(Pardon my inability to bring this essay up to the standards
which have been in place in this mailing list.  I'm tired,
and I haven't posted in a while...need to do something if I'm
not doing my fanfic...this may seem a bit spamish, but I am
just hoping to: 1) develop my essay writing technique and 2)
give some people on this list an enjoyable read...I hope.)

Thoughts on Creation
--------------------

   Don't even ask me where the I'm going to be after school.  If
you know me even the least bit, you would understand one thing.

   I would be in the computer lab.

   But, considering how new I am, I guess I would need to extrapolate
on that, wouldn't I?

   Before you picture the sight of me sitting in front of a computer
screen, staring at "mov ax,mvy," it is neccesary that you understand
under what circumstances I perform such supposedly mundane tasks.
It is important that you understand what people surround me as I
perform such tasks: I am surrounded by idiots.

   May I reiterate?

   I am surrounded by idiots.

   Would you like me to, perhaps, extrapolate on that idea?

   Imagine, if you will, twenty computers in a classroom which is
twenty feet by twenty feet.  Now, imagine that same classroom populated
with thirty teenage boys.  Imagine that each of the boys who have had
such
luck as to gain one of twenty chairs were starting up Microsoft Internet
Explorer.  Once this picture is in your head, try to imagine the most
wasteful activity one could be doing with these Pentium 100 computers
with Internet Explorer...then picture each of these thirty odd boys
gawking at the site of Beavis and Butthead in the form of an AVI file.

   I can hear the consensus now..."It's just Beavis and Butthead..."  I
hear some even saying, "I _like_ Beavis and Butthead!"

   Now imagine this process repeated five days a week over the course
of seven weeks.

   Now imagine this process with slight variations.  South Park.  MP3s
of various R&B or rap songs.  Or, I am embarrased to say, MPEGs of porn.

   If perhaps you cannot see what is so bad about these actions, I shall
spoon-feed you these which I have complaint against.

1) Watching of useless material, or (even worse) material which degrades
   that which is of our own flesh, even if put on this earth in a
different
   form.

2) Support of a company which forces its product down the throats of
   computer manufacturers.

   As revolting as the second item is, we must put our attention to the
real
problem.  Watching of this material.  No...bad emphasis on my part. 
Watching
of _useless_ material.  Uselessness...that is my peeve; I cannot stand
people
who are not useful to their fellow human beings; more so, I abhor people
who
do not wish to be useful to the rest of mankind.

   So what am I doing at this moment, amidst the maddening crowd?

   I'm looking at code for a computer science class.  I am turning my
head and
am noticing two others are working on the fractal generation programs
they're
making for the AP class which I hopefully will go into next year.  It's
very
easy to spot them among the many people who surround the monitors,
hoping to
catch a glimpse of one of a multitude of variations on "I am
cornholio!"  They
are the ones who are quiet; they are the students who are thinking; they
are the
people who exude the very essence of contemplation, wether in apparent
inaction
or in furious key pressing.  They are working.  They are contributing to
the
ever growing pool of source code so that they may learn, so that others
may
learn once they've finished the class, so that others may have a chance
to
understand what is gained.

   Thirty are passing on to their brains the wonderful idea that
Butthead
is and should continue to be a major part of their lives.

   Needless to say, most people who attempt to do work in the
near-intolerable
confines of this "learning space" are much more than annoyed.  But what
can
they do?  All of those who wish to learn or be the least bit productive
within these walls are also of mind to allow those who wish to watch
Jesus
and Santa Claus fight continue to do so, as these spectators do have
what are
normally called "dibs."  I was of that school of thought as well...until
Friday.

   On that day, I decided to not do the code optimization I was planning
to do.
Rather, I decided to open up my tracking program; I decided I was going
to try
to finish that song I started a few weeks back.  I took a free computer
which
had speakers attached and executed the program as soon as I logged on to
my
school's Novell network.  It started up fine, and I was soon looking at
the
sequencing information of the song.  Everything was smooth
sailing...until I
decided to play back what I had already started...

   Ten seconds into the song, I heard one person exclaim, "What the hell
is that?"
This did not faze me; I merely thought the volume was perhaps too loud
for the
person's taste (it is to be awed at that he could discern the piano as
coming
from my computer among a cacophony of "...that sucks.  Heh, heh..." and
"Oh no!
They killed Kenny!")

   I continued at this lower volume for about half a minute. 
Then...nothing.
The screen had turned black.  The speakers emitted a small squelch, then
hissed
as nothing from the computer was fed into them.  I heard the sonud of a
hard
drive powering up.  I regarded the floppy drive and hard drive lights as
they
glowed in correspondence to the startup sequence which I heard before I
saw.  With
my peripheral vision, I saw a finger retract from the power button. 
There,
standing above me, was a monstrosity which was referred to as Kevin.

   "Why did you do that?" I asked.

   He did no answer.  He turned and sat down at a computer which was
close at hand;
he clicked a mouse button, and the screen flickered with...well...God's
gifts
manifested in motion and 24 bit color (forgive me if you do not like my
usage of
religious allusions, as they may continue throughout the length of this
essay.)

   I started up in DOS mode instead of Windows, and so was back in my
program very
quickly.  I play back what I have done so far; I only get twenty seconds
into the
song.  Kevin, I think to myself...but I think wrongly.

   There, instead, is Al, who most decidedly pulled the speaker wire out
of the
soundcard.  Being an upperclassman, I reprimand him, saying that I was
working on
that.  He asks for clarification.

   "I composed that."

   I would have minded if he said "Whatever," or even expressed direct
disbelief.
Rather, he said this: "So?"

   What happened next was one of the unavoidable exhortations of my
soul.

   "IDIOTS!"  I stand up and start walking along a row of computers. 
"IDIOTS!" I
say, clarifying my previous exclamation.  "God, I have NEVER seen such a
more
idiotic group...IDIOTS!  How many times do you have to see that South
Park
Christmas video?  How many times do you have to see Butthead dreaming he
is Captain
Picard?"  I continue ranting on like this for five minutes.  Perhaps by
divine
intervention, their thick heads caused them to turn around and pay
attention.
Perhaps...but I know that it is their own will which causes them to roll
their
eyes into the next state.

   I make this statement: "Why can't you be productive?"  Well, not that
statement. In actuality, I added an expletive, seeing as they do relate
to
people who use expletives more than to people who do not.

   There then came a great tummult of things thrown upon me.  Not only
verbal,
unfortunately.  I continue unfazed.

   "The way I see it," I say, "we were put on this earth by God.  God
CREATED us.
He CREATED us in his image!  So what do WE do?  Well, I like to think we
were put
here on this earth to be small gods.  We MUST CREATE as GOD CREATED!  We
must
DO SOMETHING!  We must not sit here and gawk at videos!  We must do
something!
We must be productive!  We are at SCHOOL dammit!  We must create!  We
must CREATE
something of ourselves which was not of us when we first came here!  We
must
CREATE something of the people who surround us, as well as FOR the
people among us!
WE MUST CREATE!"

   I wait in expectation of the impending barrage of sharp implements. 
In
retrospect, I would have preffered such a fate to that which was to
come.

   Nothing.

   I wait longer.

   NOTHING.

   One person came and sat down at the computer I was formerly on.  He
taps me
on the shoulder and says, "What the [****] is this?!  How the [****] do
you get
this [*******] thing off!?"

   I walk out the door.  I pick up my things which are in the room next
door.  I
do not say a word.  I remain silent as I walk to Union Station.  I go
home.
I sleep.  I do not make a single adjustment to my piece.  I do not make
my
palette generator any faster.  I create tension within myself.  I like
to think
I created tension in them.  Did I create a different environment in that
room
so many hours ago?  Did I create something there?  Did I?

   Am I a creator?  Am I?  I've questioned myself as to what I am
often.  Have you?

   Are you creators?  I like to think so.  Not only do I see the
immediate fruits
of your labor in the form of the ASCII text which has adorned my screen
so many
times in these past two weeks of subscription, I also see, manifested in
text,
the enjoyment and merriment created within those who are touched by
these works,
the pieces of fiction, these CREATIONS.

   Are we creators?

   No, not merely creators.  We are little less than God.

----------------
Vincent Diamante
October 26, 1997
12:15 AM (1:15 if you don't take into account daylight savings time)