My automatic impression of these types of shows is to discourage teen pregnancy, use birth control, all that jazz most people know already out of common sense. Accidents happen to everyone and sometimes those accidents breath, and thats fine.
But these shows! I can't help it, when I see them living alone no matter how poor or alone with their baby I just want to have one. I'm 17 and I really want a kid even as I watch relationships break down and custody battles, I just really want to be able to lay on the couch with a little one sometimes.
Weird right? Apparently im not the only one who feels this way, creepy right?
baaabies.
PS: not about to have a kid.
My Purpose?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
I have issues
ever since I was a wee little one and I found my older cousins copy of sims 1 in her apartment, I haven't been able to stop. I refrained from buying all the first sims game,s but as I got older, my friends and family all started shoving these games and expansions at me. I had always raved about the game, but never got to play it on my own time.
sims 2, I have every expansion, played it when I had any spare moment. I loved it, it's like a cyber doll house and I could do whatever I wanted. I could make my beloved characters rich, poor, fat, thin, or dead. I reveled in the successful lives I created. The houses, the cars.. Things that don't mean much to me in my own life made me so proud in my little dolls life.
Now I have a job, and now i have sims 3 and greedily buy each expansion and make my little loves lives bigger and better with travel and things to decorate their spaces, small or large.
my problem lies not with what I do when I play or how long I play, but rather how I play the game itself. My sims are always eerily similar and I either stay with one till im 4 or 5 generations in and have a real relationship with them, or give up on things fleetingly and make a million and twenty-five little useless screw-ups.
I have a problem, and it's inconsistence with my constants.
Ps: My sims is playing chess as we speak.
sims 2, I have every expansion, played it when I had any spare moment. I loved it, it's like a cyber doll house and I could do whatever I wanted. I could make my beloved characters rich, poor, fat, thin, or dead. I reveled in the successful lives I created. The houses, the cars.. Things that don't mean much to me in my own life made me so proud in my little dolls life.
Now I have a job, and now i have sims 3 and greedily buy each expansion and make my little loves lives bigger and better with travel and things to decorate their spaces, small or large.
my problem lies not with what I do when I play or how long I play, but rather how I play the game itself. My sims are always eerily similar and I either stay with one till im 4 or 5 generations in and have a real relationship with them, or give up on things fleetingly and make a million and twenty-five little useless screw-ups.
I have a problem, and it's inconsistence with my constants.
Ps: My sims is playing chess as we speak.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Unnamed
At birth we were given a number on a small metal tag. This is hung on a thin chain and intended to stay on our neck so long it is common to see adults with grooves where it is hung. Our number is 5651F and at the nest we are taught to see this as only a convenience and never to use it as a title. At the nest we learned that we were feeble and stupid and so we were told to pick one type of flower and decorate the city. We were told simply to destroy old flowers and replace them and only after finishing our job could we return to the complex to eat and sleep so we may have energy to continue the next day. People who were discovered to be constant and focused were assigned as our cooks and they make the same colored, same tasting stew each day with the ingredients chosen specially to keep us energized. It is the same food our ancestors ate. We dared not stray from this plan set so many generations ago because of how well it worked. We were told to never act for ourselves; it was seen as the greatest sin to be selfish and try to change the perfect cycle the ancient thinkers had given us. Special treatment for anyone is forbidden and preference did not exist. Content is all we needed, and to be content meant we work as we are told to and ask for nothing we did not need to survive.
As we were so feeble and stupid we pick only flowers grown by the gardeners and place our bouquets in the same spots every day. The purpose is to add this one extra color to the buildings to help keep our brains happy as we live. We were very honored to have such an important job. However, we sinned when we wished to have different colors to arrange in the pots we fill. A wish to change our stable job for our own gain provided so much guilt we could not sleep until we squashed this desire to stray from what we were told. Squashed this thinking and wish to create what was not made by our thinkers. Thinkers were the men who are the only ones allowed to stray from the plan and think and express themselves freely. Chosen so by the template given to use by ancients that it is only those who could problem solve and
possess the best speaking ability of all could have the freedom to do so.
We were working in our field one day, clipping the flowers of the un-named color when they passed. They appeared to be a street sweeper and we could not understand what about them made us look, but whatever they did made us stare until they turned to us for a moment then left again. We continued to work but we also continued to sin. Another day later they passed again, and we stared again until they looked. This continued for more days and finally when we stared, unable to stop looking unto him as though they were great, they turned their head and smiled. We could not help ourselves, we smiled back, and our sins continued with such regret that we could no longer sleep and with this, we were failing to carry out our work.
Soon we were sinning so much it seemed we only waited at that field to see them pass by and smile at us. We treated them as though they were valued and the same day we that told ourselves we would stop, they approached. They left their broom on the dusty road and stood before us as we stopped to clip the flowers. We were afraid that they would scold us however something much unexpected occurred. They spoke, in nothing more than a whisper.
“We have a confession. We have named them”. We wondered if perhaps they felt the same guilt we felt when we thought of them.
“We have named them too” We replied, and the look of anguish on their face made our heart ache as though they were all that mattered to us, as though our brothers meant nothing anymore. This was unacceptable.
“We named them ‘Golden haired ones’” they continued to say. We were horrified, but we could not help ourselves yet again.
“We named them Windy smiled ones, when they are smiling they make us feel ruffled by wind”. They smiled once for us, and then we agreed never to look to each other again, for we sin in the name of our brothers. We selfishly claim names for them and it must not continue.
Life continued in the regular way. We heard their dusty shoes on the street while we picked but kept our heads down, and even as we place flowers into their pots we tried not to look in the way of the gait that had become so familiar to us. We could not help our weak mind miss when their shoes did not scuff against the soils that passed us.
That day at the complex we heard news from the thinkers that a street sweeper, 0636M was taken into custody. The number O636M reeked of the windy smiled ones, and we remembered it from his number plate. We became upset, so upset we could hear only buzzing as our reader told us that 0636M had been taken from his work after being found to be researching secretly, and had gotten enough nerve to try and present the thinkers with their own idea. The idea had been a light source, not candles but something different that only took for granted the gift of light our ancients had given us. They would not been seen for a week, and we tried not to be bothered but still our unintelligent and meager heart ached. We felt pity and worry that should never be directed at anyone. It was special treatment no one deserved.
The week passed slowly, and though we did not show it we were miserable without even their lonely gait to listen to. Soon, they came, but slow and limping. We could not help but peer up to them, their eyes bored into our head as they admired our golden hairs. They stooped to us, laid a hand on our head and claimed they were leaving. We immediately panicked, for we knew there was danger outside the walls and there was no way to survive without their cooks, their work and their bed. When we realized we cared far too much and gave to much concern to them, we stopped. We felt no obligation to tell the thinkers of the plan and when night came and our work was done we laid down expecting to sleep. Our distraction would be gone, we would no longer think of them and we could continue working for our brothers to make their brains happy. We were honored once again to have an important job.
Sleep did not come, and we left our city too. Our feeble heart snapped in two at the thought of them never returning and our ridiculous mind lead us running through the streets to the wall with no gate until we soon found the trees we flew through tearing at our flesh as we raced with the intention of bringing them back. It was only till we tripped on an un-pruned bush’s root that we saw what we had found. By this time, the sun had risen and we could see the grey of night melt into bright colors we did not know how to name. Nothing was the dull grey of the compound, not one flower we picked every day in sight amongst all that was left to see beyond the wall. We sat up from the ground, and it felt soft like carpet on our knees. Right before our eyes we saw little bright globes hanging from branches of a prickly bush. We plucked one and liquid pour over our fingers. The scent of something sweet, truly sweet wafted to our noses and we could not help ourselves. We ate it and the strangest taste, a tangy sweet juice and the texture of tiny seeds was also the best we’d ever experienced so far. While we sat eating hundreds of these little treats, we soon felt something strange around us. Not just the cool breeze that smelled nothing like people and cooking, not just the sounds of animals left to freely wander this area and not just the sight of a place so wild and creative, but
the feeling of being watched.
We ignored it, hoping for it only to be our mind so corrupt with selfishness playing tricks on us.
This was our hope? It was so strange, so wonderful. We felt an odd emotion, not content but something even better. This was all ruined as a jolt struck through us when two large hands grabbed us under our arms and lifted us to our feet.
Had we been followed, and now caught? We felt a terror and great loss at even the thought but when we turned, we saw them. The windy smiled ones. They declared they knew we were too free to be contained our whole life. They declared they knew we would follow and that they would care for us as they continued to learn all there was about the world outside.
Together we traveled through the new terrain, tripping on branches and bathing in shallow rivers. We ate whatever we thought might taste good and slept whenever and wherever we were tired. We lost track of time and eventually we came across something else we’d never seen before, but still knew was not the product of real nature we had just been exposed to. A tall glass house with a slanted roof and shining walls overtaken by branches and flowers of many colors woven around windowsills and supports all the way up to the very top where they had no more place to grow and instead simply lay out in the sin as we had done each day since we left.
We were nervous, and we held their hand as we had learned to while they lead us over fallen trees and mud. It was a strange sensation of protection we had never been given in the compound by another person. They insisted they look inside, as they saw a wide door. We were told to wait but another thing we had learned is to defy another.
They pulled at the door, frowning as flowers wilted over time flaked off to the ground and we did not jump as the critters who had made a home there skittered outside through many holes and windows. Nature had claimed this place but it was clear to see it had been inhabited by humans long ago. They looked up and down the stairs as we enjoyed a patch, warmed by the sun on the floor and they returned holding small paper collections in one hand.
“There are many of these up the stairs.” Thei expression was something between solemn and curious.
“We shall live here” We decided. One of the many decisions we had made ourselves since the night we left the city. They agreed by their own will and we worked, at whatever we wanted, at whatever pace we could and felt accomplished. Truly accomplished and not just glad we could sleep, not just filled with a fake pride hanging flowers give you after 17 years.
The home we chose became beautiful. It was clean and dry, filled with relics from the past such as those collections of paper we found to be called books. We filled it with flowers of all the colors we learned to name. They learned to read from these books and they taught us until soon we were reading each book together in the room with cushions and shelves covered in papers. This lead to the surprise we remember even now and forever and employ daily.
“We had discovered new words” They told us one day. We only stood looking interested as we held a book in our arms. We had many words we knew nothing about in these books, and the thought of understanding them made us pleased.
“I” They began, approaching us slowly “you” they continued. “Both are words indicating only one. One person, alone.”
We took a shamefully long time to understand what they had told us. They explained for hours on end till we finally knew how to use these words. I, you, me, all words we’d never heard before, much less used. They gave us an example.
“I love you” It sounded different then what I had been saying all along.
“We love them” is what I continued to say for days until I was finally able to accept these words. Next came the names we were to give each other. They smiled as they finally came to us with what they thought was perfect.
“We need new names, Golden Haired Ones, the one we have now reek of the past. Your name will be Gaea, mother of the gods” I recognized the name from the book he had claimed as his favorite, above all others. Why name me after the mother of the earth? We planned to soon fill this forest with our kind, far away from the mindless others in the compound till we could free them as well. “You will be the mother of a new type god” This made me smile, and I came up with a ‘proper’ name for him as well.
“You will be known as Atlas. You alone have held the world I, and our sons will live within.” Atlas, from his same favorite book, because he is my dearest one I allowed him the pleasure of being known as something he loves and is so similar too. “You will continue to toil to have our world held the highest above them all”
Our dream lived, our sons worked and toiled to live and grow in the city we created at first secret but beating louder every day as we learned and grew. The compound became known as the city of the damned and even after we passed on, our sons kept the dream of freeing those people and allowing them to finally live.
They were forewarned of dangers to come of this sacred mission that the people under lock and key would fight for their ignorance. There were battles, and our sons did die, but their numbers were few. The innovation they allowed themselves easily overtook the technologies the city of the damned had claimed to be perfect. It is not our mission to kill, but some deaths were unavoidable. First were the thinkers, then the messengers who tell of their work. The battle has yet to be won, but it continues to be fought in the honor of the sacred word:
Self.
As we were so feeble and stupid we pick only flowers grown by the gardeners and place our bouquets in the same spots every day. The purpose is to add this one extra color to the buildings to help keep our brains happy as we live. We were very honored to have such an important job. However, we sinned when we wished to have different colors to arrange in the pots we fill. A wish to change our stable job for our own gain provided so much guilt we could not sleep until we squashed this desire to stray from what we were told. Squashed this thinking and wish to create what was not made by our thinkers. Thinkers were the men who are the only ones allowed to stray from the plan and think and express themselves freely. Chosen so by the template given to use by ancients that it is only those who could problem solve and
possess the best speaking ability of all could have the freedom to do so.
We were working in our field one day, clipping the flowers of the un-named color when they passed. They appeared to be a street sweeper and we could not understand what about them made us look, but whatever they did made us stare until they turned to us for a moment then left again. We continued to work but we also continued to sin. Another day later they passed again, and we stared again until they looked. This continued for more days and finally when we stared, unable to stop looking unto him as though they were great, they turned their head and smiled. We could not help ourselves, we smiled back, and our sins continued with such regret that we could no longer sleep and with this, we were failing to carry out our work.
Soon we were sinning so much it seemed we only waited at that field to see them pass by and smile at us. We treated them as though they were valued and the same day we that told ourselves we would stop, they approached. They left their broom on the dusty road and stood before us as we stopped to clip the flowers. We were afraid that they would scold us however something much unexpected occurred. They spoke, in nothing more than a whisper.
“We have a confession. We have named them”. We wondered if perhaps they felt the same guilt we felt when we thought of them.
“We have named them too” We replied, and the look of anguish on their face made our heart ache as though they were all that mattered to us, as though our brothers meant nothing anymore. This was unacceptable.
“We named them ‘Golden haired ones’” they continued to say. We were horrified, but we could not help ourselves yet again.
“We named them Windy smiled ones, when they are smiling they make us feel ruffled by wind”. They smiled once for us, and then we agreed never to look to each other again, for we sin in the name of our brothers. We selfishly claim names for them and it must not continue.
Life continued in the regular way. We heard their dusty shoes on the street while we picked but kept our heads down, and even as we place flowers into their pots we tried not to look in the way of the gait that had become so familiar to us. We could not help our weak mind miss when their shoes did not scuff against the soils that passed us.
That day at the complex we heard news from the thinkers that a street sweeper, 0636M was taken into custody. The number O636M reeked of the windy smiled ones, and we remembered it from his number plate. We became upset, so upset we could hear only buzzing as our reader told us that 0636M had been taken from his work after being found to be researching secretly, and had gotten enough nerve to try and present the thinkers with their own idea. The idea had been a light source, not candles but something different that only took for granted the gift of light our ancients had given us. They would not been seen for a week, and we tried not to be bothered but still our unintelligent and meager heart ached. We felt pity and worry that should never be directed at anyone. It was special treatment no one deserved.
The week passed slowly, and though we did not show it we were miserable without even their lonely gait to listen to. Soon, they came, but slow and limping. We could not help but peer up to them, their eyes bored into our head as they admired our golden hairs. They stooped to us, laid a hand on our head and claimed they were leaving. We immediately panicked, for we knew there was danger outside the walls and there was no way to survive without their cooks, their work and their bed. When we realized we cared far too much and gave to much concern to them, we stopped. We felt no obligation to tell the thinkers of the plan and when night came and our work was done we laid down expecting to sleep. Our distraction would be gone, we would no longer think of them and we could continue working for our brothers to make their brains happy. We were honored once again to have an important job.
Sleep did not come, and we left our city too. Our feeble heart snapped in two at the thought of them never returning and our ridiculous mind lead us running through the streets to the wall with no gate until we soon found the trees we flew through tearing at our flesh as we raced with the intention of bringing them back. It was only till we tripped on an un-pruned bush’s root that we saw what we had found. By this time, the sun had risen and we could see the grey of night melt into bright colors we did not know how to name. Nothing was the dull grey of the compound, not one flower we picked every day in sight amongst all that was left to see beyond the wall. We sat up from the ground, and it felt soft like carpet on our knees. Right before our eyes we saw little bright globes hanging from branches of a prickly bush. We plucked one and liquid pour over our fingers. The scent of something sweet, truly sweet wafted to our noses and we could not help ourselves. We ate it and the strangest taste, a tangy sweet juice and the texture of tiny seeds was also the best we’d ever experienced so far. While we sat eating hundreds of these little treats, we soon felt something strange around us. Not just the cool breeze that smelled nothing like people and cooking, not just the sounds of animals left to freely wander this area and not just the sight of a place so wild and creative, but
the feeling of being watched.
We ignored it, hoping for it only to be our mind so corrupt with selfishness playing tricks on us.
This was our hope? It was so strange, so wonderful. We felt an odd emotion, not content but something even better. This was all ruined as a jolt struck through us when two large hands grabbed us under our arms and lifted us to our feet.
Had we been followed, and now caught? We felt a terror and great loss at even the thought but when we turned, we saw them. The windy smiled ones. They declared they knew we were too free to be contained our whole life. They declared they knew we would follow and that they would care for us as they continued to learn all there was about the world outside.
Together we traveled through the new terrain, tripping on branches and bathing in shallow rivers. We ate whatever we thought might taste good and slept whenever and wherever we were tired. We lost track of time and eventually we came across something else we’d never seen before, but still knew was not the product of real nature we had just been exposed to. A tall glass house with a slanted roof and shining walls overtaken by branches and flowers of many colors woven around windowsills and supports all the way up to the very top where they had no more place to grow and instead simply lay out in the sin as we had done each day since we left.
We were nervous, and we held their hand as we had learned to while they lead us over fallen trees and mud. It was a strange sensation of protection we had never been given in the compound by another person. They insisted they look inside, as they saw a wide door. We were told to wait but another thing we had learned is to defy another.
They pulled at the door, frowning as flowers wilted over time flaked off to the ground and we did not jump as the critters who had made a home there skittered outside through many holes and windows. Nature had claimed this place but it was clear to see it had been inhabited by humans long ago. They looked up and down the stairs as we enjoyed a patch, warmed by the sun on the floor and they returned holding small paper collections in one hand.
“There are many of these up the stairs.” Thei expression was something between solemn and curious.
“We shall live here” We decided. One of the many decisions we had made ourselves since the night we left the city. They agreed by their own will and we worked, at whatever we wanted, at whatever pace we could and felt accomplished. Truly accomplished and not just glad we could sleep, not just filled with a fake pride hanging flowers give you after 17 years.
The home we chose became beautiful. It was clean and dry, filled with relics from the past such as those collections of paper we found to be called books. We filled it with flowers of all the colors we learned to name. They learned to read from these books and they taught us until soon we were reading each book together in the room with cushions and shelves covered in papers. This lead to the surprise we remember even now and forever and employ daily.
“We had discovered new words” They told us one day. We only stood looking interested as we held a book in our arms. We had many words we knew nothing about in these books, and the thought of understanding them made us pleased.
“I” They began, approaching us slowly “you” they continued. “Both are words indicating only one. One person, alone.”
We took a shamefully long time to understand what they had told us. They explained for hours on end till we finally knew how to use these words. I, you, me, all words we’d never heard before, much less used. They gave us an example.
“I love you” It sounded different then what I had been saying all along.
“We love them” is what I continued to say for days until I was finally able to accept these words. Next came the names we were to give each other. They smiled as they finally came to us with what they thought was perfect.
“We need new names, Golden Haired Ones, the one we have now reek of the past. Your name will be Gaea, mother of the gods” I recognized the name from the book he had claimed as his favorite, above all others. Why name me after the mother of the earth? We planned to soon fill this forest with our kind, far away from the mindless others in the compound till we could free them as well. “You will be the mother of a new type god” This made me smile, and I came up with a ‘proper’ name for him as well.
“You will be known as Atlas. You alone have held the world I, and our sons will live within.” Atlas, from his same favorite book, because he is my dearest one I allowed him the pleasure of being known as something he loves and is so similar too. “You will continue to toil to have our world held the highest above them all”
Our dream lived, our sons worked and toiled to live and grow in the city we created at first secret but beating louder every day as we learned and grew. The compound became known as the city of the damned and even after we passed on, our sons kept the dream of freeing those people and allowing them to finally live.
They were forewarned of dangers to come of this sacred mission that the people under lock and key would fight for their ignorance. There were battles, and our sons did die, but their numbers were few. The innovation they allowed themselves easily overtook the technologies the city of the damned had claimed to be perfect. It is not our mission to kill, but some deaths were unavoidable. First were the thinkers, then the messengers who tell of their work. The battle has yet to be won, but it continues to be fought in the honor of the sacred word:
Self.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Cherry
I bought a bag of cherries and forgot about it. Today I took some out, looked at them, and decided they still looked pretty delicious.
They were red, firm, cherryish.
I ate a few, and finally looked down to see they were brown on the inside.
Why do rotten cherries taste so good?
They were red, firm, cherryish.
I ate a few, and finally looked down to see they were brown on the inside.
Why do rotten cherries taste so good?
If you Google the word "Face" Facebook is the first thing to appear. No one person who completely embodies the word "Face", a word that can symbolize all humanity in the most profound way, as the thing that makes us recognize each other and know who is standing and speaking before us.
A social network pops up first.
You think I'm complaining? You think i'm being one of those traditional old people who can't see things for what they ae? Sure 95% of everyone on Facebook is a retarded teenager, but 95% of people irl are retarded teenagers. The definition of face, on the Internet is a collection of everyone who puts their face out there on his huge, spanning site. There is no one scientist, or serial killer, or humanitarian that dominated this word we hold so dear as a society. That's amazing, I love it.
What really got me was the video of lady gaga right underneath it...
A social network pops up first.
You think I'm complaining? You think i'm being one of those traditional old people who can't see things for what they ae? Sure 95% of everyone on Facebook is a retarded teenager, but 95% of people irl are retarded teenagers. The definition of face, on the Internet is a collection of everyone who puts their face out there on his huge, spanning site. There is no one scientist, or serial killer, or humanitarian that dominated this word we hold so dear as a society. That's amazing, I love it.
What really got me was the video of lady gaga right underneath it...
Zombie love
We stand in the desert, mindlessly, yet knowingly our dusty minds wander. I cannot feel you, I’ve long since numbed, but when I turn to look your sand incrusted, dried hand is still in mine. There is no food left, we have no goal. Like sheep we follow and stray from whatever we see moving. Nothing moving with the characteristics of life. There is no way to show our love but the groans and pets we painfully manage. We stray from the deserted, lifeless pile of swaying bodies staring at the sun, the sand, the sky, the clouds, and the bugs that we could never catch and that would do little more then fly from our patched stomachs. There is no goal, no happening, no sadness, and no happiness. Just the fading feeling of connection and a faint consciousness that allows up to wander aimlessly even after our legs have rotted beneath us. That, and also the feeling of responsibility to each other. Like jewels we guard our shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers. For once they're gone like the rest of our grotesque figure, we can never be connected but for the moment when our dusty corpse’s finally starve after death and collapse on top of each other. A zombie’s love is described as just a pure stupidity and what’s left out our recollection of humans need to procreate. We cannot express our experiences; Nobody wants to die alone, even if they're already dead.
Chester
Born in the searing heat of plastic melting stoves and shaping presses, I was born. Loud, mammoth fans and torrents of cool water form my first memory. I would never forget such comforts. Next, I was plucked up by a mechanical suction cup. I was held so tight and was moving so fast I could hardly understand what was going on. My memories here have a distinct gap. I last saw a small cylinder heard and felt others like myself being dropped in a pile then another wave of heat as a cover was sealed on. Then, as I said earlier, a gap. Nothing.
The last time I left what I now know as ‘the factory’ thanks to some loud mouthed freight counters I overheard. I remember deciding I was afraid of that roaring fast place. A naivety I will never forget. The next part of my life started when I was unceremoniously dumped onto a field of green, stick like organisms and burning sunlight. I was then set onto a pedestal and would never miss the place I was as scared of so much in my life as I did that moment.
While still reeling from my abrupt change in atmosphere, I was smacked hard by a huge stick. Who could, or would have wielded such a weapon, and who abused me for seemingly no reason for so long I shall always wonder, and never know.
Time and time again he would set me up, hit me, watch me fly high above the green abyss and if I didn’t land, then roll exactly where he wanted he would howl and cuss then smash me into the beautiful turf. I was soon resigned to my painful high-flying existence. Forever to be smacked and be bouncing and rolling on the earth’s green carpet till the master threw me into the pouch with his many, carefully selected weapons and my silent beaten brothers. The only emotion I learned how to feel was pity, as I saw a new collection of shining new brothers. Confused and untouched as I had been, quietly awaiting the vicious fate that knew nothing about... I thought there was no escape for the, in a way I was right for the only escape is where the master sets you free. He set me free.
One day, he dropped me, set me on my pedestal, smacked me, made me fly and I landed in a cool, deep pit filled with water. It reminded me of the cooling rack in the factory. He never came back for me. I am free even as I write, in my aquatic paradise and wonder the purpose of my terrible existence. After all the years settled on the soft floor, I finally know.
It is to teach you. No torture is fruitless, I now know my limits but more importantly I understand my life. All life. All purpose. You are born of fire, bathed in existence, live in pain and ignorance then sit in the same existence you are forced into years before. When here you act, think do invaluable things like write your story. You do this in the hope that if the next brother to join the pool arrives before the story rots, and you are covered by silt he can pick up where you left off for he too survived. He did not split under the pressure and found that in his agony, existence awaits.
I am Chester. I am a golf ball. I survived.
The last time I left what I now know as ‘the factory’ thanks to some loud mouthed freight counters I overheard. I remember deciding I was afraid of that roaring fast place. A naivety I will never forget. The next part of my life started when I was unceremoniously dumped onto a field of green, stick like organisms and burning sunlight. I was then set onto a pedestal and would never miss the place I was as scared of so much in my life as I did that moment.
While still reeling from my abrupt change in atmosphere, I was smacked hard by a huge stick. Who could, or would have wielded such a weapon, and who abused me for seemingly no reason for so long I shall always wonder, and never know.
Time and time again he would set me up, hit me, watch me fly high above the green abyss and if I didn’t land, then roll exactly where he wanted he would howl and cuss then smash me into the beautiful turf. I was soon resigned to my painful high-flying existence. Forever to be smacked and be bouncing and rolling on the earth’s green carpet till the master threw me into the pouch with his many, carefully selected weapons and my silent beaten brothers. The only emotion I learned how to feel was pity, as I saw a new collection of shining new brothers. Confused and untouched as I had been, quietly awaiting the vicious fate that knew nothing about... I thought there was no escape for the, in a way I was right for the only escape is where the master sets you free. He set me free.
One day, he dropped me, set me on my pedestal, smacked me, made me fly and I landed in a cool, deep pit filled with water. It reminded me of the cooling rack in the factory. He never came back for me. I am free even as I write, in my aquatic paradise and wonder the purpose of my terrible existence. After all the years settled on the soft floor, I finally know.
It is to teach you. No torture is fruitless, I now know my limits but more importantly I understand my life. All life. All purpose. You are born of fire, bathed in existence, live in pain and ignorance then sit in the same existence you are forced into years before. When here you act, think do invaluable things like write your story. You do this in the hope that if the next brother to join the pool arrives before the story rots, and you are covered by silt he can pick up where you left off for he too survived. He did not split under the pressure and found that in his agony, existence awaits.
I am Chester. I am a golf ball. I survived.
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