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Intense Self-Reflection–that would be a good way to describe the past week or so of my life. At least, these days have been intense, and they have been self-reflective (more properly, I have been self-reflective in them), if not intense ly self-reflective. In any case, it’s all part and parcel of the fact that this senior year of college, whether by my will or not, is forcing me to discover my identity–who I am, and why I do the things I do. Remarkably, given my propensity towards self-analysis, I think the core of who I am has remained largely opaque, not just to others, but to myself. In fact, the ever-running inner monologue (more accurately, inner debate) has served to obscure the reason for it–the substratum on which it rides. Perhaps more importantly, it has come to light that I am actually the opposite of who I am, which, as you’d imagine, will fool any but the most careful of self-analyses. ...

For those of you who have the audacity to be so egregiously ignorant, I’m currently in a band (of sorts) with my brother David. We’re called Splendour Hyaline. I sing and play guitars of various kinds and write music, and David writes and plays percussion parts. Anyway, we recorded a new EP (which has a secret working title–“the EP”–don’t tell anyone!) over Christmas break, and somehow it ended up rocking. I mean, actually rocking. Our last CD, if you remember that, also rocked, but this rocks even more. And so, I prophesy, will it always be–each CD better than the last, in a continual asymptotic progression towards auditory perfection. ...

The title of this weblog entry is “K”. You might be thinking that this is either (a) for some reason(s), or (b) for no reason, but that’s only if you believe in Logic. And who does that nowadays? Actually, it’s not that complicated, and I don’t recommend thinking about whether or not you should continue to believe in Logic or if Logical Truths are true–you won’t get anywhere interesting, especially if you use arguments (i.e., Logic). The real “reason” this weblog entry is entitled “K” is that I don’t have any other weblog entry whose title starts with the letter K. Don’t ask me how I found this out–let’s just say I know everything. ...

The Oracle could have been talking to me (actually, she was: remember, I’m Neo)–“I think you’re waiting for something”. It’s true, I’ve been waiting for something. You see, recently I’ve taken to waiting until my thoughts are something of a unified whole before I move to compose them into a weblog entry. This is all part and parcel of the ideological shift that took place in the move from Blogger to MovableType, when I decided to put childish things behind me. The problem is that, far from unifying, it seems that my thoughts these past weeks have been slowly decomposing, fragmenting and breaking off into little pieces of Mentalese that fall into the sink and down the drain while I’m cleaning dishes. Every so often I try to master a few streams and get them into some coherent form, but I’m too weak. ...

Occasionally, maybe even most of the time, I seem to forget that I have anything resembling roots. You know, childhood streets, trees that you climbed often enough to have favorite spots in, elementary school friends that you see making out at junior prom: in other words, a history, or the necessary result of being somewhere long enough for something to happen. I suppose my pride at being from so many places all over the states and even overseas has translated into a subconscious averaging-out of my locational story. Though it is true, I don’t think of myself as having spent just under half my life in a little Dallas suburb, because how can I let one place overpower all the others? ...

The day or two after Thanksgiving is traditionally occupied, in my family, with setting up Christmas decorations. We usually have two trees (fake ones, but they’ve been with us for so long now it would be sacrilege to opt for a real tree even if we wanted the mess), one for looking all classy with its white lights, see-through glass ornaments, and gold tinsel, and the other for putting lots of colorful things on, including all the meaningful knick-knackish ornaments we’ve collected over the years. Then there’s the wreaths, the stockings, the candles, and the outside lights… ...

On Saturday the 22nd I went to my first Big Game. Big Game is the ongoing rivalry between Stanford and our “evil” arch-nemesis, UC Berkeley (though it’s admittedly hard to care when their most obvious failing is being too socially adept to get into Stanford), manifested in the form of a football game. Traditionally, it happens in the Autumn, when more college football seems to be played, and is the equivalent in this area of the world what the UT/A&M game is on the day after Thanksgiving in Texas. ...

Every so often, the tension inherent in life stretches to a breaking point, and there needs to be some kind of release, or we become neurotic. This is not to say that we don’t all have our little neuroses as it is, but that the danger of complete insanity is real, if we are unable to deal with its day-to-day precursors. Typically, my way of dealing, my way of massaging the strained muscles of my insipid humanity so that they do not snap, is to write music. Oftentimes the music will flow directly from whatever [exaggerated] angst I am experiencing, and at other times will have no obvious correlation to it. In either case it seems that the mere act of creation restores some balance, allows me to press on with whatever mundanities I am slogging through and leave behind thoughts of going postal. In other words, I am not an artist frivolously, nor am I an artist on weekends or just when it is convenient or popular–I am an artist because I need creation to live. It really is food for my soul. ...

Last monday, the news came: the doctors had given up hope for Nick’s dad, and recommended that Nick and his family stay by his hospital bed during the night, so that they could be with him in his last moments on earth. I was in a small group meeting with a handful of other guys when Nick called us–some of Nick’s closest companions here at Stanford. We went through a range of emotions between the seven of us; mine were primarily frustration and anger at God for deciding not to grant our longtime requests of healing. ...

Tonight, for the first time in my 3.2-yr college career, I studied in a library. This may sound strange and obviously or necessarily false, but it is most assuredly true. Perhaps the most interesting part, however, is that I really can’t think of any reasons why it is true. Somewhere along the line, I guess, I realized, “Hey, I’ve never gone to the library to study like all my friends do.” This must have been the end of freshman or sophomore year. ...