Personally, I believe this project is an illogical waste of time and paper. As are most assignments in secondary education, but that is beside the point. Your rules require us to write our “oh so secret and profound emotions” within a college ruled notepad to be handed in to you and graded. It is completely nonsensical, but I have no desire to, as my peers say, “flunk this fucking course,” so I will participate. Though, I warn you, the effort will not be at all genuine.
I’ll have you know that I am not one of those fanciful imbeciles, walking around in their own asperitas cloud of smothering joy and misery. Of course, those particular types of people fascinate me in all of their ignorance, yet do not mistake this fascination with actual sentiment, for they mean next to nothing to me in terms of actual emotion and caring. I do not mean this to sound cruel, though, frankly, I do not particularly care if it comes off as such. But there is power in honesty. So I intend to be perpetually honest. I wake up every day in a dorm with a brute who has far too much negative regard for me, constantly using the word “freak” in my presence as if it is the only fragment of the English language that his pea-size intellect was able to grasp. I then walk to the library and read the books that haven’t been opened for centuries. The ones coated in dust and various particles as an indication of their unimportance to the majority of the student body. I highly recommend that the school reinforce their reading programs, if only not to lose their investments in this room of knowledge, which was placed in a foolish building full of foolish people. Which was, of course, a foolish decision.
Currently, I am sitting in that spectacularly unused room, adjacent to a stack of such unappreciated books, which include the likes of Sheridan Le Fanu and The Order of Time. It is completely empty apart from myself and a few timid cockroaches. And I could not be happier.
Reaching up to one of the higher shelves, I am able to grasp a nearby textbook. Understanding the Mind: An Insight Into the Study of Psychology. Written by Jeremy Watts. I wonder what this Mr. Watts would say about my mind. Wonder if he’d dub me with the title “Freak” as well, and buckle over in hearty gasps of laughter with Mr. Freud and Mr. Jung. Though, I cannot answer that with any form of affirmation, as it was just another image concocted inside my diseased imagination. The only thing I can say with certainty is that no student taking Psychology at Kerouac Academy receives a passing grade.
First class of the day: Chemistry. Seeing as you have met your colleague, I do not think it necessary to explain the idiocy that is my professor, Dr. Wilkins. Though I am more intelligent in this topic, so I am not bothered by his presence. He is more humorous than bothersome. My dear professor is vaguely reminiscent of the jester of a king, never concerning himself with the expertise involved in running the kingdom, yet he is entertaining in his inelegant ways. He is rather like my classmates in that regard. Completely ignorant and inept, yet not entirely uninteresting. I cannot ask you to understand these observations, as you probably view your students as bright lights in the vast expanse of secondary education. But I am quite certain that your opinion would begin to shift had you ever been smacked upside the head with a 109,935 page textbook. I’m sure it seems as though I am upset by the torment I am perpetually subjected to, when the in simplest of terms, it is really “all in a day’s work.” I am disinterested with the acts of others, even when I am the subject of their attentions. And yet, I find a certain fascination in the pleasure’s of the ignorant, the motivations of the mundane. Where do the boundaries of analytical logic begin within human decision. When is it asphyxiated, smothered, and replaced with an animalistic desire for the stimulus of emotion which we all so desperately crave. Or so I have noticed. I find throughout my observations, the experience of feeling causes rather the same symptoms as one would witness after the consumption of a collection of amphetamines. The central nervous system is washed with excitement, resulting in the recipient of this pleasant emotion to become almost giddy. Euphoria spikes, energy levels increase, and overall confidence rises to a level of ensured stupidity. Most people can quite literally experience a “high of happiness.” And yet emotions have never been illegal, no matter how intrusive they can be upon one’s ability to make reasonable decisions. Of course, I am speaking hypothetically, as it would be impractical to outlaw one’s emotions unless we lived in a blatant dystopia, where such acts of psychological tampering would not be considered inhumane. When, in actuality, it is quite frankly the opposite.
You never specified just how long our entries had to be. I intend to use this to my complete and total advantage to get through this Shakespearean nightmare of an assignment.
Mr. Jacoby is a fatuous twat. In case you are unaware, a twat is a slang term for misshapen vagina. I hope you find this definition, as well as my commentary on another of your coworkers, useful. Good day.
Freud was dimwitted fool, and why we quote his theory as gospel astounds me. I find his work entirely incorrect and frankly lacking all reason in its creation. Sex is merely an animalistic desire fueling advances and sparked by emotion and euphoria which clouds the brain and fogs the ability of analytical decision making. Yet, it does not replace it, and it does not control it. In conclusion, Mr. Sigmund Freud was a half-wit.
A student has arrived from Germany today. He seems ordinary enough, and if he was not a new face in this bustling phalanx of pubescence that I am forced to call my peers, I doubt I would’ve noticed him at all. He is, of course, frightfully uninteresting.
I have just learned that his name is Jan Pfeifer. A well-suited name, as apparently he plays the flute in his spare time. This “Jan Pfeifer” also happens to be a member of my Calculus lesson, though I have not heard him utter a single phrase beyond that of, “Hallo mein name ist Jan Pfeifer,” and a rather broken version of, “I am looking forward to being a member of this class.” While the second was not by any means a linguistic nightmare, my simple-minded classmates found the concept of a person not speaking perfect English entirely outlandish. Yet, the irony present in that shock, considering the amount of proper communication skills lacked by the majority of the people in this school, is overwhelming in its prominence. Perhaps I will not include this Germanic enigma in my social criticisms for the time being.
Please inform me of the hiring process of this particular school, as I find myself constantly questioning the requirements needed to become a member of the teaching staff. It seems the majority of the adult residents have hardly passed primary education.
I have received a proper introduction to our Mr. Pfeifer, the school’s resident Aryan spectacle. It occurred half way through the day, as I sat down to force feed myself the culinary atrocities that this fine establishment has to offer. Based purely on the food which was sat in front of me, I can only assume that the chef was discovered trembling inside of a mold-covered cardboard box, soaked in rain and sewage, awash with an array of sexually transmitted diseases, living off the finest of rat feces and waste. He was then dragged to his feet by our headmaster, dusted off, handed an apron and put to work. I suppose it would be considered charitable to aid this withering sack of a man in his effort to rebuild his crumbling ruins of a life, yet why I must be subjected to this vomitous attempt at nutrition is beyond me. Even though this inference is, to my knowledge, a fictitious description of events, it does not change the truly unpalatable nature of this slop.
Back to the matter at hand, while I was choking down the cow shit this school calls food, I was approached by the one and only Jan Pfeifer. Given the lack of spots available in the commissary, and the constant amount of seating options in my general area, it was an inevitability that we would soon be in contact. Though, generally, a self-assured individual such as myself is portrayed with a certain negativity. And this negativity has been known to act as a repellent towards others, a type of warning of my indifference towards their well-being and overall existence. In the grand scheme of things, this phenomena works all the better for me, as the general public has nothing of value to say to me anyways, so their interactions would be a mere waste of time which I could be occupying with much more worthwhile activities. Yet, my air of arrogance did not deter the German. He plopped down into the seat next to me, looked at me briefly, and then proceeded to dig into his slop-pile of our questionable food. Only after the first two bites, which somehow seemed to satiate his need for sustenance, did he look me in the eye again. And with that almost disconcerting stare, he stuck out his left hand and said a hello. I shook it, as I was taught that is what one does when one is introduced to another, though I have never had a chance to practice this. After that, we spoke. I can’t quite remember the last time I casually spoke to anybody else as if they were my equal. Though I would never consider Jan an equal, I consider him to be the closest I have come to such. But, maybe, due to my constant exposure to ignoramuses and twats, my standards for decent human behavior has dwindled throughout the years. I am not quite sure that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting a decent human being before, so I am certain my standards were quite low to begin with. And with thirty minutes of conversation, lunch was over, and so was our time to interact. He seemed to be engaged, and I certainly was. Perhaps I shall talk with him again, should the chance arise.
An opportunity has presented itself. And we did not speak. I admit to being a tad troubled by this, though I’m sure it does not matter.
We have not spoken. I will be skipping a few days.
About two weeks have passed since that lunch with Jan. I have seen him in Calculus and that is all. To say that I don’t wish for his company would be a blatant and shameful lie. I can only assume the other members of this school have turned him against me in a way, perhaps mentioning my mild eccentricities. I would control your students more carefully if I were you, or they might age into more horrid and bland people than they already are.
I’ve received a letter from Mother today. It came in with the daily mail, which I usually pay no mind to, considering the lack of incoming mail addressed to me. Apparently, her and Father are leaving for The Azores at the start of summer, and will stay there for the remaining months of holiday. And due to this impromptu vacation, I will be forced to remain in this limestone purgatory for the next year and a half, rather than a mere half a year. Though the only difference between here and the family home is the extreme difference in people wandering about. Here, I am shoved this way and that by the hustle and bustle of the teenage brigade of idiocy, whereas at our modest estate, it is blissfully empty for the majority of the time, with the exception of the culinary and cleaning staff. My parents are fairly home, between pressing social engagements which leave them away for days on end, and various work occasions and celebrations. I do not miss them, nor do I have any emotional connection to them, so I am utterly not affected by their lack of presence. We live in a symbiotic type of relationship of pure mutualism, and nothing more. I live in their home and will receive a respectable inheritance to practice law or something else mundane, and they may go on as many holidays as they wish without any protesting or inconveniences from me. And I am perfectly alright with that.
Jan and I spoke again. He apologized for not speaking to me again sooner, and I said it was alright. We got to conversing as we had that last lunch, and I told him of my parents newly decided trip to The Azores, which was the only relatively new event in my life, so I thought it necessary to share. He sympathized with the situation, but did not understand my indifference towards them. Apparently, he adores his parents, and misses them terribly. And I sympathize, I suppose, but I do not understand. I suppose, no matter how similar we are in conversation, that does not change our blatant differing of upbrings. Yet, I find that does not change the enjoyability of our interactions.
We met later that day, and spoke for an hour on various subjects that were interesting to the both of us. We have so much in common, and are never at a loss of conversation topics. I feel, for the first time, exceptionally lucky.
I believe I am starting to see Jan as a “best friend.” Which is not surprising, considering that he is my only friend. We are speaking whenever we can, and he genuinely seems to enjoy my company. I am not too “aloof and pompous” for him and he doesn’t treat me as though I am an oddity. I am purely myself, and he has no issue with that.
I notice that I do not find as much annoyance as I once did with those around me. My peers are simply my peers now, though I still consider myself more intelligent than they are. Perhaps Jan is a good influence on me.
I am considering revoking the last paragraph of this entry, as I have just had a rather irritating encounter with my roommate, Robert Anders. What a deeply incorrigible lad. I was in the midst of writing in the dorm room, when he waltz up behind me, and snatched the journal out of my hands. I believe he only read the last page, yet that did not stop a highly unintelligible remark from leaving his plaque-stained mouth. “Who the fuck is this Jan? Your boyfriend?” he asked, as if he didn’t know exactly who Jan was. He must be aware of him, considering that, somehow, Robert is in our Calculus class. He then proceeded to ask if Jan went to our school, and when I replied yes and stating the classes that we shared with him, he merely seemed puzzled. Is he really that unobservant and dim as to not notice the presence of a student who has been here for almost a month?
The time is closing on this project, so I think it necessary that I provide you with one more of my rambles before tomorrow. I suppose that this has not been as hellish and frivolous as I initially assumed it would be. It was rather useful as a mental exercise, and I must confess that it was not entirely unenjoyable. I just might continue it after we present tomorrow. Before Jan arrived, I find that I would’ve entirely despised the prospect of presenting this to a classroom of dolts who would do nothing but mock and jeer. Yet, I find I do not mind it as much anymore. As I find I do not mind most of the things I used to. And as I reflect upon the earlier point I made in my first entry, I find that my opinions on emotions have changed entirely. They may be quite valuable after all.
The presentations were today. I went last. They treated me like a freak. They were scared of me. And then they laughed at me. They laughed because apparently I am insane. Apparently, I am out of my mind. But I know I am entirely sane. Jan is real, I know he is. We talk, we laugh, we are perpetually together. I know it. I know that Jan is a living, breathing, person who likes me. And I will prove all of them wrong.
Jan told me a quote today, and for once I was at a loss of understanding.
“Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.”
I assume it has something to do with individual happiness, though I cannot say that I am certain. But I know that I will remember this phrase for many decades to come. And maybe, I will be fortunate enough to grasp it’s meaning someday.