There is nothing else to say.

I have some stories, and some of them might even be good. I don't know. I can't talk or blog at all these days, and maybe until the end of the school year. I haven't felt so damn constrained since elementary school, and I very much need to get out of this beautiful, colourful metropolis so I can see what colour the sky is on the other side of the walls. This is my last battle with tedium for awhile, at least, and I must not surrender to the mundane.

I know, I know. This lunacy isn't really something I can call on anyone to share. The melodrama is my own peculiarity, and my episodes of delirium are the sole true indication that my brain may not be wired quite the same as everyone else's. So until school is out, and until the world shifts a little, I'll crawl inside my shell of self-absorption and sing myself to sleep with ballads of the fantastic, with requiems for unborn worlds.

By now you are probably well past sick of hearing about my itchy, itchy feet. But when a person is made to swallow their words and repress their impulses all their life, the eventual explosion usually transforms that person into a caricature of their reveries. This is a familiar plot device: never permitted sweets, he opens a candy shop; abused as a child, she becomes an assassin. The fifties became the sixties.

My impulse has a name: wanderlust. It is a very simple one to repress. After a mere decade and a half spent in one place, it has become an all-consuming obsession; every moment is spent contemplating a driving ambition to leave the city I love. And -- here's the other half -- I don't want to live here again, afterward, when all is done. Because in my childish vision there is no 'done', and life will continue to evolve forever if I wish it.

If I think about it, I know in my heart that one adventure would never have been enough. I still want those bloody spaceships, of course. I still want to be able to fly away from everything. And if someday I do, well...don't hold it against me forever.

I can't wait to be old and wise. Then I'll know how stupid I was for thinking so.

'No one's ever smart enough than me. '

-Jacob

A small update, to make it clear that I'm not dead, and perhaps (dare I dream?) to spur my fellow blogsters on in a difficult time of year.

First, I've been continuing in much the same way as ever: staying up too late for no reason, complaining about the optimism of crocuses, dreaming of spaceships and, occasionally, playing some music.

I finished my public speaking some time ago. Originally, I was going to lift Jacob's original idea, and write it on death. I did throw together the first little bit:

I want to die. Not right now, but eventually. I want to know what it's like.
It's not that crazy, is it? I mean, adventure, the unknown, the 'final frontier'. If I can't go into space, I can at least go into death.

EDIT: Apparently, I had thought of this before.

Then, as you probably perceive, I got a little sidetracked, and wound up writing my speech on our prejudice toward extraterrestrials and other species (akin to the racism of previous centuries). It was the nerdiest, craziest speech of my life, midnight ramblings to inebriated friends excluded. Having slept particularly little the night before, the performance was appropriately terrible: I spoke far too quickly, my dark-ringed eyes bulging in their sockets, my hair reaching out in all directions like the arms of an octopus on amphetamines.

By the by, did you know that no octopus has tentacles? If you aren't sure what I'm talking about, you can click one of the links to Wikipedia below. A warning, however: the sentence extracted from the online encyclopedia, and preserved in this post, is possibly the single most frightening thing I have ever read. (With the exception of this article.)

Unlike the giant squid, whose arm and tentacles only have suckers lined with small teeth, the Colossal Squid's arms and tentacles are also equipped with sharp hooks: some swiveling, others three-pointed.

Now that I've destroyed any possibility of either of us sleeping tonight, allow me to amuse you with the ending of my speech. Hey, it's tradition. I must apologize in any case, as I am afraid the conclusion lacks the punch of other examples. The first time in my life I either open or close with a quote, and I go for Calvin and Hobbes.

(You know, sometimes I do manage to convince people that I'm perfectly sane. I'm not sure how either.)

Should we someday come across extraterrestrial life at an earlier stage of development than our own species, it is almost certain that we will eventually exploit it in some capacity. If, by contrast, our world should be discovered by another civilization – and perhaps it already has been – we must hope that the aliens are more compassionate than we would be, and indeed than we have been historically. For now, I turn once again to Calvin for elucidation regarding humanity; he sits on the red soil of Mars, arms folded.

'Why should the Martian be afraid of us?’ he asks, crossly. ‘We’re just ordinary Earthlings, not weirdos from another planet like he is.’

It isn't exactly my favourite piece ever, but there is a part of that conclusion that absolutely thrills me. Without a doubt, I am more proud of that single phrase than all the other phrases in the speech combined.

And perhaps it already has been.

To tell you the truth, the reason I wrote the speech was probably, at a subliminal level, just so I could say that. If so -- what? Are we being left alone (too uncivilized, barbaric)? Maneuvered by unseen hands? Or infiltrated, steadily and secretly? Personally, I believe it is most likely ignorance and hubris to imagine that we might be of any interest to extraterrestrial intelligence, just as it is so to imagine that we might be the pinnacle of evolution in the cosmos.

But maybe, hopefully, we can find out for sure someday. It's the twenty-first century, and I demand spaceships. Then I'll discover the key to time travel, and everything will be perfect.

Oh, and yes, I am now officially certified to drive straight, whatever the reality. This means future posts to be written about my escapades with my father's car (standard). My current crowning achievement: starting the vehicle, driving around in a circle, switching from first to second, and stopping. This also means I am technically capable of rescuing friends in the dead of night, although it becomes a mite trickier from a practical viewpoint (Toyota Sienna).

Heh, 'small update'.

I dreamt of dolphins, and a whale.