Grey Matter.

Good evening London. If you are reading this and you are not Kim, you caught it at a lucky time. Why's that? Because I hate it. Why do I hate it? Because I wrote it. But, Kim has faithfully read what I have posted and so I posted this just for her! Also, I often feel I have to explain everything before it is presented. So.... this is a letter from a character I thought of. EDIT: I have decided to just leave this up anyways. It begins.

Before you continue reading this there are two things you must know about me. I am not an idiot, and I am not naive. To consider me either would make you both. I have to first assure you that I am not mad. IT however, may be. It is a strange thing what a brain is capable of, it could convince me that I am a burden on society, a parasite feeding from the life of others while replacing nothing. But on the same plain, it could convince me that I am the epitome of evolution, a genius, a prophet. What is worse is that it can convince me that I am insane. The thought alone is chilling. I think it wants to mutiny; instead of it being my brain, it seems that it wants me to be its body. It constantly bombards me with what could only be described as propaganda. Messages of hate and doom, I think it may be trying to kill me.

It is odd when you think about it. Something we trust to keep us functioning and alive suddenly turning against you. Like a government you support and believe in deciding you are an obstacle in their affairs. Even as I write this I am forced to wonder whose agenda am I fulfilling? I fear for my life, I feel like an animal cornered with only two possible outcomes from my inevitable action. Either it dies, or I do. If it can convince me that death would be easier than living then I will be lost. It is not like a kidnapper, making demands based on greed or the thirst for suffering. It is not like the revolutionary, playing to emotion to gain support and relying on rhetoric to spark an uprising. It is more like a demon, simply pushing me aside and forcing me to watch as it gains control.

Maybe I am thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe it has always been in control and I would follow blindly believing it was I making the decisions. It could be only now that I realise I am a slave. I know you might think I have lost my mind but maybe that is exactly what I need to keep my sanity. That makes me think, what does qualify a man for madness? To not agree with the majority? Madness is only a case of numbers, larger versus small. Humans are not born with affiliations, we accept the reality we are given and shun the abnormalities to protect the world we have no confirmation of. Maybe I am the first, the first to be aware of the shackles on my ankles; the first to see the tethers that tie us to our captors.

From birth we are TAUGHT the way to think and feel about things or be excluded from contemporary society. This mental conditioning is little more than acceptable brainwashing. The bones of our world are paper. The skin is stained glass, you can see through it but they already make you question if it is even worth the effort. Instead, you are taught to not even attempt to see the other side but simply be in awe at the spectacle. The facade of belief and blind trust keep us from the truth. Why should I bother? Nothing can be changed at present. A feeling of cynicism has come over me. It is obvious what is causing it; my being aware has made it defensive. I can only do two things. Write this, and hope that the next person to be aware smashes the glass and burns the bones while they have the chance.
FIN.

I like the idea of this character. I might try to work on more things using this.

E for EVIL!

I recently watched my sister playing the game "Animal Crossing: City folk". I was outraged by what messages these types of games are having on our "Oh so impressionable youth". To begin, I saw my sister digging in the dirt to find a fossil, upon it's recovery she proceeded to sell said fossil. She then went and hit a rock for money to come out. Two horrible lessons could be placed upon our youth with these sorts of activities. One: Whatever you find on the street will be valuable to sell. Two: Cracked rocks are excellent sources for income. The outrage didn't end there concerned readers.


I witnessed the further unsettling business held by one nefarious raccoon who goes by the name "Tom Nook". He owns the shop within the animal crossing town, but what alarmed me was that there WAS ONLY ONE SHOP! Are these games trying to tell us that owning a monopoly is ok? The answer is yes. Another incident occurring at the town's lost and found where my sister snatched up all the items and exclaimed "I'm going to sell these" I asked her "Isn't that stealing?" She replied "I don't care I'm making money."

Finally, my sister took her character into the city where two more disgusting acts took place. The first being she went to the theatre to watch a simple play only to be subjected to the man known as "DR. Shrunk" he presented no certification of his studies to become a doctor and proceeded to sell my sister an "Emotion". I will be damned if I let this obvious representation of drug sales go unnoticed. After she left the theatre high on her new laughter action she went into the salon where she could import a mask of the Mii Hitler character I created, sound fishy? Well it is. Monopolies, Hitler, drugs, interspecies relationships, stealing. The game is rated E for "Everyone" but it should be rated E for "Evil".

The Sticky Man.

There was a man, strangely enough a man made of sticks. Not sticks like you may be thinking but simply, things that stick. His face was tape and his shoes were glue. He was covered in the adhesive from the bottom of band-aids and his hair was comprised of those stretchy novelty toys that you could through while holding onto one end and the other would fix to things. He was originally 6 feet tall but the path he walked was one of dirt and rock which would join onto him so he was now around 6 feet 5 inches.

He could not shake hands or hug or touch anyone. He knew the hugs wouldn’t be worth it as the happiness they brought would be eclipsed by the pain of when they pulled apart. This made him bitter, which was very odd because bitter things didn’t usually stick. He had a brilliant memory, anything he read or he had heard seemed to...for a lack of a better word...Stick.

His memories of his harshly lonely existence soon spread from his sad mind to his heart which at one point had been sweet. The bitterness spread like an abstract cancer across his ribs and limbs. While out for his usual walk one morning one of his ribs fell loose and was lodged between his honey bee-hive liver and his fruit salad kidneys. He continued, ignorant of the sudden loss of protection when he saw a beautiful woman headed in the opposite direction of him. He had never seen her before because if he had, he would have certainly remembered. In her hurry to reach her own destination she bumped the sticky man causing his bitter heart to detach from its holdings and fall between the space created by the lost rib. His heart landed in the open bag of the woman and was quickly buried beneath useless papers. In the shuffle of getting unstuck and amongst the many apologies he uttered he had not noticed what had happened.

When he returned home he felt as if something was missing. For some strange reason he felt attached to this woman he had barely met. From experience he knew he could never be with but he was compelled to at least have a name to go with the image he had burned into his mind. For days after he waited in the same spot he had bumped into the mystery woman with the intention of sharing all he felt; but every time she approached his bitter tongue filled with such sweet things to say that it became stuck to the roof of his mouth and he said nothing. As she left the sweetness retreated and he was finally able to articulate. “Damn it!” He shouted. “I must overcome this. I must tell this woman that my heart belongs to her.”



It's a bit long but I suppose if you have gotten far enough to read this the length didn't matter now did it?

I'm not very good with endings.

Good evening London. Wonderfully sunny day today, though you couldn't quite see it behind all of those damned clouds could you? Bastards. At any rate, more of what matters to me. Poetry...used to matter to me. I haven't written a poem in quite a long time. "But Martin!" You cry, "Why don't you write poems? A lot of people like them." To that I would reply, "Exactly you beautiful fool! It IS because a lot of people like them." I actually sort of wish I spoke that way regularly.

I am currently trying to focus more on other writing pieces. I may do poems once in a while but the style in which I used to do them has gotten boring. However, I will be posting a story on here that will play to this idea of what matters to me. Actually two. Unfortunately a lot of people have already read them. Oh well, enjoy.

Oh and regarding the title, this isn't the end of anything I just wanted to let you all know. The real end is this period right here.

More of what matters to me!

Good evening London. Matter, that is one thing that matters to me. Considering everything that has ever existed has been comprised of matter. Puns, lowest form of comedy.

Also, History greatly matters to me, nothing could be more useful than history in a world where nothing changes, besides the belief that every generation is greatly different from the one before it. I mean, come on we can't all be the ones to see the world end. 2012, Y2k, 80's they thought it would be nuclear war, 70's thought it would be an ice age, 40's thought Nazi Germany would destroy the world as we know it. The Rapture, hellfire and righteous judgement. All of the good stuff.

Philosophy matters to me as well, I am currently reading "Atlas Shrugged" by: Ayn Rand. Not only is it a good book but she does a very fine job of propagating her own philosophy while demonising the enemies of it. In other news my Media Diary for the Grade 11 University English class is quickly becoming a positive review of that book. Anyway, this has been the least pessimistic post to date. Adieu.

What matters to me part one!

I'll begin with words, and then words and more words to the point that words become redundant because that is one thing that matters to me. I dislike the way this sounds already, but I left it in to illustrate the next thing. I judge anything I create incredibly harshly, I have a negative overactive imagination when it comes to anything involving myself. Also, I tend to be a cynic about personal matters while being a sunny optimist when it comes to other things. Unhealthy way to think? Probably. Keeps me from becoming naive? Yes. Also, a great way for people to think you are mysterious for not speaking to them when really you just don't want to waste their time. Will continue this when more needs to be said.

You probably won't read this.

Good evening London, choosing something to put in this blog strikes me as a tad difficult. I mean, to be honest, I can't quite think of anything worthy of even a blog post. I suppose this may reflect how interesting I think I am. In truth, I actually did not want to bore the interwebs even knowing that the people who will be reading this will have searched for it of their own accord. I like to think I am some sort of writer so it is very likely (Read: If people are going to look at it) that I will be posting some things for the internet to viciously tear apart or praise. Either way, as long as it is vicious.

Hello.

Good evening London, you are witnessing the birth of a new blog!