Category Archives: Random

Not much in this world makes sense, so let’s be senseless.

Never Trust a Writer

Never trust a writer.

We are gatherers of information, watchers of scenes and analyzers of our world. We pick up on the smallest details and store them away, like the colour of the grass the morning we met, the smell in the air the first time we shook hands, or the ding in the frame that sits on your desk. We see everything, and we remember it well.

We are tools of creativity, the developers of ideas, the builders of worlds of fiction built up even in the tales we tell that lie in truth. Everything is built, at least in some way, out of a lie. And with those lies, we manipulate everything we know to be true and feed it back to you in a way that you would be convinced that we are always, always right. We could stand beside you and watch the same show, with the same words, and convince you within seconds of viewing it that what you believe you saw was wrong, and what we saw was right, even though our memory is a lie.

We are situational manipulators, capable of taking the information we have acquired and using it to our advantage. We are self destructive, more willing to sacrifice ourselves than risk letting someone else cause us pain or frustration or heartache. We see the bus coming, and though you have no intention of throwing us into it, we would rather jump ourselves just to be certain that you are not given the opportunity.

We will break you, leading you into a conversation we know you’ll fail us on, and in doing so we’ll play with the worlds and the emotions and the stories, and we’ll build a beautiful house that appears to be so perfect and comfortable and warm, but one that cannot hold the weight of anything but our lies. And when you walk into it, it will crumble down upon you, letting us walk away making you think that it was your fault.

We will leave traps, running from problems by making you believe we are not paying attention or not listening or don’t care. But we know. We know that your favourite colour is green and that the one strand of hair you hate curls seven times before falling past your chin. We know that you painted your nails brown this morning, but changed it at noon to red, that you ate waffles for breakfast but told us you had cereal. We know because we are always watching, always listening, always paying attention. But we will build up lies and feed you spoon after spoon of intentionally wrong information because we know that in the end, you will hate us for something regardless.

We are liars, cheaters, and thieves, stealing your life and transcribing it on paper, painting it in a way you would never want it painted. And when you ask us why, we will tell you because it’s better that way, because what you are was never enough, and because the world would want you to be more.

We will put you on pedestal and hold you high, only to take away your dignity and watch you fall. We will lie to your face, telling you we love everything about when in truth we are only trying to avoid talking about your flaws. We will hate you for the things we never say, and hate you even more for the things that you make us say.

Never trust a writer. I will always, always lie.

My Immortality

I am immortal.

This is the power of argument and free thought, right here, in this simple fact. I am immortal. I state with absolute certainty that I am the only person on this planet that possesses the power of immortality. I know this because I have survived where others haven’t for 24 years, living longer than some, without ever once dying. I have been in situations that could have easily resulted in my death, and yet here I am, still alive and still immortal. Nothing can stop me, and the proof of that is nothing ever has. From the day that I was born until this very moment, I have continued to be alive, and so I must by all definitions of proof be immortal. Continue reading

Dreaming Big

When we were young, our parents told us we could do anything. We were told that no matter what, if we worked hard enough, dreamed big enough, studied long enough, learned enough of everything, respected people enough, we would have opened the doors to worlds only our wildest dreams could achieve. We were brought up believing that we held the keys to our own futures, that we alone were the gatekeepers to worlds that no one else could ever touch. Our parents told us that we are the masters of our own destiny. Continue reading