Here it comes...

My last day in high school is upon me. I'm excited about the future but there are people here that I'm truly going to miss and it is more than a slight pain to know that I'll never see a good number of them ever again. Friends I've had since I could walk, ones I've just recently grown close to, people I wish I knew better than I do; with a few exceptions, they will all pass out of my life. But I, too, will go away from them. They're leaving me as much as I'm leaving them.

I don't know whether that thought is comforting or not.


To all of you who know me, which I assume is most everyone reading this, I just want to let you know that I'm going to miss you.

For a while, at least. I can't make promises for any period of time after that.

I love this poem.

Kissing and Horrid Strife by D.H. Lawrence




I have been defeated and dragged down by pain
and worsted by the evil world-soul of today.

But still I know that life is for delight
and for bliss
as now when the tiny wavelets of the sea
tip the morning light on edge, and spill it with delight
to show how inexhaustible it is:

And life is for delight, and bliss
like now when the white sun kisses the sea
and plays with the wavelets like a panther playing with its cubs
cuffing them with soft paws,
and blows that are caresses,
kisses of the soft-balled paws, where the talons are.

And life is for dread,
for doom that darkens, and the Sunderers
that sunder us from each other,
that strip us and destroy us and break us down
as the tall foxgloves and the mulleins and mallows
are torn down by dismembering autumn
till not a vestige is left, and black winter has no trace
of any such flowers;
and yet the roots below the blackness are intact:
the Thunderers and the Sunderers have their term,
their limit, their thus far and no further.

Life is for kissing and for horrid strife.
Life is for the angels and the Sunderers.
Life is for the daimons and the demons,
those that put honey on our lips, and those that put salt.
But life is not
for the dead vanity of knowing better, nor the blank
cold comfort of superiority, nor silly
conceit of being immune,
nor puerility of contradictions
like saying snow is black, or desire is evil.

Life is for kissing and for horrid strife,
the angels and the Sunderers.
And perhaps in unknown Death we perhaps shall know
Oneness and poised immunity.
But why then should we die while we can live ?
And while we live
the kissing and communing cannot cease
nor yet the striving and the horrid strife.

My Vice-Principal..

...just came into my class, talked to the substitute teacher, sat down, picked up my teacher's guitar, and started playing. If you knew this man, you'd know why I'm so dumbfounded.

This is probably one of the strangest things I've seen in high school.