Play, darling, play

Play, darling, play

Play for now

Play for then

Play for life

Not for later

Nor for death

For now will never come again

And soon now is gone

Death lies before us

Then now was then but that now is gone

Existing only in our memories

Later does not exist yet

Soon later is now and now is then

Soon always will be now and now always will be then

Death is always near

But play for now and play for then

Play, darling, play

Don’t waste your life on death.

We Forgot We Were Human - A short story

~~~

In humanity's great rush for the future, we forgot the most important thing that we could possibly forget. However, as we had forgotten about it, we did not think about it, which eventually led us to this.

Poetry does not exist anymore; neither does music or any fictional literature at all, because such phenomenons are all based on emotions and feelings, which do not exist. Not anymore.

We operate as we have for centuries; we wake up, go to work, go home, sleep, wake up, and so forth. No one really knows why any longer, but that is irrelevant. It is what we have done for centuries, ergo the norm, and the norm is all we have to tell us what to do. Without it, we could not function. It is said that humans used to say that about emotion, but we have no need for emotion. Not anymore.

I do not feel. I have never felt, and therefore I am unaware of how feeling feels like. I only know that I have never felt it because if I had felt it, I would have felt it. It is what is said about feeling and emotion; that you could feel it. But I cannot. No one can. Not anymore.

Although, I have read about it in ancient books, probably from the 19th and 20th century. For a while, such books where hidden away so that we would not risk to read them and be 'inspired' (whatever the meaning of that word is) to feel; however, that was soon considered unnecessary as no one sought them. No one cared any longer, because the feeling had already begun to fade. I know that the books speak of feelings because they use those strange words, and they describe them; 'anger', 'stress', 'happiness', 'feeling low'. I soon stopped reading them because they were meaningless; they all took it as for granted that I, too, felt, which I have never done. They wondered why, asked for my emotions, and I tried to explain that I do not feel. They denied the truth I presented to them, and therefore I stopped reading them; they denied the norm, as no one does. Not anymore.

This is where humanity's great rush for the future has led us; this is what happened when we forgot the most important thing that we could ever forget. But I do not care. No one does. I have no opinion; there are no opinions. Not anymore.

This is the story of how we lost the most important thing we ever could lose, the one that makes a human human; this is the story of how we forgot we were human.

~~~

The Light Within

There is an old house down by the moor
It has a rumour of being haunted
Perhaps you have heard the story before?

In which case, I shall not bother to tell it
But I have made some interesting observations
Involving a spirit

Now, you might from this have concluded
That I believe to have seen a ghost by the moor
But no, I am not yet quite so deluded

For, you see, it is not a disembodied person
Which has caught my eye;
It is not it's previous inhabitant, Mrs Anderson

No, this house holds
Something quite more extraordinary;
As is told in none of the tales of olds

At night
The whole house will shimmer
With an inward light

For the spirit of the house
Is the house itself
And not the deceased spouse

You might ponder
Why this seemingly simple house
Is filled with such wonder?

That, I cannot answer
Yet, depending on your preferred ideology
There are some suspicions
Some involving ancient, alien technology

Image source

Sunday afternoons with smoke from incense and steam from tea

As the smoke from the incense
Interweave with the steam
Of the newly brewed tea
And the sun sets in the distance,
Emitting an orange light
Which wraps the world in a glowing light
Coordinating with my misty room
I think of no one in particular
For I have no one in particular to think of
Instead I pick down from a shelf
My favourite book,
Open the cover
And fall down through the pages
To the circus in which I wish I could live
Or to space, to distant lands
Where adventures roam everyday
But as I am there,
Just where I want to be,
A sudden, loud bang
Reaches my ears
And I am yanked back from the world of the book
To my dull, ordinary room
Thinking of no one in particular
As the sun disappears beyond the horizon
Leaving the world in darkness
The tea cup stands empty
The incense burnt out.

The 'normal girl vs. fangirl' phenomenon

I was just scrolling through my tumblr dashboard, and came across this post.

Nice touch with the Moriarty gif, but I have some serious criticism for gallifreyansquid's comment.

1. How can she (I know that it is a person of female gender because I looked it up) possibly know what 'normal' girls think of, seeing as she appears to consider herself as one of these weird 'fangirls'? The answer is, she cannot.
2. Besides, and I cannot stress this enough: There is no such thing as a 'normal' person. What gallifreyansquid does, which sadly is rather common on tumblr, is to completely generalise every person of female gender who does not consider themselves 'weird' in the same way as they do. I am pretty sure that most 'normal girls' think about other things than getting married and perfect outfits. What gallifreyansquid wrote is equal to writing that 'Fangirls just daydream about their OTP and what post to reblog next'. If you have been to tumblr, you will notice that this is not the case; there are plenty of posts that covers neither of those subjects. Maybe there are 'fangirls' who only daydream about that, I don't know, I have not spoke to all of them, but most of them do not. The same goes for 'normal girls'.
3. Yet another fault that is seen both in gallifreyansquid's comment, and in general on tumblr: 'Normal girls'. People of female gender. Fangirls. There is no room for male fans on tumblr. Here we all have a vagina. No vagina, no tumblr. Or, well, you can still have a tumblr and hang out there, but you will be secluded in most posts. Ah, love what an accepting place tumblr is.

Actually, going by tumblr's norms, gallifreyansquid did not do anything wrong. Her comments fit perfectly with all the other special snowflake-ness and sexism that is far too commonly found on the online community of tumblr.

This makes me wonder why I still have tumblr, but I think it is because when tumblr is nice, it is really nice. But there is this side of it.

I cannot produce an adequate title

I try to write,
To create magic
By combining letters
Yet my ability seem lost
The letters drift in front of me
In a blur of my confused mind
As I try to grab them, to form them,
They drift but further away,
Even more concealed in my mind's foggy mist
And I am but left alone,
My wand stolen,
My inability
To practise the magic
Of words
Lasting evermore
Never faltering
Always
Just
Here

Making people feel appreciated

If there is something I am rubbish at, it is showing people in my surroundings how much I appreciate their existence and the fact that they are a part of my life.

That is partly because I do not wish to sound cheesy (for some reason I have no wish to be a cheesy-kind-of-person), but mainly, I believe, because I am afraid to scare them away; I am afraid that they do not appreciate me and my existence, at least not as much as I do theirs (yay low confidence), and if I come up to them and am all like 'HELLO YOU ARE WONDERFUL PERSON I APPRECIATE YOUR EXISTENCE PLEASE DON'T EVER DISAPPEAR FROM MY LIFE', and they do not feel the same toward me, it will make them uncomfortable and they will slowly remove themselves from my life. Which is seriously stupid and sad, because I know how wonderful it is to feel appreciated and loved; to know that at least someone does not consider you nothing but a pain in the ass.

There are, I think, approximately three people who know that I appreciate their existences, which is far less than the real amount of people who's existence I appreciate. Which sucks.

Furthermore, I feel an even greater urge to tell people how much I appreciate their existences when they seem to be a bit low, but then it feels even more pathetic because I feel like I say it merely as an attempt to make them feel better. But it is not like that.

This text is not heading for some clever conclusion, because there is no clever conclusion. This time it is merely me telling a tale from my awkward life. But if you happen to have some clever conclusion, a tale from your own awkward/not-that-awkward life, a comment, or whatever, please do share in the comment section. I like comments; they make my blog feel like it is appreciated. (Yes, I am really pathetic enough to be asking you for comments. And my blog does not actually feel appreciated if you comment, because it is a blog, so it lacks of emotion. Did you really think that a blog could have feelings? That is slightly peculiar.)