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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;D08GQX4_fip7ImA9WhRRFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8969068</id><updated>2011-11-27T17:17:00.046-06:00</updated><category term="south park" /><category term="disclaimer" /><category term="cheerleaders" /><category term="conformist" /><category term="nazi" /><category term="about" /><category term="intro" /><category term="rat race" /><title>Emotionless Life</title><subtitle type="html">Sadness, in its written form.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>rolandog</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_62_Iu53XsHI/SPLP8J_PGFI/AAAAAAAAEVY/nCxdbLBJEEA/S220/waaaah.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/beautifulsadness" /><feedburner:info uri="beautifulsadness" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IHQnk_fSp7ImA9WBFbFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8969068.post-109996002394204011</id><published>2004-11-08T17:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T22:32:13.745-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-05-08T22:32:13.745-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="rat race" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="nazi" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="conformist" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="south park" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cheerleaders" /><title>Chapter I: FUBAR</title><content type="html">"&lt;i&gt;&lt;acronym title="South Park quote from episode 714"&gt;They're all a bunch of Nazi conformist cheerleaders&lt;/acronym&gt;&lt;/i&gt;." Harris chuckled at the perfect adjective the South Park quote provided for the plain reality:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rat race had gone too far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to change what was going on. He couldn't refrain from pondering what kept him mentally sound. After all... letting himself get carried away by emotions was the easy thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Why do people want to fill their &lt;acronym title="Curriculum Vitae"&gt;CV&lt;/acronym&gt; with useless stuff&lt;/i&gt;?" "&lt;i&gt;What is the purpose of life&lt;/i&gt;?" His existential crisis remained unknown. An answer striked Harris at that point, in the form of another South Park &lt;acronym title="from the same episode"&gt;quote&lt;/acronym&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Enter Stan ("&lt;acronym title="Stan's Goth nickname that he started using after feeling depressed when he got dumped"&gt;Raven&lt;/acronym&gt;"), Goth kids 1-3, Goth girl. They encounter Butters crying.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 1&lt;/span&gt;: Look at that. Another tortured soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 2&lt;/span&gt;: Another life of pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 1&lt;/span&gt;: Hey 'Raven', check it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stan&lt;/span&gt; ('Raven'): Butters?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: *stops crying* Oh... *sniff* *sniff* Hey Stan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stan&lt;/span&gt;: What's the matter with you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: Well, my girl friend broke up with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth girl&lt;/span&gt;: Did she step on your heart, with stiletto shoes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: Yeah. Sure does hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 1&lt;/span&gt;: That's cool. I guess you can join up with us if you want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 2&lt;/span&gt;: Yeah. We're gonna go to the grave yard and write poems about death and how pointless life is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: Oh, no thanks. I love life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stan&lt;/span&gt;: Huh? But you just got dumped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: Well, yeah, and I'm sad. But at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like... it makes me feel alive, you know... it makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now, is if I felt something really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I'm feeling, is like a beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goth kid 2&lt;/span&gt;: Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stan&lt;/span&gt;: No. No, Butters, that doesn't sound stupid at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Butters&lt;/span&gt;: Well thanks for offering to let me in your club guys. But to be honest, I'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy goth kid... Well, see ya Stan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stan&lt;/span&gt;: He's right! I don't even know who I am anymore. I like liking life a lot more than hating it. Screw you guys, I'm going home.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He ended up with a rather big smile instead of that unbeknown feeling of a quenched thirst of universal truth. "&lt;i&gt;Ok, first off: I haven't been dumped. Second: I'm not in love... Well... there is THAT girl... but... Ok, third: damn that was a funny episode. Finally:... &lt;/i&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bell rang. "Darnit." He was thinking to himself again. "&lt;i&gt;Perhaps it's my funny-side of the brain&lt;/i&gt;." Harris had to admit that as a somewhat overweight man... he fit the fat man cliche: he was a bit too jolly. Too-many-a-time had he felt distracted by all sorts of humor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The class had ended. Everyone was packing their notebooks, getting ready to leave. Chemical Engineering was Harris' major. As a freshman, or even as a sophomore he always felt proud and happy about Chemical Engineering. He didn't feel that way now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. It was a much different feeling. He felt "&lt;i&gt;&lt;acronym title="Fucked Up Beyond All Repair"&gt;FUBAR&lt;/acronym&gt;&lt;/i&gt;". Sometimes frustrated, sometimes betrayed. His feelings couldn't exactly be coined. It was as if everyone had more time than he had and thus could accomplish more. If he kept underperforming, he could lose a percentage of his scholarship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harris had been loosing what he liked to call "the will to go on". And there was nothing he could do to regain it, for his heart and mind were in other places. Merrier places.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8969068-109996002394204011?l=beautifulsadness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/beautifulsadness/~4/-b5MWt77ESk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/feeds/109996002394204011/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8969068&amp;postID=109996002394204011" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8969068/posts/default/109996002394204011?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8969068/posts/default/109996002394204011?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/beautifulsadness/~3/-b5MWt77ESk/chapter-i-fubar.html" title="Chapter I: FUBAR" /><author><name>rolandog</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_62_Iu53XsHI/SPLP8J_PGFI/AAAAAAAAEVY/nCxdbLBJEEA/S220/waaaah.jpg" /></author><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/2004/11/chapter-i-fubar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MNQHY_eSp7ImA9WBFbFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8969068.post-109934942433772837</id><published>2004-11-01T16:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T22:31:31.841-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-05-08T22:31:31.841-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="about" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="disclaimer" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="intro" /><title>About [...]</title><content type="html">This will be my first official attempt at writing. I don't expect feedback, nor awards by doing this. But even if I suck at this, it is still the first time I'm taking the role of a writer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8969068-109934942433772837?l=beautifulsadness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/beautifulsadness/~4/9GNODsGGoqk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/feeds/109934942433772837/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8969068&amp;postID=109934942433772837" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8969068/posts/default/109934942433772837?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8969068/posts/default/109934942433772837?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/beautifulsadness/~3/9GNODsGGoqk/about.html" title="About [...]" /><author><name>rolandog</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_62_Iu53XsHI/SPLP8J_PGFI/AAAAAAAAEVY/nCxdbLBJEEA/S220/waaaah.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beautifulsadness.blogspot.com/2004/11/about.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

