Continuum

Went to Kendo today. First lesson. Well, more of an introductory thingy. There wasn't much time for a beginner class because history was being made. For the first time ever, three different clubs were gathered in one place to train together, led by three fifth degree black belts. It's the beginning of a revolution for the sport. Unlike most other martial arts it never branched apart; Kendo is almost exactly the same no matter where you go. Mostly seems to involve bashing people over the head with a sword. Now, all the different clubs are coming together. It's kind of a big deal. Anyways, I got to practice a bit with a bamboo sword, although I wasn't allowed to take the plastic wrap off. They make you wait awhile before you can buy your own sword; I guess they get a lot of early dropouts. We thought it was for 16+, but there were a lot of little kids there. Strange. It was fun, though, and I might come to enjoy it long-term. We'll see.

Went to my youth group the other day. Nice to see everyone again. Made me feel like shit, though. The message is always something about "you have to be a better person" and I just feel guilty and awful. It's all that about how God chooses the lowest of the low to do his work, because it's just that much more amazing when they do - like that quadriplegic evangelist, or the biblical Moses, who hated public speaking before the burning bush incident. Well, I'm pretty low. So that just puts more pressure on me to stand up and do something great. I see people around me living noble lives, going on mission trips and whatnot. Where does that put me? It's a miracle I can even function. I'm more likely to rip someone's head off at the moment than change their life in a beautiful way. So I'm just waiting for me to buckle up and improve myself. There's no reason I can't be perfect, after all. In theory. It's just motions, just words. Geh. I just want to sleep.

Jasmine invited me to her place to watch a movie. That sounds more intimate than it was; there were like six of us. Conveniently enough, this year I'm trying to get a social life. The movie was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, about concentration camps. I confess I was half-asleep the whole evening. My mum fretted a bit, of course, since I never go out (anywhere, ever) but it turned out all right.
Jasmine is important. Or will be, someday. I'm not certain why.

I was reading our giant huge Lit textbook about the history of literature the world over. The topic I've ended up covering is the history of literature in India. Very ancient historical texts. There was a picture there of one of the Hindu gods carved from clay, a dancing woman with three arms. Something about it set something loose in my mind, but it was hours before it clicked. A creature grotesque yet elegant, beautiful yet surreal and deathlike, with too many limbs. The Orange Man. Possibilities blossomed; the Orange Man is one of many who might fit that description. It's maddening to think that people will worship anything that appears to be greater than them.
I wonder if there are those who worship Grandfather.
(I curse my habits but it's getting harder to refer to him by any other name. He is no father of mine.)