl tells me I am creepy.  I get even.

(new)Phoenix - I don't think I am supposed to write about something that is supposed to be anonymous.  Oh well.

(new)Strange Format - Saturday Show   -  Seriously the strangest format or lack thereof I have ever used.  Almost like a poem.  I've bad luck and things get out of hand.

(new)Graham's 21st Birthday - "No, dude, we're walking home.  It's like two blocks."

(new)Dead Cicada - A woman is assaulted while holding her child.  I intercede.

(new)A Warning - First Friday's in Richmond!

Salvia Gets Too Real - Fourth and worst trip on Salvia.

The Most Puke I Have Ever Seen - Imagine this next scene.  Try to visualize it with me.  My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep.  My legs and waist are moist. . .

Drunk People - An interesting twist-- I'm not drunk in this story. For once in my life.

Black and Mild - I'll miss drinking with friends on top of the roof at my old apartment.  I will miss that Mediterranean market, with its natural soaps and cheap spices.  I will miss all those families who called the cops on me when I played music too loud on Monday nights.  Ahh

Hunter Takes it to the Limit, Throws Up Everywhere - In The Top Five Drunkest Nights

Pissing in Pools I & II - My double standard on people who pee in pools.

A Retelling of the First Time I Smoked

A Trip To Walmart - Seriously one of the best destinations while high.  Interesting, entertaining, sometimes a little creepy.

To Move My Body - When reality sinks in, when you think you've got nothing, you become psychic, telepathic, and shameless. This story has procession of Segways!

The Things I Remember - I somehow wake up at 2PM in my dorm, still drunk from the night before.  A rough bus ride does me in.

Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer - Pretty self explanatory.

A Tucker Emulation, It Seems - The very first story I wrote.

Handcuffed, Robbed, and 6 O'clock Rush - Pretty self-explanatory.  Breakfast club.

Hunter Gets High, Driving Barely Ensues - I get high, and drive.  Sort of.

Lebanese: A "Nice Guy" Failure - Nine Guys, One Girl.  I get the girl and ride off into the sunset(upstairs), but turn out to be a "nice guy."

JMU, PART I - The first and, since, only time I have been breathalyzed.  There is no part II.  Part II would be better though, as it includes doing mushrooms, a starving French guy, five plus parties, nearly getting run over, really drunk chicks with australian accents, and BLOODHOUNDS.  But this story has none of that.

THE WEEKEND - A three day bender, with a decadent interlude of cheating debauchery.  All set to the soundtrack of the very trite Garden State. 

Bloody in '08 - A New Year story, complete with someone who attempts to smash a full, unopened champagne bottle over his head.

Perfect Night Ruined by Marriot, Morning -- This story is far too long to hold your attention.  Do not read it.

Short(or long) Stories(Fiction):

Saint Dympna - My favorite.

The Sink at Sunset - Guy has mobile home of a heart.  This is life at 20.

Shells - My drug induced interpretation of the scramble suits in A Scanner Darkly caused this short.  Later turned into a short fiction piece (for a class) called Mise en Place or The Writer.

Nine-Tenths is Nothing - Our children are here to replace us.  One man attempts to slow this process by proving he is better than them and protecting his wife from kid perverts. 

The Last Boat to the Disappearing - A seven vignette fiction piece about flaming zombies.  As much as I wish I had written them gay, they are actually on fire.

Story Starter Exercise - A brief story about a friend who got kicked up and did a lot of drugs while living in the woods.
 

Other:
(new)At The Edge of The Neighborhood - Vivid zombie dream.

(new)Shut Down or Reset - Up late? Two options.  Special bonus feature: scene from this year's Best Friends Day @ Hadad's

(new)A Haiku - About a day I spent at the river getting drunk with someone I didn't know.  She was taken and I fell and cut myself on a rock.  Then there is a sexual allegory at the end.  There, I ruined it.

(new)My First Near-Ticket on a Bicycle

(new)Autumn - The Greatest and Best Time of Year

Can Blood Cells Have Car Accidents? - Thoughts after the fire.

Janus - Girl cheats on me.  Girl dies in short story Sink at Sunset.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part I  -- I test my voice recorder during a toking session.  Heavy on the dialogue.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part II -- The better half of the overall recording experience.  A lot of in depth high conversation. 

Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly - Probably one of the more significant events in the history of my online writing.

Under a Hot Chicago Sun - I didn't even know my neighbors name.

H-D-P-E Does Not Spell "Hope"  -  Recycling is hopeful.  I am not.

It Is Only Hubris If I Fail - Childhood with a heavy dose of failure, sprinkled with Sloane Crosley.

Sick Dream D.A.N.C.E. - Dreams are fun.  Dreams about partying and religious fanatics that all have the same face... strange.  Sick dreams are most disturbing.

Rape, Tacos, and Love - I get raped, noticed for my writing at a party, have sex for the first time high, eat really good tacos, and listen in on a nasty girl shit.

Tainted Elephant Oil Prices Dowsed in Sickly-Sweat-Stained Dreams - More sick dreams, musings on family life and relationships.

Zombie Christ Day

Metal Shows - Are awesome.  Especially when you know the band.  Even if it's at a lame venue. 

Derelict Father, Are We the Cause of Our Suffering?

Shit's Run Its Course - I inherit a bike from a metal head who stole it from a crack head.

The Bear, The Bee, The Rhino - I connect with mother nature, understand things I never thought possible.

Night Luck - I have only gotten in trouble with the law when sober.  Sobriety really takes the spine out of me.

Condom Debacle - A young Hunter hides a partially used condom in duct-tape.

Jesus Freaks - I lament about my hatred for street-preachers.  This is a Facebook classic.

Bloody Knuckles - It wasn't a game that gave me these.

Diphenhydramine - The first time I ever tripped on a deliriant.

Bulgarians are Hardcore - Intoxicated 5 times the lethal limit, this Bulgarian gets hit by a car and sent to the hospital for minor head trauma.

A Little Funny and The Encroaching

Sunchips? - Do you know why they call them sunchips?

LIRICKES -  The funniest rap "lirickes" you'll read all week.

The Binary Universe and How Choice Works  -  With diagrams and shit.

Poems - A little too sing-songy.

Soundscape - High times.

The Nature of Souls and Soulmates - Got a decent response for this one.

Scanner Darkly and the Universe as a Vague Set of Prepositions

Demon Play, Demon Out - Your shoes are not an extension of anything that matters to your person.

Clocked Out - A New Year - 2007.  Some things get better, other things are mentioned less.

New - I miss writing.

The light retreats,
kitchen, living,
and bedroom space. 

The light retreats,
closing around
leaving a blank.

The light retreats,
to the bed where,
I lie lying.

The light retreats,
up the covers,
to the pillows.

The light retreats,
with a click or
a blink, the light
retreats.

Some people have asked me what I did to deserve driving school(which I missed in Perfect Night Ruined By Marriot, Morning).  I found something I wrote during the summer that explains exactly that:

Usually I'm a huge advocate of Karma and all its intricacy, but sometimes you think you can over-rule cause and effect, like your actions won't have some consequence. The ONE time, I repeat, one time, that I mock Karma, it decides to teach me a lesson. PK, Horatio and myself were on our way out of Walmart when it happened. And for the record, I don't know why I've been to Walmart so much recently, but I think it has something to do with this random $40 Walmart gift card that I got from my uncle. I love gift cards because it's like "I don't know you that well, but I know you well enough to know that you probably have an interest in spending money at place: x." Anyway, here's how it happened:

Leaving Walmart, I needed to take a uey, but didn't immediately at the stoplight. Instead, I turn left onto whatever road, and begin my way to the next light to make a u-turn there.
Horatio: "Why didn't you pull a uey right there?"
Hunter: "Could I have?"
Horatio: "Yeah."
Hunter: "Oh well, whatever, I'll make one here. I'm a very law-abiding citizen when it comes to driving, usually"
Horatio: "You wouldn't have been breaking the law--"
Hunter: "Okay, okay, cautious driver. I'm too important to get a ticket or die from some stupid shit, even in the middle of the night."
We all agreed that we were all too important for tickets and death, because why wouldn't we?
We get to the light and guess what?
Horatio: "Ohhh, that sucks"
PK: "No u-turn, sir, fuck."
Hunter: "Hmmmm," the gears in my mind tell me to rebel.
PK: "You can just take a left here and..."
Hunter: "No, I know, but I'm taking a u-turn, fuck this, this is ridiculous. Fuck being a law-abiding, cautious person."

We make the u-turn. Good times, right?

PK: "Your plates have been scanned"
Hunter: "I doubt it."
And I see it.
Hunter: "But... there is a cop car," I point out.
And I know I'm fucked. It's not on the surface, and I'm trying not to acknowledge it, but it's there, and I know it.

We go on down the road a bit, and, watching the aft of the vehicle, I realize it's turning and announce that fact to my friends, if only to rid myself of it verbally and share the burden.
For a few moments, I'm convinced that I can escape. Horatio later tells me that feeling is common. And completely false. You don't want to end up on COPS because you broke a regulatory law.

Hunter: "It's turning. Damn."
PK: "I see lights."

And there it was, I was being pulled over for a fucking U-turn violation at 1:30 in the morning. All because I gave karma the middle finger for two seconds, went against my word and against the law. But if I can't laugh at it, fuck me.

No one is too important for the law, or in my case, driving school. My court date is August 28th, the second day of college. Here's to starting off on the right foot!

Sidenote:
At this point in our lives, nothing is really facilitated for us. We have to use our imaginations to have fun. Remember imaginations? Yeah, we lost those when we grew out of "kid" form and into "teenage" form. But that's why this middle ground sucks. We're not the bar-hopping "out" crowd, and we can't run around the yard at night playing SUPER HEROES of the BACK YARD, or whatever. Cowboys and Indians, if you're oldschool.

So, we end up getting a ticket in the middle of the night after sitting in a Walmart parking lot snacking on shit.

This is mainly the story of my birthday party, the recognition of a problem, and the end to my alcoholism.  I cannot believe I just wrote that.

The Girlfriend(this part is mostly background)

    The first time I met her we were outside the dorm during a firedrill.  It was a beautiful day outside.  The sky was blue with ethereal plumes of white.  It was beautiful.  Just not as much as what I was in store for.  She was the most attractive thing I had ever seen, her big Italian eyes and cute little Jew nose.   Our eyes locked briefly, but I disengaged, because, hell, I was "dating"(fucking) another girl at the time.  Though I was considering "breaking up" with her because she was a total psychotic bitch, I wasn't about to do her the injustice of cheating on her.  I still find that to be the worst thing you can do to someone's trust.  I would later learn that the girl I was dating was a cheating whore and an all around liar.  I didn't care at the time of learning this as I was completely happy just being AWAY from her.  Seriously, she gave me her family history while we were lying in bed one night and this is what I got out of it--MOTHER: Manic Depressive, OCD.  GRANDMOTHER: BLEW HER HUSBAND'S HEAD OFF WITH A FUCKING TWELVE GUAGE.  JESUS CHRIST.

    So, there I am, separated from this gorgeous girl by nothing more than my unwillingness to even consider but one person at a time when John walks up and starts talking to her.  John and I have hung out recently.  Fuck it, I am in.  I go over and act like my normal boisterous and happy self.  She is sarcastic and very funny.   We are visibly into eachother already.  This is basically the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back.  I invite both of them to a party I am attending, mostly so I can hang out with this girl some more. Luckily, they both decline.  The reason this is lucky, and the thing I haven't told you is, it was at "Crazy's" apartment-- then my girlfriend.  Yes, them showing up would have ended terribly.  Instead, I go to the party alone, get excessively drunk, am unhappy, and burn myself with a cigarette.  More times than I want to count.   That's the story behind Bloody Knuckles.  Me burning myself.  Crazy makes fun of me the next day and I quickly dump her ass. 

    The first time I actually hung out with Sara, I was already trashed(see: The Things I Remember, same night) when she showed up.  She comes in and I'm throttling a handle of vodka, swaying back and forth, singing Richard Cheese songs.  If you don't know who Richard Cheese is, he is a cover artist who redoes popular songs in a lounge style.  He was instantly my hero after I heard his rendition of "Down With The Sickness" in the Dawn of the Dead remake.  I don't actually remember much about this night, as I have already downed about a third of the handle already, continuing to drink well into the night.  All I remember is having a really intense conversation.  Sara makes fun of me hardcore for singing and liking Richard Cheese.  I make fun of her for liking Dream Theatre, because Alexi Laiho(lead for Children of Bodom)  said they were gay, and if Alexi says it, it is true.  She tells me my music collection blows.  I attempt to argue that it doesn't, but ultimately lose.  She has a huge proclivity for music that I cannot ever hope to match.

    In the weeks that follow, I am awkward.  I have never been more awkward around a person in my life.  This is because I have never been so unsure of where I stand with a person than when I first started seeing her.  Luckily, she is awkward too, and it works out.  We start dating but continue the awkwardness for a short while.  Eventually we loosen up.  At some point she tells me how weird it is to be the witness to self-mutilation, or, rather, the results of it(my scars).  She seems worried, and I jokingly say, "What, you care about me?"  She says she does, and I am totally knocked off my proverbial feet.  A sledgehammer shattering my mental shins, sweeping me to the floor.  For much of my time with her I have been emotionally reticent.  I have seen the damage caused by opening up too soon, too fast.  I know my behavior, I know that I burn up to avoid rusting out.  This is who I am usually.  But I want to change.

    I tell Sara that I'm done hurting myself, because I am happy now.  But just being with someone doesn't make you happy.  I now realize that happiness comes only from within.  It is, to some extent, a choice of contexts.  Only you can put yourself in a position that will either improve or detriment you.  At the time I tell Sara I am done hurting myself, I have not learned this lesson-- the "how to" on happiness.  At the time I tell Sara I am done hurting myself, I am not. 

The Birthday Party

Skip a few weeks later to my birthday party.

    Horatio and I get his brother to hook us up with some beer.  And by some beer, I mean four fucking cases.  We load Horatio's car with the beer.  Inside the car, he tosses me a water bottle full of clear liquid, saying, "Happy Birthday, enjoy."  It is vodka.  Horatio is my best friend.  I take a swig and wince.  It has been awhile.  I figure I'll need some mixer and food in my stomach before we head to the party.  We drive to Sheetz. 

    En route, Horatio goes, "There are beers under your seat from the other night.  Beer me."  I hand him his first Natty swill.  He nearly downs it before we reach Sheetz.  He does down it immediately following Sheetz.  I have a huge burger in my face, and am not worried about regulating his driving. 

    His second beer is done and he begins to "feel it."  I am worried about regulating his driving. I begin the "double-check" method.  He is drinking his third beer with one hand and driving half-heartedly with the other.  I get the idea that I might die tonight.  I got this idea much earlier in the week when I was told how much alcohol would be at my party.  I figured alcohol poisoning would do me in, but now I am worried about becoming a roadside cadaver.  I quickly forget this as I drink more of my Gatorade/Vodka mix. 

    We drive around for awhile trying to find a parking spot.  Richmond parking sucks.  Horatio announces, several times, that he has to urinate.  I begin torturing him, saying "Drip, drip, drip.  Pssssss."  I decide that this is a bad idea since he is driving.  Finally we find a spot to rest the car.  We are in front of a very nice town home with a large street lamp blaring above us.  We are not far from a stoplight, where an audience of drivers no doubt watch us.  Horatio says he is going to pee on his car:
Hunter: "Dude, for real? Right here?  You can't wait?"
Horatio:  "Fuck it, I don't care, man, I have to piss."
Hunter:  "There's a huge lamp above you.  We are completely visible.  And have beer.  And are underage.  We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."
These were all quality reasons not to publicly urinate, but in the most serious voice I've ever heard him deliver anything, he says, with a slight pause:
Horatio: "... Back up, lest you get pissed on."

I don't know why, but I grab three of the cases.  I start walking across the street.  Horatio says, "Wait up," finishes pissing, and downs the last of his third or fourth beer.   A couple of minutes into our five(or so) minute walk(Richmond parking sucks, remember?) to the apartment, having two cases in one arm is a ridiculous waste.  I insist Horatio take one.  He does, and now we both have two.  He says he feels badass just walking around with beer.  I tell him this is how it feels to "bring the party."  He gets pumped and I immediately remember why I only left one case for him to carry.  Holding the handle, he juts his fist outward, pretending the beer case is a boxing glove or something.  The handle remains in his hand while the rest of the case sails through the air and smashes into the sidewalk.  We just stand there for a moment. We start gathering the scattered beer cans.  Some of them are rolling away from us, trying to escape:
Hunter:  "Why was that a good idea."
Horatio:  "I don't know, I'm already drunk, I think." (The "Drunk Defense")
Hunter:  "Good enough."
Horatio:  "No one can know about this."
Hunter:  "Alright. We'll just let them explode on some people."

    We head upstairs and are immediately rushed by everyone inside.  I am bombarded with "Happy Birthday" and such and what not.  This makes me happy.  In my vodka glow, I am already the center of the universe.  Awesome. After awhile though, I find myself having an iteration of the following conversation... throughout the ENTIRE NIGHT:
Rebecca:  "Hunter, your arm looks like fucking hell."

Adrian:  "Yeah, you should put bandaids on them, they'll heal"
Liz:  "What the hell did you do?"
Me:  "Lots of bad stuff."
Rebecca:  "Is this new or is this shit I've seen?"
Me:  "All old stuff"
Adrian(pointing to my cuts): "What did you do? Is that when you woke up bloody?"
Liz: "Yeah, what is that?"
I try to convince them that it was a cougar attack.  I then explain that the burns are from lye, like in Fight Club, and that it was a gang initiation.  Then I concede that I was playing chicken with cigarettes.  With myself.  They say I am crazy, and probably just like Tyler Durdin.

Some people enter and they wish me happy birthday.  I announce that I have no idea who one of them is.

    I go to the bathroom and Calypso(of Pissing in Pools I & II  and Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer) tells me not to use the one I'm headed to.  I assure her I know what I am doing, and that I know the door jams.  I will leave it open.  I stay in there for like two minutes taking the most titanic piss of my life.  While I'm breaking the seal, I thank the toilet for drinking my piss.  Am I already this drunk?  Seven gargantuan cups of jungle juice in the first hour or so? Yes, yes I am this drunk.

    I come back and Horatio's brother has arrived.  I am enamored at the fact that such a cool motherfucker would grace me with his presence. He holds out his hand:
Hunter:  "Hold on, there were no fuckin' towels in there, give me a second."  I actually count out a full second Mississippi style and shake his hand.  I notice one of the guys accompanying him:
Hunter:  "Annnnd?"
Justin:  "Justin.  You don't remember me?"
Hunter:  "No.  What's your last name?"

    He implies that we once "chilled" together, sounding hurt.  Telling me what was involved with our "chilling" really helped.  Apparently we smoked together once.  I have no recollection of this, and therefore invoke the "High Defense."  He takes off his hat and gives me the "Ehhh, ehhh, anything?" look.  It doesn't help, but I do notice he has red hair, and therefore will fail to hit on any girl at the party.  It is a well documented fact that red headed guys generally do poorly with women.  True story.  He hits on Liz but ultimately comes up short.  She is one of the few girls Richmond produced that isn't a whore at all.  I can't help but respect her for that.

    I totally didn't catch this at the time, but in the background Horatio is lamenting about his ex-girlfriend.  He tells the story of how they were together.  Then how the romance was stifled by a grounding of a month-long duration.  He got grounded as a result of the Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly incident.  He blames his failed relationship on the grounding, and for mostly good reason.  His girlfriend and him couldn't see eachother, and he became what he refers to as a "Low Status Male," dumping his emotional issues on her. Because of this, he helped her transition to who she truly was.  Upon breaking up with him, she informs him that she is a lesbian.  As he tells this, the three or so girls he is talking to go into shrills and half-muttered explitives.  I hear several "OMIGOD's" in the pity tone.  Yeah, everyone feels bad for the "transition guy."  Seriously, if you are dating someone when they switch sides, that is indicative of you making them change their mind about their sexuality.  Of course, I know the truth.  The girl is a lying seductress of a woman, and Horatio is one of the coolest people I've ever met. 

The Recognition of a Problem and the Resolution to End Alcoholism

Yetti:  "No piggy-back rides tonight."
Apparently, a few nights ago, we were all drinking beer and I drank way too fast, getting myself well into Hyper-Hunter Drunk.  I jumped on Yetti's back and we both went careening into the asphalt.  He is like 6'5" and over 200 pounds.  I am like 6' and 180 pounds.  He is crushed under the inertia of our combined weight, and I, on his shoulders, fall like 10 feet to the ground.  We squirm around in pain for like thirty seconds before realizing we are intoxicated, and pain can't fetter us.

    I tell the story of how Horatio destroyed one of the cases of beer.  Someone overhears this from another room and asks which one is fucked up. 
Hunter:  "You see that one with the gaping hole in it?  Yeah, don't take beer from that one, it will explode all over you."
Liz:  "Who did that?"
Horatio: "Me, I can't feel my face already."
Hunter:  "Slow down there, you have all night."  I find this advice particularly funny because I am already working on being utterly shit-faced.

Calypso saunters over.
Calypso:  "Don't you like the Jungle Juice?"
Hunter:  "It's very good."
Adrian:  "It's very lime-y.  Did you put citrus in there?"
Calypso:  "Yeah."
Hunter:  "It's like, I wanna play some, like, tribal drums.  No, not really.  No,  I have no rythm."

    Rebecca comes along and says she can't feel her face, so I poke her cheek. 
Hunter:  "I can still feel your face, you're fine.  You're still with us."
Rebecca and Liz start talking to me about something, but my phone buzzes and I totally just walk away from them to answer.  I am sorry, girls, I guess I am an asshole.  That or I'm like anyone else when they're drunk, and I just go with whatever.  I have achieved Autopilot Drunk.

    I re-enter the room and Calypso is taking pictures.  I rush to shove my face into every picture taken.  Seriously, if you guys read this and have those pictures, please send them to me, or post them online. 

    I approach Liz:
Hunter:  "I heard you called me an asshole because of my stories online."
She grins and turns her head slightly.
Hunter:  "AH!  You can't deny it! See, that's the 'I can't deny it' face. OH!"
Liz:  "Can't deny it.  No, not going to either."
A small crowd erupts into "OOOH."  I say, "That hurts," jokingly, because there is no emotional pain you can inflict upon Raving Drunk Hunter that he won't embody in physical pain later.
She giggles.  Apparently hurting me is funny.
Horatio:  "Dude, there's nothing wrong with being an asshole!"
I almost contend that I am not an asshole, and someone backs me by saying, "He can't be an asshole, he has a beard."  I'm not sure how this logic works, but I did in fact have a beard.
I fully contend that I am a mix of "nice guy" and "asshole." 
Liz: "So you're half and half? You are fifty percent asshole, that's still pretty bad!"
Adrian: "He's part sex machine, as well."
Hunter: "This is true.  Thank you for reminding me.  But seriously, do you really think I am an asshole?  Like, back in the day?  Other than when I was on aderol.  Because, I would come in happy one day and an evil bastard the next."
Liz:  "That's true.  That applied, I don't necessarily think you.... I don't know, but you're looking at asshole as a bad thing."
This shocks me. 
Yetti:  "Girls like assholes."
It's true, to some extent.  Though, I still believe that some of the qualities of an asshole can be taken away, applied to a nice person, and you get the same results.  Confidence mainly, but, unlike an asshole, not overflowing with hubris.
 
    Across the room, Horatio announces to no one in particular, "Shit, it's not even eleven o'clock and I am already shit-faced."
I rally the forces to go out to eat somewhere, and we head out.  Unfortunately, with everyone's short attention spans, we only make it as far as Seven Eleven.  God damn convenience.  I stand, staring at the Chip and Dip section for about five minutes before grabbing a bag.  I tell Horatio what I'm getting-- chips and salsa.  He says he'll buy the salsa, but, seeing the price, and being the Jew he is, decides he wants to buy the chips.  I tell him I'll buy both, but he hands me the salsa.   "Okay," I say.  I don't even use real money, I just hand them my university debit card.  The next day, Horatio complains that the bag of chips was like four dollars.  I tell him the salsa was like three. 

    We get back and drink more. Everyone engages in eating my tostitos and dip.  I am like, "Didn't you fuckers buy anything for yourself?"  I guess there's a Jew in me too.  I start eating faster than anyone else, so as to get my money's worth.  I am shoveling salsa into my mouth, getting the impression that I might shit blood later as a result.  Alcohol and hot salsa do not mix well.  Deciding that I have an iron stomach, I push the idea of bloody diahrreah to the back of my head and grab another drink.  I am drinking unhappily, and decide to separate myself from the crowd.  I head outside with three cigarettes and a lighter.  I sit outside and smoke them, putting the last one out on my skin.  For awhile, I narrate my surroundings to no one but myself.  Realizing this, I immediately head back upstairs.  To drink more.  To drown out the recognition of a problem. 

    I wake up the next morning with three hours of sleep under my belt.  I am either still drunk or very hung over.  Horatio and I head out and he takes me to my dorm.  On the way, I rediscover my left-over gatorade-vodka concoction.  I don't want to waste it, so I drink it.  I get back to my dorm and never manage to go back to sleep.  The day passes slowly.  I take some sleeping pills at night and pass out. 

    The next day, I see Sara.  She grabs a CD and hands it to me, delivering a happy birthday.  It's Richard Cheese's Lounge Against the Machine.  I am enamored.  We chill for awhile and she notices my newly incinerated flesh.  She wasn't supposed to see that.  I feel bad because I told her I was going to stop.  It wasn't like one of those childish promises someone makes you swear an oath to, but I still broke my word.  And, if I can't trust myself, how can I ever hope to trust anyone else? This was my major realization.  I have to generate everything from within, for myself, before I can be happy with someone else.  Or make someone happy. 

    On that note,  I have decided to stop drinking in excess, at least until I can understand where the line is.  It's okay to cross it, as long as you acknowledge that it has been crossed.  First, I have to find it, to draw it. 

Hunter: Oh man, cold pizza.
Jeff: Greatest. Food. Ever.
Hunter: I see my first slice.

Music ceases for a moment as the car is turned off and then on again. We're back from Sheetz and sitting in the parkinglot. It's an uneventful night, but we're both high, so we're both enjoying being in our heads.

Jeff: I got strawberry daiquiri flavored Sobe. That might be a little bit fruity.
Hunter: Haha, yeeeah, you might've just grown a tiny mangina.
Jeff: Eh, I tried all the other flavors and figured I'd try this one.
I laugh at him, he's a funny kid.

Jeff: Getting high is so weird.  Life is all about your verbal melee-ing skills.  If you can talk, you can dominate people.
Hunter:  Let's not start that shit.

I know where this is going.

Jeff: No, it's totally social engineering.

Yep.

Jeff: That's the essence of it right there.  But the point is, my getting high inhibits my ability to do that.  Like, if words are my power, it takes away my power.

At this point I figure Jeff is bashing pot, and I'm afraid he's delivering his farewell address.  This is a radical paradigm shift. 

Jeff, in the most pseudo-profound tone he can muster, says, "Getting high takes away my power.  I think that's supposed to be a profound statement or something."  He thinks wrong.

Hunter: Takes away your power?
Jeff: Does getting high take away your power, Hunter?
Hunter: Not in a bad way.
Jeff: See, I think it takes away your power temporarily, but as a whole person reinforces you.
Hunter:  I think so too, because that taking of power let's you sit back and let's your life--
Jeff: Degenerate?
Hunter: No, I mean, you view it instead of participate in it(not necessarily what I meant), and that's a different perspective. So when you come back, when you revert, and you remember that... you've discovered something about yourself or the universe.  So, no, I don't really think I'm losing something so much, when I'm getting high.  I just think I'm altering something so I can gain a different experience. 
Jeff:  Here's this.  Your yes-no binary system thing... it's true, it exists.  You have a plethora of options that are either in one of two states: active or passive.
Hunter: Yeah. Or "accepting" or "rejecting."  Any two opposite terms.  That's why I find the yin-yang fucking incredible.  Like, that is a symbol that says ONE thing about the universe that is so fundamental and true.  That controls the universe, that is the symbol of how things work.
Jeff: It also says to us that the Chinese were smart as shit.

This is where the conversation regarding duality stops being interesting and degrades into me saying, "Symbols are understandings."  Jeff gets his turn to make fun of me.  I deserve it, as my statement was true, but far too basic for its context. The next that happens is awesome.  We reaccess music, a CD I had burned specifically for the night, packed to the very edge with some of the greatest high songs ever.  The song "Charlie," by Red Hot Chili Peppers begins playing.

 

Jeff: You know why this CD is so good?  It's amazing blazing music.
Hunter: I know, that's what this CD is.  It's stuff that sounded really fuckin' cool when I was high.  Like, I make different compilations and listen for specific types of sounds--
Jeff: I'm talking about the Chili Peppers CD.  The double album.
Hunter:  Hahaha, I'm sitting here just sucking my own dick, complimenting myself and everything. 
Jeff: Hahaha, I don't care, I just love when we realize things like that. When I was hanging out with Mike and a couple of those other kids, we were talking about our experiences on acid.  I go, "Dude, the carpet at Chris Pelatir's  was just like... it was swirly."  And then one of the other kids goes, "I TOOK SHROOMS ONCE AND THE LIGHTS WERE BRIGHTER."  And the juxtaposition of that and how ridiculous it was made me realize how dramatic I was being.  I was like, "Oh."

We start talking about sports next.  Jeff says they're awesome, but regrets not being able to participate in them.  I tell him I haven't been high enough to want to watch sports.  I restate what I mean and say that I just haven't been the right mindset, and sometimes smoking allows that for anything.  This can be a good or a bad thing, depending.  But, then again, I don't believe in "good" or "bad."  These are human constructs.  There are things that are harmful and detrimental, but even these terms only scratch the surface of the true nature of things.  It all goes back to duality, the core of the universe.

The next part I'm excluding because I don't like it.  It deals with him and a girl.  I'm not only excluding it for his privacy, but also because it's kind of stupid.  His views on women may be true to some extent, but my experience tells me he is wrong, and that things are not necessarily one way with everyone. He thinks getting his car taken away will lead to him failing miserably and having no chance with said chick.  I say that's not true, just that he would have to try harder.  He talks about how to work the game, and I tell him he can just make the girl like him by being confident and comfortable with himself.  He sees it differently, like she is a means to his own happiness.  Disagreeing, I tell him it can be mutual.  It is possible.

 

One of my favorite songs ever starts playing--"Final Cut" by Coheed and Cambria.  It is a perfect background for the next part of our conversation.  The song sets a sober, if not depressing mood.  The conversation leads to the subject of death:
Hunter: I think there's real stuff in college(talking about relationships).  Like, at that point you're developing different sentiments.  You know what I mean?  A lot of people anyway.  I think that's called maturing, in a way.
Jeff:  I agree.  Yeah, I know.
Hunter:  And I like that maturity doesn't have to change you, but at the same time, I'm only 18 right now, maturity could ruin me.  I just have to mature to a certain point, you know? Where I'm happy. 
Jeff:  You have to be at the right place at the right time for you.  Those kids that are like 15 and getting into the kind of shit we're doing right now.
Hunter:  You know what it helps me realize?
Jeff:  What?
Hunter:  That helps me realize the phases in age, also realizing that I am getting older.  And I will die someday.
Jeff:  You're not invincible.
Hunter:  Grasping that concept is kind of sad.  That's when you give up man.
Jeff:  You don't really capitulate(I love hanging out with Jeff, he's one of the few people that can challenge my vocabulary. I will be honest, I did not know this word, but I did understand it. In case you don't know, it basically means to give up. ) until years later.  I mean, you'll contemplate capitulation to yourself.  But it's the moment when capitulation became a certainty.
THIS IS NO BEGINNING, YEAAHH YEAAHH, THIS IS THE FINAAAL CUUUT, OPEN UP!
Hunter: No, I hate that, it's like the brain was meant to accept death.
Jeff:  It was.  That's just how the human species works. 
Hunter(disgusted):  I hate that.
Jeff:  Like, what if every ant-drone spent its life trying to prolong itself instead of working for the hive? (This statement really actually worries me.  Jeff, if you read this, which I know you will, we need to talk, man.  That's the most terrifying statement you've ever made.  Like, c'mon, we are not ants, there is no hive.  To some extent, fuck humanity, I am living for myself.)
Hunter: That's why I respect people who've broken the triple digits.  It's like, damn, you have an incredible fucking will to hang out.

The conversation makes its way to:
Jeff: Our parents always make fun of us, like, "YOU THINK YOU'RE INVINCIBLE"
Hunter:  Haha.
Jeff:  I mean, why not?  We should at this point.
Hunter:  Yeah, because generally we are.  That's why we need to take more risks at this point in our life, because this is when we're choosing what we want in the next phase.  In the next universe of our understanding. 
Jeff:  You could become like a motivational speaker for high people.

I make my way to explaining that every action is the precursor to subsequent actions, and thus, determinism. 

Hunter:  Honestly, I wish I had never learned about determinism.
Jeff:  That's why I've never actually taken the time to learn about it. 
Hunter:  Like seriously, that is just an avenue you don't want to explore.  Like, you are a logical person, and if you start knowing certain things... I'm just saying, some ideas can break a person. 

And then.

Jeff:  This is gonna sound really gay, but I've been reading a great book called Healing the Shame That Binds You.  It's all about family systems and stuff.  And how people end up, like,  fucked up.
Hunter:  Like interactions between people?
Jeff: Yeah, like how interactions between people fuck us up.
Hunter:  Isn't it weird how we kind of mold eachother?
Jeff:  Yeah. It's kind of crazy. 
Hunter:  It's kind of sad, because we're molding eachother and we don't have any choice in it. 

The music-box like ending to the song is playing. It's melancholy, which I think is why I was.  Music can totally set a mood while high.  I usually avoid depressing shit when I'm high.  But then the blue-grass-esque ending kicks in and I'm set.  I go into Coheed and Cambria band lore.  He has no clue what I'm talking about and it's all one-way conversation:
Hunter:  Damn, I hate trying to explain fucking esoteric shit-- bullshit that no one should know. 

The car starts playing "Salieri Strikes Back," by Warmen.  Everyone is happy.

 

Jeff rants about something for awhile, but I stop listening and start doing air-keyboard to the song, because the song kicks ass and I can't resist.  He laughs at me, and I tell him I'm good at anything involving moving my fingers really fast.  It's true. 
Jeff:  No, I just realized what just happened.  The orchestra played me out.
I laugh for like four minutes.
Jeff:  You know when people go to award shows and like, talk to long?
I apologize perfusely, using the "I'm high" defense. 
Jeff:  No, it needed to happen.  I was blathering.
Hunter:  Some things just override your attention.

We talk about having our own show, online.  I still, even sober, think this would be an incredible act.  We've talked about it forever, and have had some legitamately funny things happen throughout our hang out sessions.  I can see it working.  People are famous for much, much less.

Hunter:  Think about all the dumbass rich kid stoners that are forming our culture right now.
Jeff:  You realize we kind of fall into that category right? (even dumbass? aww)
Hunter:  I realize that, but that's why we can profit off of it. 

I explain that kids are the key to making money.  If you can culturally prepare them through business to be customers in the future, you are golden.  Seriously, it's kind of fucked up, but that kind of grand-scale social engineering is plausible and profitable. 

"Towards Dead End," by Children of Bodom begins playing. Jeff got me into them, and knows more about them than anything.

Jeff:  I just realized "Silent Night, Bodom Night" is playing, and it is awesome.

The only time I have ever seen this man slip on his Bodom knowledge; however, I apply my same "I'm high" defense to this situation.  Works everytime.  We talk about band lore and Jeff thinks he's coined the phrase.  He contends that "band lore" is a compound term and therefore original.  I tell him compound terms are the first to go.

We start heading out and pass the girls we saw earlier. They're crowded around a much bigger dude who stands in a grey college hoodie with a baseball hat on his head turned 180 degrees.
Jeff:  What the fuck?
Hunter:  Drunk people...? Oh, it's those girls---OH, they were coming here to meet a college dude.  That's kind of fucked up. 
Jeff:  You know that shit happens all the time.

We talk about it, and I tell him I'm totally going to write a story about it, though I have yet to do so as of writing this. Jeff goes, "Shit, now I can't write about it. But you mentioned it was worth writing, I may have just glossed over it." He mentions that that's how it worked back in the Middle Ages and shit like that.  I just think it's sad, though, for both parties.  A) The girls are being taken advantage of when they really think they aren't.  B) Old guy has no game and therefore prowls for young ass.  In my opinion, the older(up to 28-32) the better.  Immaturity, mentally, is so obscene, I don't care how attractive you are.  That's a killer.

We head home and go our seperate ways.   

  

Transcribing Knowledge Of The Smoke : PART I

So, recently I went home and had a good time smoking with one of my best friends ever--Jeff.  In my stories, for continuity, he is known as Horatio.  This entry revolves around the night we smoked, using quotes from the voice recorder.  I wish I could upload the audio, but we went with the cheap version.  In hindsight that was a bad idea.  There is no USB output and thus, I must transcribe it.  Here goes:

We sit in his car, something he has named the "Goldsmobile."  Guess it's color.  Slightly Stoopid plays in the background.

Talking about some guy named William, who is a compulsive liar.
A car passes us, I tell it to fuck itself, because I am the Doctor Doolittle of Cars:
Jeff: He's goin' to 7/11
Hunter: Ha, I love when people come out of Sheetz and go to 7/11. It's like, "Uhh, yeah, flashing lights and cool music isn't going to make me want to come to your store... I want shitty tacquitos."
Jeff: I do want shitty tacquitos!

Jeff: Man, I love the mirror system.
Hunter: Yeah, mirrors are kind of ingenious. 
Jeff: It's like, "We're gonna get a huge chunk of metal and have it fly down the road, and we're gonna put mirrors on it so you can see."
I then geek out at the prospect of video replacing mirrors. Jeff says we can discuss that after he takes his next hit off of the gravity.  We never do.  Instead, Jeff loads the gravity and realizes we have alcohol:
Jeff: This is crazy, but we do have vodka.
Hunter: Really?
Jeff: Yeah.
Hunter: Well, uh, cool.

A car passes and it looks like a cop, but isn't.  He takes a massive hit and sputters the smoke after a few seconds.  It rolls across the ceiling of the car.

Jeff: Ah, shit, that cannot be allowed to float around the car.
Hunter: Do you have Fabreeze?
Jeff: I have drive-breeze.
 
I laugh and tell him I love slamming words together.  This is why the German language kicks ass.  Compound words are key.  We talk about language briefly, and Jeff announces, several times, that he is "really high." He lists off his GB intake over the past couple of days.  He says he had one, then two the next day, and should now have three.  You can see how it becomes necessary to smoke more and more if you do it often.  That's why I love moderation.  We agree on three each, and I'm in for some high times, as I haven't smoked in months.

Jeff: Dude, I love being ambidexterous.
Hunter: ... I like having hands. Period.
Jeff: That's a good call, because not everyone has hands.
Hunter: Yeah, some things don't have hands. Some things have, like, tendrils.
Jeff: Well, no, like people.
Hunter: Yeah, and those people suck.
Jeff: Haha, I feel sorry for those people.
Hunter: Mmm, I don't. (pause) Actually, no, I'm a liar. I feel sorry for the stupidest shit.  I feel sorry for fat people, even if it's their own goddamn fault. There's this guy that sits in Larrick, the dining center next to my dorm, alone.  All the time.  He is definitely fuckin' obese.  This kid is not jokin' around with his fat.
Jeff: Hahaha, aww.
Hunter: I always feel compelled to sit with him but never do.

Jeff loses focus for a second.

Jeff: It's not caching, sooo, uh, I guess that means there's something in there.  But yeah, I saw the fattest dude in CVS today, and it was really sad because he was buying vaseline, which you know was for his bed sores--shit, not bed sores, but you know, like fat sores that you get from having too much fat--CHAFING!
I laugh for like 30 seconds.
Jeff: Yeah, I realize that was convoluted as shit, but I am high as shit.

Somehow we get on the subject of tattoos, probably because I go, "Dude, I was thinking about getting a tattoo." Jeff tells me that's pretty cool, but then I tell him, "I mean we're talking a really hack tattoo"  He goes blank and asks, "What?" in that monotone voice that indicates disappointment.

Hunter: A yin-yang.
Jeff: Don't do it.
Hunter: Dude, duality is fucking cool. I believe so strongly in duality.
Jeff: OH! That reminds me, I reread your... VOX thing... the entry that was deterministic in nature, and I was thinking, those comments were really good.
Hunter: Yeah, they were, I really appreciated them.  They were good. Wait, you read the actual VOX post right?
Jeff: Yeah.
Hunter: Okay, yeah, those were really good.  The one with the logical proofs I didn't quite understand.
Jeff: I didn't really get that one either. What I was impressed by was how logical these people are, though.  Like, when I read your arguement, I liked it, because it was good writing, but like, there was something wrong with it, but I couldn't put it into words, and these people were just like bam!
Hunter: Yeah, when I write I don't really think about what I'm doing, I just channel.
Jeff: No, I know what you mean.  I left a great story as one giant block of text for two weeks.  No paragraph breaks.
Hunter: Yeah, I remember that shit.

We segway to talking about the college experience, and Jeff asks me if the song playing is Glassjaw.  I tell him it is, and that I put it on the custom CD we are listening to simply because of the effects in the song.

Hunter: I love this effect.
Jeff: Dude, I have yet to play guitar high.
Hunter: Deeyew Deeyew deeyew.  You need a huge effects set-up.
Jeff: Dude, effects make or break music.  That's actually kinda why I like classic rock, because it's not the effects that make the music.
We begin to move out of the parkinglot we're in.
Hunter: Uh, where are we going?
Jeff: To air out the car.

Thinking he had forgotten about me, I point to the GB, then me, and back to the GB. He laughs and reassures me that we're going to stop in a second. I point out the voice recorder set up and tell him I like it.  He says he has forgotten about it. "Yeah, I-- I haven't," is my response.  I am not high enough at this point for a glowing red let at headlevel to just slip into the background. The real background, outside, is beautiful.  The trees are turning with the changing temperatures.  Fall has begun, and back home, twenty or so minutes from where I currently live, it is absolutely beautiful.  Jeff says, "See, that's what separates us from a soul-less, urban 1984 society."  I haven't read the book, but I know the gist of it, and he's right. 

I notice a huge Trailer Truck parked in the vacant lot.  We're surprised we didn't notice it before.
 
Jeff: Oh shit, dude, Mr. Krane did the craziest thing in Creative Writing today.
Hunter: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.  The biology teacher?

He tells me he teaches psychology now.  I am pissed, because when I was in highschool, psychology was forbidden on the premise that sex factored in to a human's thought process.   We continue driving and pass a car of young girls.  Jeff inflects out loud:
Jeff: Holy shit, do I know those girls?
He doesn't. We pull into our spot.
In a news anchor voice, I say, "Here we are, back at Smoke-Central-Station."  Jeff proceeds to slam his hand into the dashboard repeatedly.  This is the only form of laughing he can communicate.  I know this because there is a huge smile on a face gasping for air.
Hunter: I love that about high people. I can't deny my love for beating the shit out of something because it's funny.  Wooo (slam, slam, slam), thaaaat's hilarious.  It's like reverting to a lesser state.
Jeff: But I love reverting.
I reassure him that I do too.  I begin talking about the "allies" mentioned in Carlos Castaneda's The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge, but he isn't listening.  The reason for this is he is attempting to pack the GB and it is requiring all of his mental focus.

Jeff: Hunter? I am entirely too high to pack GBs.
Hunter: But you're not too high to hold the GB for me--
Jeff: That's right.
Hunter: --because that's what I did for you.
Jeff: Haha, come here, GB, give me a hug.
Hunter: Man I can't see shit...
I get out my phone and use it as a light to pack by.
Jeff: Oh shit, we didn't use the crack lighter.  Oh, we've gotta raise some GBs with the crack lighter.

There's some silence between us, but Glassjaw is just now finishing up their song.  It's a good thing too, because the end of the song is not something to listen to high. It's caustic.

I go for my first hit, and Jeff whips out his "crack lighter."  I ask him as judicially as I can, "Is that the fuckin' crack lighter."  He lights it, and it is.  The flame ripples in waves towards the ceiling of the car.  It is nearly four inches of deadly blue and orange flame.
Hunter: Oh, NO WAY. No, I'm not using that shit.
Jeff: That's a fuckin' horrible idea, thank you.  Thank you for double checking that, we're in an apholstered car.

In the background a new song is playing.  "Parole Atale," by Meg.  Very moody music--in Italian.  I figured I'd test run the song high, but it flopped and turned out whinier than anyone would ever want to listen to high. 
Jeff: Is that phone-off-the-hook sound coming from the song?
Hunter: Yeah, you're fine.
Jeff:  I know, it's just fucking with my head.
Hunter: Hahaha, dude, does your cellphone have a hook to put on?
Jeff: Yeah, exactly.
Hunter: You are high.
Jeff: Exactly.
I take my first or second hit, and it is gargantuan. I never cough when smoking, but I almost heaved up a lung right there.  I was in for a good time.
Hunter: One second, fuckin' cotton mouth killer.
The car starts rolling.
Jeff: Oh my GOD, this car's still going!

DING DING DING.
The car is turned off and back on. I ask him to hold something while I chug some Pink Lemonade.  I offer him some, because it's a 2 liter, but he remembers I am sick.  We then talk about listening to the voice recorder high, and how we're not going to do that tonight.
Hunter: We're not going to listen to it tonight.
Jeff: Because we're really high.
Hunter: And that's scary.  Remember when we did that, uh--
Jeff: And never listened to it.
Hunter: No, no.  Do you remember listening to it high?  Because I remember that being scary.
Jeff: Oh yeah!
Hunter: Hearing myself on a device was scary.
Jeff: You realized the whole Native American, stealing of soul thing is true.
Hunter: Yeah, because it's true.
We laugh.
Jeff: I like that we acknowledge that.
Hunter: Yeah, it's true.  Your "soul" is stolen when you place it on a cold-- Like, no, seriously, what you are, your soul is everything that comprises you.  And if a machine can transcribe it and replicate it more efficiently than you can... it has captured a moment in your soul, in time of your soul--physically captured it.  Everything's physical.

Jeff: Yeah, that's true.  You just reminded me about the story I was going to tell about Mr. Krane.  He showed us this video with people wearing white shirts and people wearing black shirts, throwing basketballs. And you had to count the number of times the people in the white shirts passed the basketball.  So, the video's like twenty seconds long, he stopped it and goes, "Okay, raise your hand if you didn't see the gorrila."

Hunter: Isn't it crazy? Focus the mind on one thing and it ignores another.
Jeff: Yeah, and you rewatch it and there's just a guy in a gorilla suit on the screen like[Jeff dances].

I cough again, expelling more smoke into the car.  An Airbase song comes on--"Spin." 
More confidently than anything I've ever said in my life, I go, "This song I kept on the remix, because it's only two minutes long(whereas most are 8 or so), and it's a good Airbase song. So, I figured 'Why not?' Mix it up a little bit in your mind.  Like, those are two pretty good reasons."

We go back to discussing psychology, and I tell him how I love that there's a whole science behind how humans operate.  I say, "understanding the self is the only way to obtain any true sense of power."  He tells me if he doesn't become a teacher, he will be a psychologist.  Inevitably, we get around to talking about majors, and how they don't really matter.  At the time of the recording, I was seriously considering switching my major from Psychology to English, which I now realize would be a waste of my time.  Jeff gets pensive about college, explaining all the shit he has to apply for, all the essays he's writing.  Hell, I barely even tried to get into college.  It was more of the next, inexorable step for me.  I really respect the fact that he's trying, and I hope he gets in where he wants and then enjoys it.  Also, I hope he goes to a big party school and fits in... so I can come visit.

Jeff stops mid-breath at the sound of "Sacrifice," by The Expendables.
Hunter: No, yeah, no I had to keep this on the CD, this is a high classic. How could I forget this song?
Jeff: This song is just... YES, I get to listen to this high!
Hunter: In fact, we get to listen to this high, turned up.
Jeff: This is why being high in cars with sweet sound systems is awesome.  Have you been in one?
Hunter: Dude, the kids down the hall have speakers taller than this car.
Jeff: Oh, you totally told me. Such a sacrifice inside, ooo, oooooo.
Hunter(singing to the tune): Taxi cab goin' by. What if that was my ex girlfriend coming to kill us
We make shotgun and machine gun sounds for a few seconds.
Hunter: She's got like a tracking device in me.
Jeff: Is she really that crazy?
Hunter: Mmm, no, but that shit's funny.

We start talking about comedy.  Apparently my delivery of "No, but that shit's funny" spurs this thought in his head.  I'm sweet.  We talk about a comedy club I've mentioned, one that my friend Sean introduced me to.  He wants to go, and I tell him he should come sometime.

Hunter: Dude, you have no idea how high I am right now.
Jeff: A lot? Is the answer a lot?
Hunter: Do you remember planet Sieben?
Jeff:  Oh shit.
Hunter: That's how high I am.
Jeff:  You see, I realized that back when I had a place in my head, a planet that I went to... I got really high then.
I can't stop laughing.  I throw the GB out the window as we leave our spot.
Hunter: I'm making the executive decision up there on that dark road... after... all these fucking lights are gone... Like right here. 
The GB makes a hollow clunk as it roles and slows, stopping-- dead.
Jeff: Doo DOO DUKE!
Hunter: Hahahaha
Jeff: Dooka doo doo, dooka dooka doo doo.(he sings with the song, which is "40oz to Freedom", Sublime)
Hunter: Hahahahhaa, reality is sweet.  Wow, I feel like the car is going faster than me.
Jeff: The great part is, right now, your internal organs are moving at 30 miles per hour.
Hunter: Yup. Damn it's cold.
Jeff: I've learned to ignore it.
Hunter: Yeah, me too, but then a breeze of needles hits you in the face. And you're like, "Mm, that's cold."

I proceed to laugh my ass off at Jeff's driving ability:
Hunter: Hahahaha, as we creep, hahaha, ever so slightly, hahaha, up to the curb.  That was fucking classic man.  Vvrrrr, pulling into docking bay one.
We are in the Sheetz parkinglot eating cold pizza and he wants a drink.  He is going to go inside, but I feel too high to do so.  I will lose my shit in front of the officer on call and laugh at his shiny badge.  Jeff wants cottonmouth killer.  I suggest the alcohol in the back and he scowls at me. "Fuck that," is all he says.  He concedes, though, that beer and pizza would be amazing. 
Jeff: Have you ever had just like... two beers... instead of...twenty?

I tell him no. And then here it comes, Jeff's oration on life, and what it is to be a stoner:
Jeff: I realized why being a stoner is not acceptable.  You are not supposed to have this much fun.  Think about it, you can go out and do anything and it's fun if you're high.  And that's just not natural, you're not supposed to have that much fun.  You're supposed to get that much fun out of life.

I laugh in his face, but say he's somewhat right.
Jeff: Think about it, if you cannot get that kind of fun out of just living life, there's something wrong with you.
There's a slight pause as the bass picks up and Bud Gaugh lays down a tempo change.
Hunter: Or.  The chemicals in our brain are different.
Jeff: Exactly, but you shouldn't need to put chemicals in your body.
This goes on for awhile, but ultimately we make fun of stupid people, like this girl from my English class who tried to argue that sodium ions aren't what help cause thought.
Jeff: Oh, I love the comment from that girl--"SALT DOESN'T CONTROL OUR THOUGHT!"
Hunter: Yeah, somebody actually said that to me.

The periodic table is mentioned and we see blue lights flashing across the four lane road in front of us.  Someone just got pulled, which is a really strange thing to see when high.  I call cops "Enforcers" now, because of that.  That's what they are, but that's my high terminology for them, because I think it's best to have different words for the same meaning, so as to take yourself out of a conditioned mindset about things.  It helps expand your view.  Maybe that's bullshit, but it helps me see things differently.

. 

So, the other night I was smoking with some people from my dorm, and I come back high as shit right?  I'm standing with some people and one of them starts a conversation with me.  I'm listening intently, but then another person starts a conversation with me.  I do the back and forth head swivel, trying to keep up with both of them, but then it gets worse.  A third person jumps in.  No one is listening to her, but she keeps talking.  Everyone is focused only on what they're saying.  The forth person inevitably joins this conversation debacle, and I am faced with a firing squad of words.  Too high to handle the verbal melee, I walk away.  No one notices. 

Standing by myself only five feet away, I turn around and watch them.  Am I really witnessing four people all having different conversations? I watch for a few more moments, and yes, yes I am. Four people standing in a line facing a single direction, all spouting words that seem to mesh due to their overlapping nature.  Possibly one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed.  People are really selfish when they're fucked up. 

The Fritolay website totally blows. They have FAQ but it only answers basic questions like, "How do I locate a Fritolay product," or "How do I become a member of a coupon list?" This shit is easy to locate if you know anything about the internet, or if you know anything about pressing buttons on pages until you get to what you want.  We can see the intelligence level of the type of people who go to Chip-Company Websites.  And, no, I do not count, for my question is important. To top off the idiotic FAQ section, there's a picture of an Islander Woman in a nice, white collared shirt, smiling at you.  Kelly is her name, obvious from the statement, "ASK KELLY A QUESTION." Also, it pisses me off that they have smiling people faded into the background on every page. Seriously, they're taking advantage of my natural human tendancy to warm up to a smile.  Fuck that, it doesn't make me trust you!

 I just want to know why they call them SunChips, goddamnit!  I think it's because they're like rays of light from the sun.  Also, they look like a wave function. But, not overthinking it, maybe they just want us to believe they dry them in the sun?

The internet isn't being helpful in my quest to discover the answer, so, what do you think?

    A great night of drinking gone horribly, horribly wrong.  I don't know what great thing Karma has in store for me after all of this, but it better be good.  I am running on two hours of sleep, I am hung over, I just slammed my hand in the bathroom stall, and I have officially lost my license. This is that story, totally raw and uneditted, though I may do that later.

    My night began when two blonde girls came stumbling into my room, imploring me to join them outside.  I had just finished talking to Theft online, and he had given me the invite to join what seemed, to me, like a pretty fun group.  So, here I am, invited three fold to go drink. I have driving school the next day(today, as of writing this), but three reasons to drink overwhelm one reason not to. With this logic, I put up the weakest fight of my life:

Shortblonde stumbles into my room, followed by TallBlonde, and announces that she is a little trashed.  She staggers over to my bed and slouches on it, putting her right hand on my left shoulder.
ShortBlonde: "C'mon Hunner! Come drink with us, we've never drank together before!"
TallBlonde: "Yeah, it'll be fun, come with us"
Hunter: "But I have to go to driving school tomorrow."
ShortBlonde: "It'll be fine!"
Hunter: "Weren't you the one trying to get me to go to the doctor's, and now you want me to drink?  You are trying to kill me.  That makes you a bad person."

At this point, she pulls that faux-offended tone.

ShortBlonde: "HUNTER! That's mean!"
Hunter: "I know, but it's true, you're totally going to end my life.  This makes me sad."
ShortBlonde: "I am not."
For much of this conversation TallBlonde is just reafirming whatever ShortBlonde says, because she doesn't know me as well and therefore doesn't have much to say to me.  At least until later.
ShortBlonde: "Buuuut, you should come with us, our group is meeting outside."
TallBlonde: "We're taking a break, but we're going back to Nielsbohr's room."

I promise to meet them out there and they leave.  Two minutes later they're back.

TallBlonde: "AREN'T YOU COMING?"
Hunter: "Jesus. Yeah, one second."
I start putting on shoes.
ShortBlonde: "Haha, he doesn't have shoes on!"
I don't know why this observation is funny, but she is drunk and anything goes.
They leave my room and I think I can take my time.  I am wrong.  Seconds after managing to put pants and shoes on, I'm being hustled out of my room.  I leave it unlocked even though I doubt I'm coming back.  ShortBlonde informs me that they waited because they need me to insure that they don't get raped on their way down the stairs, out the door, and 20 feet to the designated smoking area where everyone waits.  I laugh and tell her that I seriously doubt the validity of that fear.  But, hey, then again, I'm deathly afraid of zombies and spiders with gigantism.  We need to be prepared for that shit, I am so damn serious.

    Outside, I am the only sober person.  This destroys my ability to permeate the social bubble.  I do get the "It's HUNTER!" greeting, but my novelty wears off quickly.  This is normal.  After awhile, I'm playing the Hokey Pokey of conversation. I put my foot in, take it out, and repeat.  At some point this guy, "Solo," comes out with a delicious concoction of gin, whiskey, and cranberry juice.  (Aside: I call him Solo only because that's his self-applied image: A Han Solo type badass who is, at his core, a Star Wars nerd. It's cool, I am too, but this guy pulls it off flawlessly.) He shares his elixer with Theft, Shortblonde, and myself.  Alcohol induces happiness in my soul, and I'm conversation-ready. Theft, Solo, and myself somehow arrive at the subject of tattoos, and, in the background, Psych starts rambling about her cousin. No one is listening, but I make the fatal mistake of eye-contact.  Now I'm committed to her rant:

Psych: "My cousin had a tattoo that said 'Death Before Dishonor.' He was a war vet.  Lost his legs and all of his fingers.  He was in a war, can you guess which one?"
No one guesses, and she doesn't answer.  Shortblonde, who is sitting next to me, positioned in line of sight between myself and Psych, turns my way and mouths "Oh. My. God." I give her the subtle, "Yeah, I know" grin.
Psych: "He was in a war and died before I ever knew him.  And THAT is why I want to get a tat that says 'Death Before Dishonor' to commemorate him."
She goes on to sing about her desire to have, and I quote, "lesbian sex."  I mean, cool, whatever, as long as your dissertation is over.  I am never drunk enough for sob stories. There was never a point in my drinking career when I've said, "I'm getting drunk and looking to have some fun, let me listen to you bitch and moan about someone who died. FOR THE NEXT HOUR!" YES, totally my idea of a great night.  Not even Greez(from Drunk People) will pay attention to her.  He stands several feet away smoking a cigarette, talking to another girl.

    I take some time to talk with Nielsbohr about drinking with the group, because, after all, he(and his friend) purchased most of the alcohol, and, hey, I'm not one to just join up and expect shit to be given to me.  I make my way over and start talking to him and Somegirl from Drunk People.  They tell me how awesome I am.  I tell them how much I appreciate verbal felatio. I'm good to drink, as long as I run it by "BadDeal," a guy who was recently in a bad drug deal or something and got shot in the ass.  He's the other guy who bought the stuff, and he says they bought plenty and I'm welcome to join.  So I do. 

    Within minutes, I'm upstairs in Nielsbohr's room with Theft and Solo, drinking.  I can tell these dudes are going to be my friends, because they have, along with myself, engineered the move back to drinking-- the purpose to the night.  They understand priorities. The group outside slowly realizes said priorities and begins to filter back inside.  With every knock, someone bounds for the door to make sure it's not someone on call. I want that kind of drunken alertness, so I begin drinking twice as fast as everyone else. They have been drinking for a solid hour, and I want to catch up.  Minutes pass and the room is full of people.  Neilsbohr hands out 40's and sarcasm. Two of the girls don't understand his jokes.  Three if you count Psych, who is curled up in a ball on the floor.  Her face rests on my foot and I feel uncomfortable at the prospect of her puking on me. I nudge her off my feet. She is roused, stands up, and starts staggering around what little space is left in the room. I trade Solo my beer for a 40.  He doesn't want to get too drunk. I do. 

    At the far end of the room, a girl dances with the refridgerator.  She dances like a stripper.  Another girl joins her.  Neilsbohr announces that this is awesome.  Several guys agree.  Somegirl sits across from me suckling on a 40 all to herself.  She looks like a toddler with a giant bottle, it looks so improportionate.  Her intoxication is visibly growing by the second.  To my left TallBlonde starts talking about something and I make some comment I can't remember.  She says I'm another Theft.  I like to think I'm a unique person, but she continues to tell me I am not.  She says she, Theft, and myself have very similar personalities.  I reassure her this is the reason we're hanging out, because we're so awesome.

    There's a knock at the door.  Five new faces wait awkwardly in the hall.  The door opens and immediatey Theft is on the case. He leaps upward and body-blocks the entrance. He's probably the most sober person, and therefore has a responsibility to talk with other sober people.  Sobriety becomes a language barrier after awhile.  Theft negotiates:

Theft:"Okay, you guys gotta turn around.  You, you, you, you, and you, you're out.  Turn around and leave, there's no room for you here."

    Everyone in the hall has just had their feelings hurt, and I can't help but laugh at them. In retrospect, though, I think they caused our downfall.  Not to mention Psych.  Shambling back and forth, she manages to knock EVERYTHING off of ANYTHING within reach.  She causes a loud CRASH.  I think it was TallBlonde who calls Greez(again, from Drunk People) to come get Psych.  He does and they leave, her trashed, him pissed. They're seriously like an old married couple. Not ten minutes after they leave is there another knock on the door.  The guy watching out for the door says he doesn't recognize the girl at the door.  This is because he doesn't live in the dorm.  Neilsbohr goes up to the door, looks through, and opens it. It's a Resident Assistant, but she's not wearing the standard issue red shirt and that is cheating.  She interrogates Nielsbohr, asking him what we're doing:

Satan the RA: "SO what's going on in here?"
Neilsbohr: "We're just hanging out"

I'm almost certain his sudden control over himself has come from a surge of necessary adrenaline.  But, despite his control, certain unchecked factors were out to fuck us over:

Satan the RA: "So what's that?"
She points to an empty Natty Ice.  These bastards don't taste good enough to get us caught, it's not fair.
Nielsbohr: "I don't know, it's empty.  I don't know how it got in here."
A flimsy defense, especially considering there are cans openly cluttering the room.
She gives him two options.
Satan the RA: "You can either gather up all the alcohol and let me watch you pour it out..."
Fear strikes my heart and I begin hiding all the alcohol I can get my hands on.  Under the bed, under a hoodie, in a backpack.  I'm out of sight from her, and I am not about to let this shit go to waste.
Satan the RA:"...or I can call the cops on you."  Which she of course does anyway.
Nielsbohr: "Okay, we'll pour it out.  We'll pour it out. Come on guys, let's get all the shit out of here, anything you can find."
Somegirl looks directly at me and I can read exactly what she's asking me.  "Do we offer up what you've hidden?"  I shake my head. I text my girlfriend and tell her she needs to come counter-act my buzz kill from getting caught, but she has already left to party with her friends. She tells me she'll message me when she's coming back.

    Most of the group has left to pour out the alcohol and eventually make their way downstairs for further questions(and to get written up.) The room is gripped in near silence.  The shock disallows any sort of leadership.  I jump into action!  I tell Somedude2(ANOTHER from Drunk People, and who will henceforth be known as "Toilet") that he should go downstairs to his room.  TallBlonde and Somegirl second this, telling him he can't get caught again.  The night before, I had stayed with him for two hours in the bathroom as he grappled a toilet for dear life.  A dark, viscous brown coated his left arm, the base of the toilet, some of the wall, and the floor.  He had been caught for underage drinking before, was on the verge of getting kicked out of college, and was in a bad place.  In spite of my ability to put myself first, I could not leave him in good conscience(I might write about that night some other time).  So, everyone agrees, Toilet should run downstairs and seek refuge in his room.  He does, but for some of us, the party must go on.  I announce that we still have alcohol and are going to escape with it.  Theft is in.  Solo is definitely in.

    We chill in Solo's room for awhile, backpack full of alcohol.  Solo tells us to brainstorm while he goes and takes a piss.  All I can do, though, is gawk at all of his Star Wars paraphernalia.  Alliance and Empire insignias checkerboard his bedsheets. He has Super Star Wars for the SNES and a Darth Vader belt buckle.  Later, I learn that he was in a short-lived rap metal band called the DL44's-- the type of gun Han Solo used and modified in Star Wars lore.  He comes back and says,
Solo: "So what's the plan?"
Hunter: "Dude, I was totally checking out your Star Wars shit.  It's incredible."
We sit and think some more, Theft goes to take a piss.  He has broken the seal, and will now suffer his bladder's dominion over him for the rest of the night.
Back home what me and Horatio(one of my best friends ever) would do is he would go up to his room, throw the plastic handle of vodka into a backpack, and drop it out his window where I would catch it.  I suggest this, mentioning that I'm great at catching alcohol, because it's like my child and I care about it.  All the alcohol is in glass, so we feverishly pack the bag with clothes so as to pad it.  Solo appoints Theft Resident Bag-Dropper, while he and I head downstairs to snatch up his vehicle--The Millenium Centra.  Exiting the building, we see Nielsbohr and ShortBlonde sitting with Satan the RA at a round table.  They are so utterly fucked.  ShortBlonde attempts to make eye-contact with me, but I shake my head and mouth "don't make eyecontact" for the alcohol's sake.   In Solo's car, we realize the cops have arrived.  We drive passed, and I call Theft.  We decide dropping it out of a window is sketchy as hell and we should probably get together and brainstorm again.  The thing about making plans while already a little intoxicated is you may find yourself needing more than one mind at work.  That is unless you're very drunk, in which case you just do whatever comes to mind first.  I call this Auto Pilot.

    The next thing I know, the three of us are walking outside with a box of Funyuns.  A box of Funyuns, not full of Funyuns.  No, this box was packed with alcohol. We make our way back to the Millenium Centra and hop in.  I, of course, get shotgun, because I have mastered the art of calling shotgun. Shotgun is the seat of power second only to driving.  It doesn't matter who you're with, what you're talking about, or where you are, the shotgun seat insures that you will be involved in everything-- you're up front, and people's voices project forward.  You win, is all I'm saying.  And yeah, I am good at calling shotgun. I have, by accident, socially engineered many people into making it a competitive sport. Seriously, there's an official handbook on calling shotgun, I own it.  I can't make this shit up.

    We wait in Solo's car for awhile, Somegirl joins us and so does this guy, who I guess I'll call "Pipes," because that's what he always has, a pipe.  Like Sherlock.  I didn't learn much about him that night, because he was pretty quiet, but it turns out he's cool as shit.  Group assembled, we head off into the night towards Shortpump, a 20 or so minute drive from Richmond to where Solo's parents live.  Solo needs gas, so our first stop is 7/11.  I have been drinking heavily since we left, and I have to pee.  Theft and I race to the bathroom.  I get the first place prize of the men's room.  Theft goes in the women's bathroom because he has terrible bladder control.  I get out first and, through the door, tell him he has a vagina.  "Fuck you," is his only response, and I can't really argue with it.  On that note, he steps out and we all return to the gas pump where Solo waits.  I call shotgun, no blitz.  It is uncontested.  Solo has filled his tank with five dollars in cash.  I have ridden with him a number of times since this night, and I realize that he keeps his tank basically on "E," filling it up only a handful of dollars with every brief trip.

    On our way to Solo's residence, I drink more while, in the back, drama ensues between Theft and Somegirl.  Pipes stays relatively quiet and Solo plays the role of Disk Jockey, playing brief bits of songs with heavy self-commentary.  It's cool though, because random trivial knowledge is, while useless, pretty interesting.

    The trip ends and we pull into the driveway idle and dark.  We go inside and start smoking.  At some point, I begin a conversation with my girlfriend.  She says she's coming back to the dorm in fifteen minutes and that I should come to her room. I understand the implications, but I am twenty minutes out.  This is a problem.  I go to the group:
Hunter: "Guys, this is fun and all, but there's the possibility that I may be getting laid tonight, and, you're going to have to take me back, Solo."
Solo: "I totally understand"
Hunter: "Yeah, no, I mean, like 10 or so minutes. She's coming back in 15."
Someone says that we're twenty minutes out.
Hunter: "Yeah, I know.  That's what I'm saying.  And, don't get me wrong, you guys are all cool, but hanging out with you does not equate to sex."
Somegirl looks at me like I'm an asshole, and I go and pee behind a bush.
I come back and Solo says he understands and can get me back in time, because, as he says, "I'm fuckin' Solo."

Just as a side, here's some of the text messaging that went on between my girlfriend and I throughout that night:
Me: Drinking in dorm BAD! Caught
Her: No way! Are u in deep shit?
Me: Maybe probably not
Her: Good cause that would suck
Me: Come see me this buzz kill
Her: I cant ive left! But ill visit when i get back :)   (Take note of the smiley)
Me: Yeah thats what i mean
Her: Ooh yea right on

(later on)
Her: Im gonna be back in like 15 mim. You should come to my room
Me: K no idea when ill get back atsome random house in short pump will call you
Her: Boo you whore. But cool

(after my talk with Solo about getting me back.  I am high and drunk.  This is my favorite line, because it's so typical and so random)
Me: Headed back pink floyd kicks ass
Her: So good

(these next few I send when I get back. I don't receive any response)
Me: In your room?
Me: Let me know when youre back

    I get impatient and call her.  It turns out she's there and has been messaging me to come upstairs.  I go up.  And most of this we'll just leave undisclosed because I'm not about to be a complete dick and post a detailed account of things.  But, speaking of dicks, that night a condom exploded on mine.  Let me break it down for you, free condoms are the bane of my existance.  I don't care if they're banana flavored, they're free and suck.  They're totally small and constricting, and some, like Durex, do not have lubricant.  I can only liken using Durex to fucking a doctor's glove.  Anyway, I put on one of the free ones we have laying around and go, "This actually feels alright, are you sure it's free?"  And then, looking down, realize it has totally exploded and only a small ring is at the base of my shaft.  FUCK free condoms.  Not to fear, there were legit brand names to be used, but still, I can't wrap my mind around free condoms.  If you can tell me who finds them useful, please do, because I would love to laugh in their pathetic little face.

    She and I are doing the whole post-coital cuddle business when my phone buzzes.  I finally receive her later texts:
"Yea just come in" and "I am bAck.just  come up here."  I like the second one because it shows some sort of frustration behind the words.  Her roommate comes in and, at the time, I don't care if it's awkward for her that I am basically naked in her best friend's bed.  After all, I was drunk.  I would feel bad for her later, but only briefly, as nothing could overshadow my excellent night.  Except losing my license.

    Two or three hours after falling asleep, my girlfriend wakes me up.  She says, "Hey, you, get up.  You have to get up."  I tell her thanks as I stumble out of the room while putting pants on. I rush downstairs and grab a mountain dew out of my fridge to help wake me up.  My dad calls. He's waiting outside and we're running late for my appointment.   I grab a sheet of paper, identification, and a pen.  I'm downstairs, in the car, and we're gone.  I make it on time.

    Totally hung over, I go into the Marriot where I'm supposed to attend my class.  The Dutch woman at the front desk looks at me like I'm retarded, telling me she has no idea what I'm talking about.  With her thick accent, she says I can attend the War Vet's Convention or the Siminar For the Blind.  I tell her I am neither a weapon of the government nor visually impaired. And thank god not both at once.  I am not happy, and I tell her this on my way out.  "Fuck the Marriot, I've just lost my license."

    (The moral of the story is sometimes you might fuck yourself over.  And other times, when you think you're fucking yourself over, you realize it was always going to be out of your hands.  I attribute this life lesson to the Marriot.)

    This is possibly the best thing I've ever written.  If you aren't busy, you should give this a read. 

    I believe, at any given point in your life, you only have two choices you can make--"yes" or "no."  People question this, remarking that "not everything is a yes or no question," but I contend that everything is based off of this positive or negative set.  Instead of "positive" or "negative," though, I liken the binary universe to a series of yes or no answers.  This is because negative connotates "bad" while positive connotates "good," but good and bad are simple illusions.  Morality is a human construct rooted in belief systems.  They are not truths to the universe, but relativistic view points.  Thus, I refer to the binary system with yes or no answers.  Another way to look at it would be to say that choice originates from either a feeling of acceptance or rejection.  Acceptance is neither good nor bad, because context is important too.

    The context of a decision helps determine what is healthy or detrimental.  An individual may believe that stabbing his eyes out with pin-needles might hurt, and he rejects the idea.  Decision made.  On the other hand, someone might like rollercoasters, because there is joy to be found in such a thing, so that person accepts the chance to ride it.  He may get tired of waiting in line and ultimately reject it because his impatience supercedes his desire to ride the rollercoaster.  Those basic principles of choice established, we can now explore the duality of choice and its interchangeablility.

    The two aforementioned scenarios, involving pin-needles and rollercoasters, have duality to them.  Not only is the first individual, who rejected stabbing himself in the eye, rejecting something, but he is also accepting something simultaneously.  What he accepts involves his level of comfortability and his understanding of pain.  He accepts that his body will hurt if he stabs himself in the eye, and therefore accepts a lack of action.  This sort of acknowledgement is not soley found in humans, in fact, the act of choice exists at every level of cognitive thought, even fundamental ones.  Everything with brain capacity is governed by a system.  Of choices and a semblance of understanding. 

    Behind every decision, there is a preconceived or known(moreso believed) concept.  There is always a deeper understanding to obtain, this is evident in all sciences, even this, the science of free will or choice.  In humans, we call these emotions.  Emotions guide or decisions, both mundane and complex.  The most notable emotion that I have found to be linked with choice is fear.  The reason I find it most notable is because it's apparent in most living things with cognitive functions, however limited.  Actually, especially those of limited understanding.  Fear is mostly the rejection of pain, suffering, or death.  In higher life-forms-- humans-- this emotion extends to the avoidance of shame, humiliation, and embarassment.

    In my opinion, fear is the most powerful of evolutionary mechanisms.  Essentially, fear is the objective of an individual towards self-preservation.  Because if the self is not the most important concern to an individual, it has the ability to compromise itself, in that the self must come first, subconciously, or it risks itself.  And there is a enormous fear of risking the "self," for everyone everywhere.  This concept of fear is a universal truth and a large strand of the human condition. It all goes back to the binary nature of choice.  Fear will definitely  push an individual to believe something strongly, if it means their advancement or stability.  Suppose a friend of yours is threatened with a fire-arm.  You have two choices, let your friend get shot or step in the way and take the bullet.  Now, examine this for a moment before continuing, and ask yourself where fear would be in this equation?  You are highly attached to this person, you love them dearly.  You are the most important person in your universe, because, basically, you are your universe.  So, in which option are you subjected to fear's control?  The answer may surprise you.  The answer is both.  In the first choice, your fear of death guides you to stay put.  In the second choice, your fear, of the loss of a loved one and the knowledge that you can't comfortably live without them or the thought that you let them die, is indicitive in the action.  In my opinion there is no such thing as self-lessness, and I have been challenged time after time on the subject in highschool, but never have I not thought of a selfish undertone for presented scenarios.

Before I continue into the next section of this thing, I have a diagram I drew during English class today regarding a binary system of choices:

In this diagram, a segment of an overlying system of choice is shown.  I realize it's much more complex than this, but if you continue in both directions infinitely, it starts to look more like a human's understanding of things.  You could label the top option "yes" and the bottom one "no," I guess.  That's pretty much the visual representation, in my mind, that spurred this whole idea behind choice.

    In addition to this diagram, I drew another, which, I guess I'll only briefly go over, because it's kind of less important, though it does explain my idea behind the "preconceived" or "known" in decision making:

    Okay, this is my understanding of memory.  A long time ago, when I was far too high for my own good, I had this idea that thought and memory were physically active things, and, it turns out, they are.  In fact, everything is physical, even this "mystical" idea of thought.  Everything is interactable with something, and everything is a result of a cause.  Now, the diagram alone might be a little confusing, so I'll start from the beginning.  In the beginning, you have Input.  Input is based on your senses, or, how you perceive the universe.  Sight, sound, taste, smell, touch, these are all gathered simultaneously to create your experience, something unique to only you.   The experience is basically what I mean by "Current Cognition," it's your position in space, your current understanding of things.  Your life in the moment, basically.  Now, Current Cognition immediately, after the moment it is perceived, fades into what I call Recent Memory.  Recent Memory or Short-Term, effects you with daily things.  If it impacts you enough, it then becomes Late or Long-Term Memory.  Late Memories are the most important to understanding who you truly are, in my opinion.  There is a reason or cause behind why you remember something so vividly-- it is effecting you, it helped create who you are currently.  Thus, Triggers.  Triggers are types of Input that recall Late Memories into Current Cognition, which then again fade into Recent Memory.  This is important to know if you choose to interpret your memories.  But, you have to be careful with your interpretations, because, when you interpret an old memory with a new point of view, it can be skewed.  Sometimes, however, it's dead on.  The reason for this is that you are re-experiencing something through memories, but you're doing it while you are a different person.  A new person.  I could be reliving my 5th birthday, because something important happened on it, as a college student.  My views and understanding on what transpired is completely different. 

     Fear is an imbeded memory. Maybe genetically.  Choice is binary, but it is still choice, and we still have free will, I believe.  So, fuck determinism, I have my own theory, bitches! 

falsification of all the depressing concepts