All the truly dangerous characters in Portal 2 are female. GLaDOS, Chell, the functioning Turrets. For men there is Cave, who isn’t all too dangerous and should just be kept away from lots of funding. And, of course, Wheatly, who is just a moron who went a bit mad with power but still holds my undying love. Have I mentioned how much I love Portal?
Have I mentioned how I never play Portal?
The water sings its chaotic song
Soothing the souls of the tired and lost.
Souls of people who look out into this world
And wonder “What’s the point?”
Nothing can leave a lasting impression
So why should one as tiny and insignificant as a human being even try?
Everything will just run until it breaks
And everything will break.
So why try and fix what’s broken
If it will just break again.
Who cares about wars that kill millions
If those millions will die anyways?
The world is weak and fragile
So why try to preserve it?
Every dollar you make will be useless in the end
The Universe doesn’t care if you ended segregation.
But we go about our lives
Talking about “Good” and “Evil.”
Constructing and destructing like there’s a difference.
We fill ourselves with hope
But what is that hope for?
Hope that we will survive?
Because we won’t.
None of us will survive
Even in words everything is temporary
One day there will be no record of Shakespeare.
One day the Human Race will be a blip on the Earth’s history
And the Earth will be less than a blip to the Milky Way.
And do I even need to continue?
Everything is futile.
So why do I write?
Why do I scribble down my ramblings?
Why do I journey to places?
Why do I try different foods?
Why do I get to know the immaterial soul of another person?
Why do I take care of a dog?
Why do I plant a tree?
Why do I continue to exist?
Postpone my demise?
Why do I give a damn?
I don’t know
I really don’t.
But you know
I’m already here
So why not enjoy it?
Because right now I exist
Right now I’m real.
Right now time is passing
And I’m just sitting here
But you know what?
As the rain soaks my hair and these pages
Even though I;m under a leafy canopy,
I am content.
I am blissful.
This is how I want to live
Every moment of every day.
Each fat rain drop
Causing ripples in the puddles
In the lakes and in the streams.
I don’t know why I’m here
I will never know why.
But I don’t care.
Actually, scratch that
I don’t want to know.
Where’s the fun in knowing?
I may die at any second
But it doesn’t matter.
These may be the last words I’ll ever write
But look! I’ve written more!
Soon this time will pass into a memory
And then not even that.
But if I work at preserving every second for the future
How will I ever enjoy the now?
And yes, this has gone on for too long
And any poem it once wanted to be
But oh well.
Everything is pointless in the end
So why should my writing be any different?
I watched Inception last night (for the second time) and it made me wonder about dreams. What are dreams? Do they mean something? I have so many vivid dreams, and often I wake up and am like “that had to have meant something!” And then there’s lucid dreaming, where you know you’re in a dream and you can mess with whats happening to you. I never have lucid dreams, and I suppose I like it that way. In life you have to make a million choices, and I want to be able to go to sleep and go somewhere where I don’t have to make any. But dreams are just so tricky. A friend told me about how one time she had a very vivid dream about someone she had never met, and when she woke up and looked him up on the internet, he was real. To me that right there is proof that dreams happen for a reason. I just haven’t figured out what that reason is yet…
Dreams can be creepy, deceitful, and downright weird. Lately my dreams have left me waking up early, not wanting to go back to sleep. And yet, I much prefer these dreams that can bring me close to tears than lucid ones. Lucid dreams never seem as vibrant, never seem as fun, although I can often remember them better. I have a friend who thinks that he’s going mad if he has any dreams, especially non-lucid ones. His lost, he will never see how creative and imaginative he really can be. You know those dreams that are supposedly the best, you know, the ones where you fly? For me those are nothing compared to the ones where you fall. When my dream self jumps from a second-story window, everything slows down and I go further than a human ever could with Earth’s normal gravity. The funny thing is, I’m afraid of hights.
Girl with Imp Lights
What if the only knowledge of humans that aliens possessed of us was from our television shows?