My Intellectual Mentor

Totally forgot about this blog. Just using it to show off papers on Facebook I write from time to time for college. I really like how this one turned out. I bring to you "My Intellectual Mentor" for my Philosophy class.

My Intellectual Mentor

            I spent many hours pondering over who is my real intellectual mentor. I listened to my favorite bands: Tool, Gorillaz, Queens of the Stone Age and even the various rap artists I listen to but they failed to generate any feeling of a huge impact on my life.  So I sit in my study, warmed by the gentle fire sitting near me, surrounded by my various bookcases of Shakespeare and Van Gogh paintings. I light up my pipe letting the sweet tobacco fill up my lungs and then I exhale in great relief.  That’s when it hit me. I stumbled off of my recliner and clawed my way to my laptop. I opened it up and did my research. I surfed from web page to web page, reading wall of text after wall of text, searching for that song, the song that popped into my head and changed everything. “Party in the USA.”

It’s not the song that inspires me, no. It’s just the gateway to my realization of the great story and struggle of an artist named Miley Cyrus. Her story that touches my inner soul which inspires me to climb that mountain; no matter how long it takes me. Although she has been outshined recently by Rebecca Black and her new song “Friday” (Which discusses the topic of the joys on the day Friday.)  She remains to be an inspiration to young kids from across the globe. Miley Cyrus (Destiny Hope Cyrus) was born in Nashville, Tennessee on November 23 1992. She is daughter to Billy Ray Cyrus and Leticia Jean, Billy Ray is a notorious country music singer whom has a voice that can pierce your heart and grab the very depths of your soul. Much like her father she had her teen heartbreaks and troubles. Like when she went through the totally brutal break up with her two year relationship with Nick Jonas. But like all people she put her chin up high and moved forward. Which only inspires me to do the same, like when I was upset with my girlfriend when she forgot my birthday, I just realized she’s not worth it if she’s going to forget my date of birth and not buy me that Halo 3 game I always wanted. So that relationship was over. Like, seriously… how could she do that?

But enough about that. When I take my trips through town on my longboard I think about her words, “Climb that mountain” and “Moving my hips like, yeah.” And I contemplate those words and search for the meaning in them. I intricately delve into my mind, pulling out the numbers, the patterns, and experience with the impossible. I put red and blue together to make green, I make the ocean part into the sky, and I deal with every possibility. But there is only one path. The one path that makes sense and is simple, logical, right. It is the path of reading every one of Miley’s blogs, reading every Twitter post, Facebook update, and celebrity news and mimic her personality, her tweaks, her rights and wrongs, because of her inspiring, enlightening example. I mean, I believe that everyone should change themselves at one point or another. It only makes sense to make oneself conform to the ideals and example of another as long as they’re super fashionable.

But then disaster struck. There was a youtube video of poor Miley smoking a drug known as salvia. She was lead to a room with her friends, a bong loaded with salvia was given to her. She innocently grabbed the bong and inhales the insidious vapor of the drug deeply. At this point I wasn’t sure what to think. My idol was sitting on the floor of a house tripping balls on this drug, I felt betrayed. Just seconds after inhaling she starts seeing things, mistaking a random dude for her boyfriend saying, “He looks exactly like Liam! That’s the trip, right?” Her friends simply laughed at her confusion and continued taping. She then blabbered gibberish for a good fifteen seconds. For a minute I thought she was singing one of her hit songs “The Best of Both Worlds” but I was obviously mistaken. The media instantly attacked this innocent but naïve teenager for this unexpected nonsense. I felt sorry for her but felt she deserved it at the same time. How dare she betray her fans? How dare she betray me?

I was wrecked and I went for a good long walk. I slowly walked in the snow in my Fox racing hoodie, my hands cradled in the front pockets of the sweatshirt to keep warm. But my heart was boiling with rage. “How could she do this?” I constantly asked myself. But then I looked up. I looked at all the stars above me, the constellations, the milky way, the moon and I realized something. The snow gently hit my face and I held onto this thought, this thought that at the time I was unaware that would make me who I am today. Maybe this obsession was wrong? But I couldn’t be wrong; this is Miley Cyrus I’m talking about. So I scrapped that idea and came to another realization! Maybe there is a reason she did what she did. Think about it, she is one of the greatest of the great. She inspires millions and she is constantly pursued by the media. It wasn’t her choice to do this; it was the pressure of the media that did this. It was that damned Fox news, and Perez Hilton! There is not much I can do about them; they make tons of cash for their stories. But I can make my own blog, my own twitter, and defend Miley and show people the truth. And then it began.

I set up my own blog; I posted my sources, did my research and calculated my findings. I wrote up my first post and told the media to leave Miley alone. I wrote my stories, looked up her celebrity news reports, put up podcasts supporting and defending her. I admitted her faults but also pointed out her strengths. My fans were small in the beginning, but more and more people became my followers and my fame, similar to Miley’s, grew and expanded. Like with one blog post I totally trash talked Miley’s new boyfriend, but only because he was totally not good enough for her. And on another post I commented on how fashionable she was at the red carpet the other day. Most people supported my views, the people that mattered anyway. Others denounced my claims and my ideals saying I was immature and very mislead with my beliefs. But I didn’t think too much about those comments, if they don’t agree with me then what’s the point in listening to them? I just called them stupid and then moved on.

Then one day I was sitting on my couch watching another episode of Degrassi, the episode when Craig comes back and takes advantage of Ellie, what a jerk. I started flipping through the channels once the episode was over and I came across the media victimizing Brittany Spears.  Then I started thinking, maybe instead of just defending Miley Cyrus, I can assume the position of defending all of those poor celebrities being victimized by the media! I went to work once again. I added different sections to my blog, Brittany Spears, Justin Beiber, Lindsey Lohan, Lady Gaga, Mary Kate and Ashley, all the big names. I researched them, gathered my information, compared facts, dates, names, places, and built models and graphs with all the connections. To think that Miley’s example of telling me never to give up, to keep climbing, and to have fun and party while doing it would start all of this. I’m so glad her example inspired me to pursue this passion, and I’m sure all the other celebrities are grateful for my blog as I am towards Miley.

Miley has talent that surpasses many others. She’s a great singer and a great person as long as I keep posting about her in order to keep the hurtful comments from the media at bay. Her songs inspired me to never give up on my goals, and to work hard which is why my blog is so successful. She also indirectly taught me how to gather my thoughts, and to think clearly and logically about my feelings. Miley, if I knew you I would thank you for everything you’ve done for me and if you knew me I’m sure you would thank me for everything as well.

The Crowd

A two-page assignment for my creative writing class. Currently a work in progress but the goal was to write a short story about an evil item/person/place. Read it, sucka.

The Crowd 

 A crowd gathers around me. I've been used enough to know exactly what that means. The small Victorian houses huddled together surround the crowd, where people gaze out their windows, the curtains hiding their solemn faces as each gust of wind manipulates the fabric. Everything looks dull; the sun is covered by the dark clouds. In the empty clearing, where I am cleverly placed in the middle of, the crowd continues to grow larger and larger. This crowd is much different than crowds of the past, yet they all act the same. Their clothes are darker and bolder. Flamboyant dresses, suits and those silly wigs once cherished are now despised. This crowd is evolving, like crowds always do; but they all act the same. Some are shouting, a seemingly deep hatred for whoever is to be using me today, others crying, a deep love for the former mentioned, yet that same deep hatred for me as well. I've noticed over the years that love and hate are one in the same.

The man in the black mask walks up the stairs connected to the wooden platform supporting me, must be time to prepare for the event. He takes the same stone as always and scrapes it against the bottom of me, after all the times I've been used I still don't know why he does that; but the crowd seems to enjoy it. After repeated, alternating striking he thins out my lower body, satisfied with his work he leaves the platform; his head looking down. At this point the crowd has seemed to have filled in the clearing, other than a few men in blue and red uniform, the crowd is a sea of brown, gray and black. The crowd has settled back down, the weeping can be heard again. I noticed the ones weeping were the ones closest together; I suppose anger isn't an emotion to be shared but to be spread. But I often wonder why so many support this event while so few huddle together in depression. The angry ones don't even seem to notice they're there.

Then the crowd roars again, even louder this time. The man in the mask isn't alone, he brings a man in chains and places his head in the hole carved underneath me. The crowd still cheering, but one of the weeping; apparently the spouse of the man, is hiding her face. She is alone with three children by her side; the youngest wearing her prettiest dress adorned with a pink bonnet digs her face in her mother's lower leg. The sun is breaking through the clouds, the light beaming down shining on my silver body. The crowd's anger, fear, depression, and angst shows much more clearly now. Another man walks onto my wooden platform, wearing a nice brown coat and hat, reads from a paper declaring the reason for the event on this day, as if to make sure everyone knows. Then the man in the mask, with his hand on the lever, tugs it as soon as the official looking man gives him the signal.

Gravity takes over.

I fall to the floor of the platform with a sudden thud followed by a softer thud of the man's head falling into the basket below. But his head fell in a way unlike the others; it was upright and angled directly at me. His eyes and lips flickered sporadically, then several seconds later it stopped, but continued. His eyes moved normally now, as if gazing straight at me asking me, “Why?” But obviously I cannot provide an answer. I have no lips, no lungs, no tongue; I am simply a tool. Then he finally fell into the eternal sleep like all the others. The crowd roars even louder. The weeping woman is brought to her knees, the sheer weight of her sadness crippled her, and then like me, gravity did the rest. She knows what has happened but she still hides her face; she hates me and the others but her sorrow consumes her. The official looking man speaks again but is inaudible; the crowd drowns out his voice. He might as well of been saying, “This man is completely innocent! His death is completely pointless!” I find this thought somewhat amusing, but I have a feeling the weeping ones wouldn't feel the same. Several moments later the weeping crowd leaves and the angry crowd soon follow, I've done my job. The clearing is empty now and the two parts of the man are gone. All that's left is the red liquid that came from the man and the two other men who clean it up. My body is clean now and I am set back to the top of the two planks that hold me. The two simple men call me an amazing piece of human engineering.

First Blog

Hello viewers, this is my first blog which I made because I'm a poor college student and I'm desperate for money. Heroin really puts a hole in your pocket (Sarcasm.) My friend told me about this "monetize" option which my friend has become rich off of (A whole 20 dollars.) But anyway, time to talk about me. My name is Stephan Ross, I'm a 19 year old college student, I like music, art, and video games. That's about it. The end.

P.S. My blog posts will be more lengthy in the future, I just want to set this "monetize" thing up first. Peace.