Clouds

Mood: Sufjan Stevens
Quote: "God is love. Love is blind. Ray Charles is blind. Ray Charles is God."-Anonymous Graffiti (I found this in my AP Psych book).

Things I want for Christmas:

1. Love
2. A girlfriend that meets the aforementioned requirements (sorry to those of you who are not 26ers).
3. A Wii
4. No homework (yeah right)
5. The newest Zits treasury (Alternative Zits)

Thats just some of the awesome things I put.

Blog: ***This is my naturalist essay I wrote for English, I thought it was pretty good***

I stared at the sky. The endless, near infinite, expanse of gray-blue that makes one feel small. On this quiet September afternoon I pondered the objects in the sky. There are many of them; shirts left on a dirty floor, white on top, a dusted gray on bottom. They float, snowballs filled with helium, like opaque balloons that refuse to come down. They are the little wonders we call clouds.
Clouds, like any other thing in nature, must be observed long enough for one to notice their magnificence. A cloud is not one organism but a conglomerate of numerous individuals each attempting to blend in. Each hulking herd moves slowly, lumbering past other members of its race without a wave hello or a slight nod. Each cloud-herd dwells in complete isolation from those outside it. Each herd passes without knowledge, self-obsessed with how it looks externally, whether it is fluffy, shaped correctly and so on. “Are we white enough?” cloudlings wonder, “Are you with them because I know I’m with you, and if I’m with you and you are with the rest, then I must be with the rest.” So the cloudlings continue to fuss, focused on the trivial logic of being together, so focused on the mass.
On a rare occasion, however, I noticed a cloudling break free of its invisible bonds, a small wisp in the middle of giant herds, floating in a sea of blue. This individual cloudling lasted for a second before it was consumed by another mass. Then another wisp would break free, only to be absorbed by a separate collective entity. Then a thousand wisps broke free, “I am me, not all of you,” they say as they collide to form the mass of I-am-me-not-all-of-you.
So I see it is with society. We wander the vast expanse of life so consumed with our own appearance and involvement that we are completely ignorant of someone else a hair’s breadth away. We lumber, all of us, part of a living mass, a collective conscience. Then, on rare occasion we assert our individuality. “I am an individual!” we exclaim proudly, “I am not a clone!” and then we break free like a wisp in the sky, only to be reabsorbed by another mass. “I am a reject,” one says. Each “reject” wisp then congregates to form a mass of “rejects”. So it appears when a group of “individuals” who go against “societal norms” dress the same. They dress different than myself, but the exact same as their comrades.
It is then I realize, underneath the clouds, that we are never truly individuals. We can reject, accept, or change whatever we would like and for a moment we may be individuals. Then, in a blink of an eye, we realize that once again we are the same as those around us. So when someone says to me, “At least I am original.” I often think of clouds.