Selfishness. Boredom. Monotony.
In a world where all authors write about themselves, all singers sing about themselves, all artists only depict themselves, and all people are limited to themselves;
Selfishness.
Boredom.
Monotony.
We shall not write about our everyday lives unless we live all to ourselves in a glass box.
But from inside the glass box, we can see the world, so it should instead be a metal box.
That way, we will only see our own reflections.
Selfishness.
Boredom.
Monotony.
How did ancient writers of old express themselves, visit faraway lands, and teleport us to fantasy worlds? None of us are unicorns, aliens, animals, or inanimate objects, so why do we write about them?
Selfishness.
Boredom.
Monotony.
How can we write of social interactions, unless we imagine a sci-fi world where everyone is a clone of ourselves? How can children write about adults and adults about children? How can males write about females and females about males?
Selfishness.
Boredom.
Monotony.
Should artists paint the sky? Should singers tell of birds? Should writers write at all?
A Good Way to Fight for a Good Cause
http://freerice.com/#/english-vocabulary/1480
This is a website known as Free Rice, where they combat world hunger and promote education at the same time.
On Free Rice, every question you ask earns ten grains of rice. It doesn't sound like much, but it grows fast. It asks questions about any basic school subject. (The ones I've checked out are math and vocabulary) It starts out easy, and progressively gets harder. There are sixty levels (I'm not really sure how they break up the levels, I was on level 28 with 1,100 grains last I checked.) They have a system set up to make accounts, but it's not required to answer questions. Overall, I think it's a good website with a good cause, and I think you guys should check it out! You might learn something (I sure have)!
I realize
I realize how pessimistic I am. Like, the full blunt of it.
I was talking to my little sis and she's in seventh grade. She was telling me that some dirty minded boys in her class were snickering about the word hoe, in the gardening tool context. The teacher explained to the whole class the difference between a hoe and a whore and my sister was upset that she understood what the teacher was saying about that. Now, my sister is very pure, the complete opposite of me; this child still doesn't know how babies are made.
I told her that this world is shitty and she needs to know that kind of stuff. And she doesn't want to; she believes that this world still has good in it.
I was telling my dad about this the other day and he agrees with her; there is still good out there. But we can make our part of the world good, that's what my dad said. But the thing is, my little corner of the world can't stop school shootings. My little corner of the world is useless against the bullshit of this world.
And yes I know, being pessimistic is the worse way to go through life, especially at my age. But I say, fuck it. You can't be disappointed if you didn't have any expectations.
Thursday Boredom
From the beginning then? Right...
It started out of boredom. Like a lot of things do. Not necessarily things you want to have happen. But you just need to escape the boredom, you know?! I heard of this experiment they did once, where people chose to press a button to give themselves an electric shock, rather than sit still and do nothing. Do you know how many people pressed that button? Well, I guess I also have a low tolerance for boredom.
Or maybe I just had enough of the glamourous cashier life and my fabulous closet apartment. What would you know about that, huh? You have that “I’m going to my lake house this weekend” kind of face. Yeah, yeah, back to the story…
It was Thursday and I was waiting at The Thirsty Brew for Jody, my best friend. I call her my best friend cause she’s my only friend. Anyway, she sent me a text saying she can’t make it, gave me some bullshit excuse, but, to be honest, I think she just doesn’t like spending time with me that much. I thought I’d just finish my drink and go home.
Now, I’ve been staring at this guy from across the bar for a good fifteen minutes, and it’s not like me, but something just urged me to get up and go talk to him. Like I said, boredom… So, I go to him, I didn’t even feel nervous or nothing, and I ask him if I could sit next to him and get him something to drink. And he actually said yes. I was surprised cause I didn’t expected it to work. Well, truth be told, I didn’t know what I expected. Anyway, we got to talking and he was really nice and friendly.
I felt accepted, like I mattered to someone. I felt beautiful! I never feel beautiful. I mean, look at me. Do I look like one of those face cream commercial girls?! Why do they even need the cream?... Cause beauty matters. It does! If you tell me you don’t believe it, it’s either cause you’re already beautiful, or you’re just lying to yourself. Do you think Courtney, the prom queen, got the best role in the school play because she was just so damn talented? Well, you don’t know Courtney... But you know a Courtney, your own Courtney.
Well, I guess there was also a little bit of loneliness mixed in with the boredom, cause I let him take me home and I invited him upstairs for coffee. Like anyone drinks coffee at 2 AM…
It was nice, you know. I had forgotten how it was like and it was nice…
In my mind I was already marrying this guy and having his babies and living in a pretty house in the suburbs. Don’t give me that look, like you’ve never been so desperate to run away from your boring life! I just wanted so much to believe that a random Thursday evening could change everything. Well I guess it did, huh?
So, when I saw him digging through my purse, it was like someone took my pink glasses off and stepped on them. I asked him what he was doing, but I think a part of me already knew the answer. He said something about taking his pay for the night and I think he mistook my sudden drop back into reality for confusion cause he turned to me and said “What? Did you think I would actually want to sleep with someone like you?”. Someone like me?! I just… I snapped! I took the whiskey bottle off the table and hit him over the head. He dropped like a log. I don’t know why I grabbed the knife after that and started stabbing him, all I know is when I was done, I felt so much better.
After this, all the other men just came easy, naturally, you know?! I was finally good at something. And I was most certainly not bored. How many did you say? Twenty-three? Yeah, sounds about right. Can’t say for sure, I never bothered counting them.
Am I sorry? Yeah, I’m sorry the last guy got away and now I have to sit here and have this nice little chat with you.
I didn’t tell you!... How many people pressed the shocking button in that boredom experiment. All of them. Everybody presses the button, it’s just a matter of time.
Villain
There are stories here, stained into this weathered rock,
Stories of the past lay all around you,
Lives of people remembered as nothing more than a red stain dried up long ago.
There’s pain here, marred straight into stone,
Blasts tore this land to screaming shards.
Perhaps one day a bullet will be found and claimed as a fossil,
The same goes for the bodies of these lost souls.
Shame, isn’t it?
All this death, scarring the land for years to come.
This once breathtaking field, marked forever by the stench of death.
See this mark, this petty stain over here?
That boy was nineteen, his brains lie somewhere over there.
A hero, they called him, for taking out thirtysix people with one toss of a grenade.
And over here, a caring nurse was felled.
Forty-one years young, she took a blade through the heart, her blood still spatters this spot.
A traitor, they called her, for daring to help a twelve year old child who had been labelled as the ‘enemy’.
Villains, they called us,
Every life who fought for their lives on this field,
So many souls never made it home.
A massacre, they called it, for the death of so many.
A tragedy, they called it, when they forced thousands to flee and die along harsh roads.
A thing of the past, they called it, as they built a bypass atop the sacred land.
Villains, we called them, for the desecration of everything we held dear.
Villains, we called them, once we were again forced to leave.
Villains, we called them, after even our pride was stripped away.
