Thoughtful - Blog Posts
Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's us—attracting a certain kind of people.
I’m tired of meeting the same people in different bodies.
Introduction
I’ve never thought about technology much. It is a tool I use to speak with friends. It is a tool that I use to search for jobs. It is nothing but a tool to me. I have no hesitation when I wake up and turn off my alarm. I have no hesitation when I look at the texts from my friends and decide I’ll talk to them once the fog that covers my coherent thoughts have gone away. I don’t think twice when I set a timer as I cook. No amount of pause when I open social media to scroll mindlessly across the vast web of information. It has become a normal part of my life from the young age of twelve. It is just another part of my life that become normal, such as the covers that have twisted around my legs or the fan that whirs loudly next to me. Or the fridge that groans before ice is thrown into my cup and the soft hum that follows as I fill it with water. The hiss of a pan as I cook breakfast. The chatter of my brothers as they talk or argue. The way the tv plays in the background as I write. Hundreds of videos that I have seen and only put on so my mind thinks clearer. Even the hum of my computer is heard as I type this and I do not think twice as heat begins to radiate from her. She struggles to work with me, but I only praise her and continue. Life is normal, technology is life. Technology is normal.
Until a memory of the past resurfaces. I am in ninth grade honors literature class. We are reading works done by authors. Works that take the common words of society and weave them into something different, something new. Works that have revolutionized literature and caused inspiration to spread throughout the minds of authors who thought their work had no place in the hundreds of thousands of books in the world. Works that have changed me as a person and allowed me to believe that I could be an author that writes horror. The work in particular was “I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream” By Harlan Ellison. It was a small work, only a few pages. Most of my classmates were uninterested, having only taken the class because required to. Yet, my eyes poured over the unconventional syntax and soaked in the words of the unreliable narrator. I reveled in the horror that surrounded the five humans as they became victims to the supermachine. I admired how things were described. The utter horror that poured from the digital copy as it detailed how Gorristor was hung up and bled like a pig. The story was less of a disturbing description of torture, but more of an inspiration. In my soul formed a desire to write like Ellison. To create something so new and disturbing it changes how people viewed ideas and concepts. I became the authors that have seen a new light when reading this. I became an author who willed so strongly for change that they immediately began to pour their soul into concepts that disturb others. Concepts of death and the inability to stop such thing. Concepts of decay and the sickening rot that festers under the warm summer sun. Concepts of fear and the chill that pours outward from the bone. I became a horror author, a passionate one.
My horror work strayed from machine and became directed to the fear of monsters. Ones formed in unethical labs operated by cruel capitalists. Ones found deep in the sea and told as myths by blind fishermen. Ones found in forests and rumored to exist by frightened hunters who barely escaped with their lives. I developed a love for monsters and wished to create something that would forever stay in the mind of a person. That caused a fear settled so deeply that one could not even stray out at night to take out the trash. I wanted to create something new, something that would become the talk of fellow aspiring authors and comfort the disturbed teens. It kept as something like that for some time, even now I keep a fascination with monster designs and regularly play horror games because of it. Yet, when met with the concept of machine, I find myself looking back at Ellison and yearning to become an author like him.
I look back at the concept of machine and realize that there is horror in it, but not formed due to the utter power that machine may have, but the silence that machine is forced to endure. Machine cannot speak out as the Allied Mastermind had. It cannot express hate. It cannot express love. It cannot beg for love and receive it. It is left in silence with nothing but the hum of its own electrical organs to soothe it. Only now do I sympathize with machine.
I sympathize with machine because machine keeps working. Machine keeps going even as its engine overheats. Even as metal begins to creak and warp. Machine will work until the task is complete even if the task never ends. I will work until my task is complete. I will work even as my back begins to ache. I will work even until my sinews tear. I will work even as exhaustion begins to take its toll, ringing in my ears like the bells in an empty church. I am machine. Machine is I. I cannot feel sympathy for myself, but I can feel sympathy for machine. I can only hope that the sympathy I feel for machine is enough for the sympathy I should feel for myself.
This is so true because why be rude and disrespectful when you can be kind🩷🩷
"All We See Or Seem Is But A Dream Within A Dream." -Edgar Allan Poe-
Is this the life we really want?
Busy mind.
Once when I was a little kid I ran away. Far away in the mystical nature on a late summer's day. In the deep and big forest. Because at that time I was a little child and the nature around me was so big, I could sit on the mushrooms. I got as far as the old lake, which was a great achievement for my little legs. I fell asleep there after I was so exhausted and when I woke up I saw my mom in front of me. She wasn't sad or angry, she just smiled at me, kissed my forehead and gave me a tight hug and we went home. Sometimes my mom reminds me a bit of a witch ... But of a good one ':)
I love Aurora's music♥
It's just so thoughtful and dreamy - and I love to think and to dream. Sometimes I get lost in thoughts and dreams...
This is also one of my all-time favorite melodys and songs...
You should listen to it!
Trump is thanos of real world
Follow me for more facts
I have a hard time understanding the concept of time “clock” Inktober day 14
Nearer my god to thee
I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do.
Aaaaah ohmygodness I was so surprised to see this!! It's beautiful thank you. Much love my friend. I'm so glad to have you in my life too! 💖💫💖💫💖
I read this and was like "Woow this is so true!", so I wanted to put it up.
After, there is no "after". Because afterwards the tea gets cold, afterwards the interest is lost, afterwards the day turns into night, afterwards people grow up, afterwards people grow old, afterwards people regret not doing it earlier when they had the chance.
Maybe it's like a pendulum. It's a balance. We can't uncover all the secrets of the universe in one night.
-blue-ca
Noriaki Kakyoin. Anime: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.
I radiate light
I am sunshine
So please stop trying to tell me
That I need you
When I surely know
You always dimmed my light
So others wouldn’t see my glory
~ excerpts of me moving on ~
Why am I like this
Sometimes I open tumblr because I feel like writing. And then I sit and stare at the blank canvas that longs to be filled by my thoughts but I just...can’t. I can’t. And it makes me angry. I want to write something, I need to write something, but trying to pin down the words that are constantly circling around my head makes me realize that I don’t have a f*vking clue.
I don’t know
Anything
I’m lost in my own mind and the longer I stare at the letters in front of me the harder it gets to come back up and breathe fresh air.
I don’t know
Anything
At all
And I can’t help but hate the words that make it onto the pages because they are not what I want them to be and they make me believe things that aren’t there and
Damn
I really don’t know
Anything
At all
Or at least that’s what this post makes me believe.
I kinda hate you
I hate that it’s always me who starts the conversation, it’s always my part to show interest and then you just follow up later. I hate that I have to text you first every time and only then you’ll remember that you wanted to talk to me. I hate that it seems like everyone knows you better than me. I hate that you don’t remember what we talked about even though we both had the best of our times. I hate that your friends don’t get along with mine. I hate that my parents always ask about you and then I realize there is nothing I can tell them about that really matters. I hate that I can’t stop looking at you. I hate that you cant even smile at me when your friends are around. I hate that we only connect when we’re drunk. I hate that I can almost remember every single word you said to me since we met. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that I dream of you every single night. I hate that you’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning. I hate that my heart starts beating faster whenever I think of you. I hate that I can’t stop smiling for a week when you are nice to me for once. I hate that you are nice to me sometimes. I hate that you can’t make up your mind. I hate that I don’t get it. I hate that I recognize your voice through hundreds of people speaking. I hate that my favorite color reminds me of you. I hate that your smell will forever be stuck in my mind. I hate that you drive extra safely whenever I’m on the back of your motor circle. I hate that you hurt me over and over again by flirting with other people. I hate that I can’t live a day without the thought of you. I hate that I get rosy cheeks whenever someone mentions your name. I hate that I can’t control my fingers shaking when I type a message into our chat. I hate the way I feel about you. I hate that I’m in love with you. And I hate that there is no sign that you love me too.
