nickthecheese
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Dec 8, 2001
- Messages
- 2,551
Boring boring boring. Endless, repeditive mindless tedium which stems from somwhere down there where the beasts lurk, the education department has had its forms signed and signed again in triplicate to allow another boring, mindless and pointless class be conducted by another drone from the education departments stock of millions.
I arrive, yet more false greetings, as I wave hello to the people I call my friends. Hidden meanings everywhere. Noone cares, we're all in this togeather right? Us and Them. Who cares. I proceed to first class unaware of the man standing behind me. He proceeds to hand me a large watch, which ticks and ticks. I stare at it for a moment, is this the life seconds of my existance ticking away, being robbed from me for ever. Who knows. I do not care. I push the man aside and enter the classroom. The teacher stares at me. I am 20 mins late. Time is no longer of importance to me. The teacher drones on as usual. My compatriots share my views. I watch my watch and watch the seconds of my life slowly draining away as I stare into infinity at the tedium around me. Suddenly, as if somewhere a man in a navy 3 piece business suit arrives and gives the orders to the control panel operators, who in turn instruct the machines across the network of the "Administrator’s" wishes, a bell sounds, the Salvation of a tortured mind. I stand. The man is there again, and he hands me the watch. It melts in my hand as I hand it back to him. 1 Hour has passed. I slide my worldly belongings into the bag I own and walk out of the room. More false exchanges of useless information with people who I don’t even know, and who don’t know me. The psychobabble of a thousand board souls, who search for meaning in this desolate info maze.
I walk, and the man follows me again. We reach the next class. I sit and stare at the wall. The teacher talks. It is no longer of any importance of what they say or do. We all know why we're here. The big one is coming. Every day, "the big one is coming". Who actually knows what it is? None does, not even the people or machines that administer it every day to us in bite sized pieces.
Recess. What a trivial idea. Again, the tedium increases as we are forced to endure more emotional and social programming. I stand there with my friends. Who actually knows what I am thinking. No one. And that’s the way that they all like it. Constant. Mindless. Monotony. The bell tolls again. The man with the watch smiles at me. He laughs. I sigh. I walk right through him as the watch melts in front of my face. We resume the programming. Choice is such a misused word. There is no choice. They’re never is. I choose not to. Every day. They choose for me. Who cares anymore right? Us against Us. The teacher hands me another blank piece of paper. I stare at it. We finish the lesson. I move to next class. The man is there. Again. He finally gives me the watch. It is starting to fade. Who knows what I will do now. No one. And that’s the way we like it.
Another class. Same as before. I sit there and stare at my books. My creativity does not flow. Something is wrong. I look over my shoulder. I see the man. He is holding my pencil. I quickly snatch it off him.
But why? Do I plan to do any work? No. Then why do I need the pencil? I do not. Yes. I do need the pencil. It is mine. What is mine? Is it a state of mind? Is ownership a state of mind? Who knows? To ease the tedium, I recall and anecdote from times long forgotten. A man once dreamed of being a butterfly. When he awoke, he pondered this thought. “What if I am a butterfly, dreaming of being human?” I lapse into a dream like state, the man is there. He is holding a pocket watch. I ask him for the time. He looks at me and smiles. He is very old. I look at the watch. It has 5 mins left on it and it is counting down. The old man smiles as he puts the watch away. I am confused. The ticking of the watch grows louder. It is now booming, like a nuclear bomb. I try to cover my ears but it is now good. The man smiles calmly. The watch ticking slows. The sound is still booming. I scream in pain as I try to block my ears. The old man shatters in to a million pieces as the clock gives one last tick. I scream as the millions of shards of reflecting glass, each one with the face of the old man staring at me, smiling his old smile, pass through me, cutting me, lacerating me. I scream for the pain of the old man, I scream for the cuts. I scream. A bell tolls. It slowly gets louder and faster.
I awake from my private part of hell. The teacher asks me if I could lock the door on my way out if I plan to stay here any longer. I nod. I get up, gathering my things and walk out of the room. My compatriots deserting me faster than rats of a sinking ship. Lunchtime drags on. Dredge information up from some previously unknown part of my brain. The tedium returns. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. I choose to forget. I am banished. I fall. The man is there. He looks down at me and smiles. He is old. I reach for his hand but as I touch him, he shatters into a million shards of glass again. I shrug the glass off as I get up. Who knows what the future holds I contemplate as I get walking. I don’t know. Us against Us. And we don’t care. And that’s the way we like. It.
Ala Andrew: “Creativity is always the essence of life without it we are machines”
I wrote this some time ago, just thought i'd post it here to see if anyone likes/dislikes/agrees/disagrees with what my perception of school is...
I arrive, yet more false greetings, as I wave hello to the people I call my friends. Hidden meanings everywhere. Noone cares, we're all in this togeather right? Us and Them. Who cares. I proceed to first class unaware of the man standing behind me. He proceeds to hand me a large watch, which ticks and ticks. I stare at it for a moment, is this the life seconds of my existance ticking away, being robbed from me for ever. Who knows. I do not care. I push the man aside and enter the classroom. The teacher stares at me. I am 20 mins late. Time is no longer of importance to me. The teacher drones on as usual. My compatriots share my views. I watch my watch and watch the seconds of my life slowly draining away as I stare into infinity at the tedium around me. Suddenly, as if somewhere a man in a navy 3 piece business suit arrives and gives the orders to the control panel operators, who in turn instruct the machines across the network of the "Administrator’s" wishes, a bell sounds, the Salvation of a tortured mind. I stand. The man is there again, and he hands me the watch. It melts in my hand as I hand it back to him. 1 Hour has passed. I slide my worldly belongings into the bag I own and walk out of the room. More false exchanges of useless information with people who I don’t even know, and who don’t know me. The psychobabble of a thousand board souls, who search for meaning in this desolate info maze.
I walk, and the man follows me again. We reach the next class. I sit and stare at the wall. The teacher talks. It is no longer of any importance of what they say or do. We all know why we're here. The big one is coming. Every day, "the big one is coming". Who actually knows what it is? None does, not even the people or machines that administer it every day to us in bite sized pieces.
Recess. What a trivial idea. Again, the tedium increases as we are forced to endure more emotional and social programming. I stand there with my friends. Who actually knows what I am thinking. No one. And that’s the way that they all like it. Constant. Mindless. Monotony. The bell tolls again. The man with the watch smiles at me. He laughs. I sigh. I walk right through him as the watch melts in front of my face. We resume the programming. Choice is such a misused word. There is no choice. They’re never is. I choose not to. Every day. They choose for me. Who cares anymore right? Us against Us. The teacher hands me another blank piece of paper. I stare at it. We finish the lesson. I move to next class. The man is there. Again. He finally gives me the watch. It is starting to fade. Who knows what I will do now. No one. And that’s the way we like it.
Another class. Same as before. I sit there and stare at my books. My creativity does not flow. Something is wrong. I look over my shoulder. I see the man. He is holding my pencil. I quickly snatch it off him.
But why? Do I plan to do any work? No. Then why do I need the pencil? I do not. Yes. I do need the pencil. It is mine. What is mine? Is it a state of mind? Is ownership a state of mind? Who knows? To ease the tedium, I recall and anecdote from times long forgotten. A man once dreamed of being a butterfly. When he awoke, he pondered this thought. “What if I am a butterfly, dreaming of being human?” I lapse into a dream like state, the man is there. He is holding a pocket watch. I ask him for the time. He looks at me and smiles. He is very old. I look at the watch. It has 5 mins left on it and it is counting down. The old man smiles as he puts the watch away. I am confused. The ticking of the watch grows louder. It is now booming, like a nuclear bomb. I try to cover my ears but it is now good. The man smiles calmly. The watch ticking slows. The sound is still booming. I scream in pain as I try to block my ears. The old man shatters in to a million pieces as the clock gives one last tick. I scream as the millions of shards of reflecting glass, each one with the face of the old man staring at me, smiling his old smile, pass through me, cutting me, lacerating me. I scream for the pain of the old man, I scream for the cuts. I scream. A bell tolls. It slowly gets louder and faster.
I awake from my private part of hell. The teacher asks me if I could lock the door on my way out if I plan to stay here any longer. I nod. I get up, gathering my things and walk out of the room. My compatriots deserting me faster than rats of a sinking ship. Lunchtime drags on. Dredge information up from some previously unknown part of my brain. The tedium returns. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. I choose to forget. I am banished. I fall. The man is there. He looks down at me and smiles. He is old. I reach for his hand but as I touch him, he shatters into a million shards of glass again. I shrug the glass off as I get up. Who knows what the future holds I contemplate as I get walking. I don’t know. Us against Us. And we don’t care. And that’s the way we like. It.
Ala Andrew: “Creativity is always the essence of life without it we are machines”
I wrote this some time ago, just thought i'd post it here to see if anyone likes/dislikes/agrees/disagrees with what my perception of school is...
