HOME | DD

Description
     They're spoken of everyday; these tragic events that take hold of the lives and minds of the people of this world.  Some give support as sympathy, others support by donations. Whether they truely want to help mankind or if they just use these deaths as a way of publicity, I do not know nor does it even matter to me.

     These stories playing on the news, the word of mouth that surges through the crowds, all of this, to me, seems like just a bedtime story that's told once, then easily forgotten.  Of course, there are those tales that reside in one's mind for years at a time, but even those, in time or in death, rot away with the cells that once held these ideas.

     The television, a box.  Sitting on the shelf, the floor, or attached to the wall.  One of many sizes, each of varying expense.  Each tells tales on the screen which eventually succumbs to static.  You can turn them on or off, change the story of which you'll listen, and rarely ever listen through to the end.  Never reaching the conclusion, whether it's to sleep or to work, school, friends, or family, the television will always be shut down.  So, with this box of tales, leisurely telling it's stories, no longer expecting anyone to listen, nor to understand, what is it I am supposed to believe of these tragedies on the screen when the clock flashes 6:00pm?

     It's a lie to say that I stop caring about something once it stars on the screen.  The truth is I never cared in the first place.  Life itself is just a drawn-out child's tale that always ends the same way.  The beginning and the end for everyone is always the same.  Sure, the middle may contain a few side-stories unique from the others, but in the end, it's just the same book written over and over, the author too tired or too lazy to alter the words.

     Written fantasies; the romance, mystery, and thoughts, all created by the mind in an attempt at twisting the normals of this life.  Reading these words, understanding these themes and provocative thoughts, there lies a more truer understanding of the world.  More reality resides in the words of the mind, and pulls my being into the imagination of these humans, each with different morals, ethics, dreamworlds, and ideas in general.

     Is it wrong for me to feel more alive in another's words than the physical world itself?  What would you do if you could completely reject reality and replace it with your own?  Would you take the chance that maybe this dull, repetitive reality isn't true reality at all?  What if the mind's idea is the true reality, and to destroy it, accepted reality would crumble as well?  Implode and expand in a burst of lava and flames, then suddenly fall into a deathly silence, forever to be forgotten by the minds that are fated to never remember again.

Description
     They're spoken of everyday; these tragic events that take hold of the lives and minds of the people of this world.  Some give support as sympathy, others support by donations. Whether they truely want to help mankind or if they just use these deaths as a way of publicity, I do not know nor does it even matter to me.

     These stories playing on the news, the word of mouth that surges through the crowds, all of this, to me, seems like just a bedtime story that's told once, then easily forgotten.  Of course, there are those tales that reside in one's mind for years at a time, but even those, in time or in death, rot away with the cells that once held these ideas.

     The television, a box.  Sitting on the shelf, the floor, or attached to the wall.  One of many sizes, each of varying expense.  Each tells tales on the screen which eventually succumbs to static.  You can turn them on or off, change the story of which you'll listen, and rarely ever listen through to the end.  Never reaching the conclusion, whether it's to sleep or to work, school, friends, or family, the television will always be shut down.  So, with this box of tales, leisurely telling it's stories, no longer expecting anyone to listen, nor to understand, what is it I am supposed to believe of these tragedies on the screen when the clock flashes 6:00pm?

     It's a lie to say that I stop caring about something once it stars on the screen.  The truth is I never cared in the first place.  Life itself is just a drawn-out child's tale that always ends the same way.  The beginning and the end for everyone is always the same.  Sure, the middle may contain a few side-stories unique from the others, but in the end, it's just the same book written over and over, the author too tired or too lazy to alter the words.

     Written fantasies; the romance, mystery, and thoughts, all created by the mind in an attempt at twisting the normals of this life.  Reading these words, understanding these themes and provocative thoughts, there lies a more truer understanding of the world.  More reality resides in the words of the mind, and pulls my being into the imagination of these humans, each with different morals, ethics, dreamworlds, and ideas in general.

     Is it wrong for me to feel more alive in another's words than the physical world itself?  What would you do if you could completely reject reality and replace it with your own?  Would you take the chance that maybe this dull, repetitive reality isn't true reality at all?  What if the mind's idea is the true reality, and to destroy it, accepted reality would crumble as well?  Implode and expand in a burst of lava and flames, then suddenly fall into a deathly silence, forever to be forgotten by the minds that are fated to never remember again.