January 13, 1980

Sunday; I'm 16.

As for the last entry, the frame of reference may change the effects.  I'll think about it and write again.  Now I want to discuss an exasperating problem.  My shyness with girls.  A problem Tim and I share, along with uncounted millions.  For me, I can talk to girls easily and get along with them, but when it comes to asking them out, it's exit Bob time!  I can never (except once on June 1, '79) get up the nerve to ask a girl out, no matter how much I desire to.  It's quite depressing thinking about what I've missed.  The only type of friendship I've known is the comeradarie type you have with your friends.  I've never had an intimate friendship with a girl.  I only went out with Cathy once.  It's not that I'm just into a girl's body, but I've just never known the type of relationship before.  And at times it drives me crazy.  But, cheer up, I'll find out eventually.

January 10, 1980

Thursday; I"m 16.

Now that I look, it's a wonder I'm still keeping a journal this long.  Before this, I had started journals about 4 times, each with one, or rarely, two entries.  But this journal has managed to survive.  It has stood against onslaughts of procrastination and blistering attacks of apathy.

Let's say that between the time it took to write the first word in this sentence time stopped.  Can you ask how long time stopped?  No, since if the duration of the time stopped could be measured, then that means that it began at a certain point and ended at a certain point in time.  There could be no time distance between the two points, since time has stopped.  Therefore the time stoppage would begin and end in the same  point in time.  Any time stoppage would have no duration, therefore time cannot completely stop.

January 8, 1980

Tuesday; I"m 16.

Around the beginning of December, my family, although not me, decided to give away Bonnie, our 13 year old cat. I was totally against it.  Jenny said it might carry toxoplasmosis, which would hurt the unborn child.  But now he's born.  I have a new half-brother, named Wyatt!  He was born Dec. --.

December 29, 1979

Sunday; I'm 16.

I'm writing in Cleveland, at my mom's house at 3922 St. Clair ave., rear.

It's been a while since I've written, and I have no excuse.  It seems that the longer one stays from a good habit, the harder it is to re-acquire.  

I must tell you (who am I referring to, the journal or the reader?  I don't know.) what happened on the nights (actually afternoon and early evening) of the 25th.  Tim D. and I were outside doing nothing in particular in his back yard.  I decided that it was National Walk Backwards Day, so we started walking backwards around the alley.  As we were walking backwards south down the alley, we talked of many nonsensical ideas.  Then I mentioned the importance of alleys in the scheme of the universe.  He disagreed.  We agreed for a bit about the importance of '56 Chevies, stickshifts, and '62 Fords, automatic.  Tim then decided that avenues were more important in the entire metaphysical structure of the universe.  There we squared off.  Me, a confirmed alleyite, and Tim, a devoted avenuist.  Both of us, confirmed and dedicated to nonexistent philosophies.  We stopped all other arguments on our backwards trek down the alley, and stuck on a discussion defending our philosophical views.  We brought the advantages and disadvantages of our philosophies, though in each other's mind our philosophies had no disadvantages.  

When we came to the end of the alley at Napoleon road, we made a right to Kenwood school.  As we crossed Kenwood Ave., I saw some people in a car stare at us as we debated and walked backwards.  We continued debating at the Kenwood playground, each of us continually bringing up new points about our own and the other's philosophy.  We were acting serious the whole time.  We swung around the school building, crossed Kenwood Ave., and walked up the small alley that crosses the big alley and goes straight to Main St.  As we walked along backwards, our once nonexistent philosophies emerged from our bantering.  Loud bantering.  I'm sure some people looked, saw two strange teenagers walking backwards and yelling about alleyism and avenuism, and hurriedly went to lock their doors.  We walked up to Main and again went south.  At times we yelled at each other, lamenting at the other person's obvious lack of intelligence.  We brought up new facts, argued old one and invented various ideas, authorities and quotations to back ourselves up.

As we again hit Napoleon, we decided to walk forwards again.  We walked all the way down to McDonalds, almost to Gypsy Lane, continually bringing up various aspects of our nonexistent philosophies and the association with our philosophies.  At McDonalds we turned around and headed back, getting deeper and deeper into each other's fictional beliefs.  I brought up the Avenuist Book Wars of 1967.  Tim brought up the old-fashionedness of alleyism.  We were devoted members of our philosophies at the beginning, but by the time we finally got back to Tim's house from Murphy's Mart we argued as if we were the leaders of the philosophical movements.  At his house we continued arguing until I had to leave at 5:30.  We spent about 3.5 hours walking backwards and debating nonsensical philosophies .

Alleyism:

According to Tim it's archaic, dictatorial in its membership structure, stoic, and belongs to the 15th century. By me it is old but flexible and modernistic enough to be true in any age.  It is not at all stoically inclined.  It can absorb new thoughts and digest them into Alleyism.  It offers the only hope for mankind.  It is unifed, and has a firm foundation.

Avenuism:

According to me:  a split off from alleyism, it is a drug induced fatalistically stoic and silly belief.  It leads to fatalism and engages its members in immorally wild orgies.  Its people are hopelessly fractured up into avenuists, boulevardists, streetites, and others.  According to Tim, it's a dynamic modern belief ready to replace the antiquitated Alleyism.  There are no orgies, it is not fatalistic, nor stoic, but is based on meditation and other weird stuff.

Chrsitmas at Mom's, 1979

December 8, 1979

Saturday; I"m 16.

I really want to get out of BG.  It's landscape, which is Euclidean in its flatness, is terribly boring.  Ah, much better.  Now I'm writing with a fountain tip pen.  Before it was ballpoint.  Fountain tip is much more fluid and graceful.  Much more expressive.  Well, back to what I was writing about.  I am getting restless.  I'm tired of the same old town.  I want to get out, explore and discover.  Luckily I'll get a head start.  I'm going to graduate early at the end of my junior year.  So in my senior year I'll be in college.  I'll be going to BGSU for my first and maybe second year.  Just long enough to get my basics.  Then I'll be off somewhere else.  I have to do this because of the area I'm going in: astrophysics.  I'll probably major in physics and minor in math.  

Tim D. is also quite restless.  More so, in fact.  He wants to get out of BG temporarily this summer.  He wants to go camping somewhere.  I probably got some of my restlessness from Tim.  Tim and I have been discussing some plans for future travel.  Next summer or perhaps the summer after, we want to go out west.  Preferably the northwest.  We are also looking for the colleges we want to go to.  Tim wants to go to Arizona state U., because 

A: an author of one of his astrophysics books came from there.

B:  he's got an uncle in Arizona.

C:  Kitt Peak observatory.

I don't know where I want to go.  Tim and I have been discussing the possibilities of going to the same college.  Then we could be roommates and study partners.  But I won't compromise on colleges.  If I find a college that I believe is better than one Tim likes, I'll go to my choice.

Winter 1979

Looks like we're at the Cleveland museum of art.  I remember that visit well.  And that red down jacket.  Mom always liked trench coats.  Cool.

December 3, 1979

Monday; I"m 16.

Back to my struggle.  Is there such a thing as a just war?  I don't  know.  It may be honorable to die defending your country, but look what it cost you.  You are honorably dead.  Perhaps I am being selfish in wanting to preserve my life.  But is not every single human life precious?  I do not think that it is being too selfish to want to live.  I value my life, and I can do a lot more good alive than dead.  And how can being destructive help others?  I know now for a fact that if the US was ever the attacker in a war, I would not fight.  Resorting to barbarism to solve problems is uncivilized. 

December 2, 1979

Sunday; I'm 16.

The Moonstruck man has been pre-empted by me.  For about the past week I have been in a mental struggle.  I have been pondering on this thought:  if there is a war, and the draft is reinstated, would I fight if drafted, or run?  Tim D. said he would go to Canada.  Allen B. said that too, according to Tim.  I'm not yet positive if I would or not.  I abhor war, and considering how many have been fought on this planet, I believe that fighting never solves anything.  Any and every conflict can be solved without force.  Wars are futile.  If you are the would-be attacker, this is true.  But what about fighting in self-defense?  Should not America fight  back if attacked?  Or any other nation.  Does any institution deserve mine, or anybody's life?  Should I place principles above my existence?