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good luck with your video game
pointing at deer 
Nov 13 2015
my dad and i were talking about how "stupid" is "baka" in japanese. well, "baka" actually means a lot more than just "stupid"; it can also mean "idiot", "foolish", "ridiculous", or "moron", etc.

so we looked it up, and the characters for "baka" in kanji (same as written chinese) are 馬鹿, which means "horse deer". my dad says it probably comes from the ancient chinese idiom, 指鹿为馬. the story behind the idiom involves a deer and someone pointing at it and asking if it's a horse, if i'm not mistaken. i don't know why i'm writing about this. it was interesting when i started and now i'm not sure.

m came back from chicago today. the old m, the boy, not the new, hot girl m that i talked about in one of the past few entries. it's so weird how much has changed in four years. i still remember the day i met him, and our first bus ride, and his house with the bean bags, and when he used to use weird unscented dove deodorant, and his stupid orange, so much a part of him that now i cannot help but think of his dumb face every time i see anything that color. i still remember the last time i saw him in person before he left, in front of what used to be the athletics office, when he knew, and i didn't, that in a few weeks, the two-meter distance between us would grow to two thousand miles.

he was full of promises then, promises that would turn empty. so i guess he was just full of nothing. a hollow man. i suppose t.s. eliot would have liked him a lot.

to quote that poem, "between the conception / and the creation / between the emotion / and the response / falls the shadow / life is very long". i don't know if i agree with that last bit. these four years have sure gone by quickly.

m is at a modern baseball concert as i write this, with a boy i'll call a. i was invited, but it was a little late to be doing something as optimistic as asking me anywhere, when i have such little faith in anyone. it's fitting that it's modern baseball, though. poetic, in terms of justice.

i have a really hard time with words and their limitations. that's probably one reason why i love poetry and music so much, but for some reason i can't seem to convey my emotions adequately with verbiage. like, i can tell m that i miss him, but i don't think he really gets it. so here i am again, writing the closest thing to poetry i've been able to manage since all my muses have fallen away, alone in my room, with dry humor and wet eyes.

speaking of poetry, i've been reading a lot of it again, lately, mostly stuff that i read a long time ago and only just remembered. a boy in my math class asked me my favorite love poem, and i said love sonnet xvii by pablo neruda, if i really had to pick. "i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where / i love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride / so i love you because i know no other way"; i'm jealous of pablo neruda for many reasons. one-- for his way with words, two-- that he was able to have such love to begin with. the type of love remembered for years through the words i find so restricting. if words dampen feeling, i can only imagine what that love was like.

i wish i was better with words. then maybe people would really understand me. but sadly, i am just a baka, pointing at lost chances and calling them love.

see you later, horse.
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