People don't take life seriously enough. They also take life way too seriously. Of course, half the time they don't even realise they're doing either, and most of the time they know it full well but pretend they don't. The rest of the time they imagine what it would be like if they took the proper dosage of serious and stopped pretending not to know what they know about what they don't know in regards to seriousness.
Of course, a schedule like this leaves no free time, and so it is obvious that any self-proclaimed writer is immune to any such thoughts, but somehow victim to a thousand-thousand worse and more complicated ones.
But I digress(if you don't believe me check your local newspaper's mediocre section. They always have the latest news on the world's most boring habits. Digression is the newest addition; I'm currently ranked number one! If you're having trouble finding the mediocre section of your newspaper, go buy the most powerful microscope you can find and look under the period at the end of the last article in the newspaper; you'll find everything there). See?
My original point was that humans spend a lot of time wasting time by doing things that don't matter and having literally endless arguments about things that do matter, but most of the time end up not doing or learning anything about any of it.
If things were vice versa, there is a good chance that humanity would be getting a lot more done not only in respects to this lovely little planet which has so graciously donated its tender and beautiful surface for our destructive pleasures, but also in respects of space, time, and the universe. If humanity spent less time inventing potato chips and more time inventing giant space ships, we might know much more than what we like to think we know about much more than anything we can even begin to comprehend, never mind know.
I once imagined what it would be like if humanity built a ship the size of earth. I imagined humanity leaving earth upon completion of the project due to earth's general disappearance after having every last life-supporting-morsel sucked from its' veins. I then imagined humanity exploring the entirety of the galaxy, killing countless planets with pollution and resource abuse. Over time our pitiful species forgot all about the beautiful planet from which we originated, and quickly went extinct right after the death of the last known galaxy in the Universe--and no one was there to congradulate us for surviving the longest.
Needless to say I wasn't surprised.
One could argue that one can never be surprised by one's own imagination, and I'm sure one could have some very interesting points; possibly even winning the argument. Typical.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Timed Writing Collab
This is just a random collaboration of some things I wrote in writer's craft this semester. I'm gonna miss this class...
None of these are finished, they're what I came up with in 8-12 minutes of straight writing when given a single topic by Mrs. Crawford. Maybe you can figure out what all the topics are? Try it if you dare...
The titles are just that, not the actual topic for the piece. The topic is hidden within the writing.
The Five Senses:
It looks like garbage, smells like fetus, feels like goo, sounds like death, and tastes like candy. What is it? Who knows, and frankly, who cares?
I move on to the next sample. This one looks more like apples, so I'm okay to touch it. Ew: feels more like soggy diapers. Take a bite? Gosh, I really don't want to. I bring it up to my mouth, and am suddenly overwhelmed with a putrid stench of rotten raspberries. As I bite into this mushy munchable, it makes a crunching noise, which is odd because it felt so soft.
The taste is unbearable, and I vomit as I have so many times before.
"Take it away!" I cry, "I can stand this torture no longer!"
"But sir," whimpers the chef, "We have been called the greatest resturaunt in all of France and even Europe!"
"And I am known as the world's hardest food critic." I bluntly reply: "I bid you good day, monsieur, but know I will not be returning for a very long time."
I hate my job, but the pay is good, and no one knows my secret.
After all, being autistic DOES heighten one's senses.
Blanker Boy
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
Kind of sounds like bank.
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
The sound of my pen scribbling this down on the paper reminds me of a drummer boy, proudly wielding his brand new snare drum through the town streets as a small addition to the glorious marching band.
He is happy, and pounding his drum with all the passion in the world. Blank. Blank. Blank. Do not read the word but hear it. Take a pen, and scribble it down as fast as you can.
Blank. Blank. Blank.
Do you hear the drummer boy parading across your empty page? Do you see him on the streets making a glorious parade?
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
What a sound, what a sight! This little drummer boy is filled with delight!
Blank. Blank. Blank. Goes the drum. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. He is happy as can be, with his brand new little drum.
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
I apologize if it is all you read, but the sound is fascinating and intriguing for me.
Blank. Blank.
"That is it and that is all!" he shouts as the song comes to a close, and finishes it off with one final beat of the drum.
Blank.
Searched
Finding a topic for writing is about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack--pardon the cliche--but it is. The ironic reason for this is that there are so many topics to choose from. One simply has to walk outside and witness whether the weather is good or bad, if the neighbor's dog is outside, or if the tree's leaves have changed color. Look at the sky, look at the ground, look left, look right, look at doors, look at windows(not in them), look at flowers, look at trees look at grass, look at sand. The list is endless. One simply has to observe, and the mind is flooded with ideas. But the problem is this: which one to use?
The Dress-Lady
She was enchanting. A long, flowing white dress and beautiful blond hair. She gazed at me with eyes so stunning and so...commanding...in a gentle sort of way. She led me through the dark, tormenting forest, and I followed with no question because...well...what else could I do but get lost even more so in the evil forest. She led me, but kept her enchanting spell of a stare upon me, always seeming to get further and further away. She glowed like a star at midnight, so it was not hard to keep her in sight as I did my best to match her alarmingly quick steps. It seemed as though decades had passed before she stopped.
And when she did, my heart nearly leapt with joy. We were standing at the edge of a large, open green valley--a haven amongst the terrible darkness of the evil forest. The lush plants were supplied with beautiful sunlight--something I had not seen in many days--and broke their glorious pattern only once to make way for an entrancing and roaring waterfall which ran its course into a river chich again flowed back into the hellish forest. I knew then, that this was the place I had been searching for.
I turned to thank the lady--but she was gone.
The Sandbox
Let's go on an adventure, let's get on a plane. Let's catch kangaroos and wildabeasts and gophers too. Let's go to Africa and roam with the lions. Let's get on a boat and sail across the ocean. We'll skydive and deep dive and maybe even tunnel dive to our heart's content. We'll climb the eiffel tower and worship every hour. We'll ski the alps, we'll tour Italy, maybe even visit Sicily. Let's go on an adventure, let's have lots of fun. We'll dance and we'll play and we'll laugh in the sun. Eat fine cheeses and dine on savory chocolates. An adventure sounds good, yes it sounds fun to me. We'll go on an adventure and we'll do it from our own backyard.
Unbelievable
The sun said no. I can't believe it. After thirty years of partnership, the Toronto Sun turned me down. That is, until the dragons showed up. The Toronto Junior Dragons: A local child's sports team who had recently been involved in a most unfortunate series of events. I wanted to write an article on the outlandish ongoings of the young athletes, but the Toronto Sun wouldn't believe a single word I said.
So I called the team. Every single little sports fanatic showed up at the door of the paper's big-city-high-rise and testified to each and every one of my claims.
Billy DID land in an erupting volcano while skydiving. It was a science project gone wrong at the local fair.
Jonathan's grandfather WAS up for the electric chair. It was a new kind that did special massages
Matthew DID have an invisible tumor the size of your face--on his face. It was an excellent drawing.
Alex could NOT find his pinky toe for the life of him. He really needs to lose weight.
Jerry CAN jump over the moon. He just has to wait until it's as close to the horizon as possible.
And Larry WAS just robbed of a million dollars without the authorities giving a care. Some people just don't know how to play monopoly.
The Christian Count
"Welcome to the count's ball monsieur. We've been long awaiting your arrival."
I smiled curtly at the french valet as I stepped outside of my road-weary coach, then turned to assist my wife on the coach steps.
"You ready?" I asked as she placed her foot on solid ground for the first time in three hours.
She just smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
We linked arms and made our way to the large front doors of one of the most magnificent ballrooms in Paris.
"This is quite the anniversary present." giggled my wife as a tuxedo-clad butler smiled, bowed, and slowly opened the door for us.
"Enris is a very generous man." I replied, then looked at her and added, "and a very good friend to have indeed."
We made our way down a long, wide, red-carpeted set of stairs into the party.
There were people everywhere. Rich people, poor people, black people, white people, pretty people, and ugly people.
"But he's obviously a christian." I frowned.
hard soft spots
There is a hard spot in a very soft place many many miles away. I know not what it is or where it goes or how it goes or why it goes, but it goes. And goes, and goes, and goes, and goes. Forever and ever. Always. It never stops, never will stop, never can stop, and never wants to stop. I don't know hy. I just know it does. And does, and does, and does, and does. Somehow it is always full of energy: never even slowing. I wish I could be like the hard place: long, black, noisy, and with a dotted line running down the middle.
Like a snake.
The END
None of these are finished, they're what I came up with in 8-12 minutes of straight writing when given a single topic by Mrs. Crawford. Maybe you can figure out what all the topics are? Try it if you dare...
The titles are just that, not the actual topic for the piece. The topic is hidden within the writing.
The Five Senses:
It looks like garbage, smells like fetus, feels like goo, sounds like death, and tastes like candy. What is it? Who knows, and frankly, who cares?
I move on to the next sample. This one looks more like apples, so I'm okay to touch it. Ew: feels more like soggy diapers. Take a bite? Gosh, I really don't want to. I bring it up to my mouth, and am suddenly overwhelmed with a putrid stench of rotten raspberries. As I bite into this mushy munchable, it makes a crunching noise, which is odd because it felt so soft.
The taste is unbearable, and I vomit as I have so many times before.
"Take it away!" I cry, "I can stand this torture no longer!"
"But sir," whimpers the chef, "We have been called the greatest resturaunt in all of France and even Europe!"
"And I am known as the world's hardest food critic." I bluntly reply: "I bid you good day, monsieur, but know I will not be returning for a very long time."
I hate my job, but the pay is good, and no one knows my secret.
After all, being autistic DOES heighten one's senses.
Blanker Boy
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
Kind of sounds like bank.
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
The sound of my pen scribbling this down on the paper reminds me of a drummer boy, proudly wielding his brand new snare drum through the town streets as a small addition to the glorious marching band.
He is happy, and pounding his drum with all the passion in the world. Blank. Blank. Blank. Do not read the word but hear it. Take a pen, and scribble it down as fast as you can.
Blank. Blank. Blank.
Do you hear the drummer boy parading across your empty page? Do you see him on the streets making a glorious parade?
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
What a sound, what a sight! This little drummer boy is filled with delight!
Blank. Blank. Blank. Goes the drum. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. He is happy as can be, with his brand new little drum.
Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank.
I apologize if it is all you read, but the sound is fascinating and intriguing for me.
Blank. Blank.
"That is it and that is all!" he shouts as the song comes to a close, and finishes it off with one final beat of the drum.
Blank.
Searched
Finding a topic for writing is about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack--pardon the cliche--but it is. The ironic reason for this is that there are so many topics to choose from. One simply has to walk outside and witness whether the weather is good or bad, if the neighbor's dog is outside, or if the tree's leaves have changed color. Look at the sky, look at the ground, look left, look right, look at doors, look at windows(not in them), look at flowers, look at trees look at grass, look at sand. The list is endless. One simply has to observe, and the mind is flooded with ideas. But the problem is this: which one to use?
The Dress-Lady
She was enchanting. A long, flowing white dress and beautiful blond hair. She gazed at me with eyes so stunning and so...commanding...in a gentle sort of way. She led me through the dark, tormenting forest, and I followed with no question because...well...what else could I do but get lost even more so in the evil forest. She led me, but kept her enchanting spell of a stare upon me, always seeming to get further and further away. She glowed like a star at midnight, so it was not hard to keep her in sight as I did my best to match her alarmingly quick steps. It seemed as though decades had passed before she stopped.
And when she did, my heart nearly leapt with joy. We were standing at the edge of a large, open green valley--a haven amongst the terrible darkness of the evil forest. The lush plants were supplied with beautiful sunlight--something I had not seen in many days--and broke their glorious pattern only once to make way for an entrancing and roaring waterfall which ran its course into a river chich again flowed back into the hellish forest. I knew then, that this was the place I had been searching for.
I turned to thank the lady--but she was gone.
The Sandbox
Let's go on an adventure, let's get on a plane. Let's catch kangaroos and wildabeasts and gophers too. Let's go to Africa and roam with the lions. Let's get on a boat and sail across the ocean. We'll skydive and deep dive and maybe even tunnel dive to our heart's content. We'll climb the eiffel tower and worship every hour. We'll ski the alps, we'll tour Italy, maybe even visit Sicily. Let's go on an adventure, let's have lots of fun. We'll dance and we'll play and we'll laugh in the sun. Eat fine cheeses and dine on savory chocolates. An adventure sounds good, yes it sounds fun to me. We'll go on an adventure and we'll do it from our own backyard.
Unbelievable
The sun said no. I can't believe it. After thirty years of partnership, the Toronto Sun turned me down. That is, until the dragons showed up. The Toronto Junior Dragons: A local child's sports team who had recently been involved in a most unfortunate series of events. I wanted to write an article on the outlandish ongoings of the young athletes, but the Toronto Sun wouldn't believe a single word I said.
So I called the team. Every single little sports fanatic showed up at the door of the paper's big-city-high-rise and testified to each and every one of my claims.
Billy DID land in an erupting volcano while skydiving. It was a science project gone wrong at the local fair.
Jonathan's grandfather WAS up for the electric chair. It was a new kind that did special massages
Matthew DID have an invisible tumor the size of your face--on his face. It was an excellent drawing.
Alex could NOT find his pinky toe for the life of him. He really needs to lose weight.
Jerry CAN jump over the moon. He just has to wait until it's as close to the horizon as possible.
And Larry WAS just robbed of a million dollars without the authorities giving a care. Some people just don't know how to play monopoly.
The Christian Count
"Welcome to the count's ball monsieur. We've been long awaiting your arrival."
I smiled curtly at the french valet as I stepped outside of my road-weary coach, then turned to assist my wife on the coach steps.
"You ready?" I asked as she placed her foot on solid ground for the first time in three hours.
She just smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
We linked arms and made our way to the large front doors of one of the most magnificent ballrooms in Paris.
"This is quite the anniversary present." giggled my wife as a tuxedo-clad butler smiled, bowed, and slowly opened the door for us.
"Enris is a very generous man." I replied, then looked at her and added, "and a very good friend to have indeed."
We made our way down a long, wide, red-carpeted set of stairs into the party.
There were people everywhere. Rich people, poor people, black people, white people, pretty people, and ugly people.
"But he's obviously a christian." I frowned.
hard soft spots
There is a hard spot in a very soft place many many miles away. I know not what it is or where it goes or how it goes or why it goes, but it goes. And goes, and goes, and goes, and goes. Forever and ever. Always. It never stops, never will stop, never can stop, and never wants to stop. I don't know hy. I just know it does. And does, and does, and does, and does. Somehow it is always full of energy: never even slowing. I wish I could be like the hard place: long, black, noisy, and with a dotted line running down the middle.
Like a snake.
The END
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