writing?

I like writing because it’s fun to do, a way to play god without any of the megalomaniac side effects. Or maybe they are there, nobody can really say because the written word comes directly from your soul. It hammers against the back of your brain assaulting your cognitive senses then bursts forth onto the page wowing and amazing all who behold it in all it’s reverent glory. Of course there are the few pieces of swill that burn the back of your retinas forcing you to your knees in shock and pain as you dig deep gouges into your skull in a futile attempt to free the hell fire burning within your soul.

Playing god with words, at first glance this seems like a terribly complex topic, and indeed it is. Yet authors do it all the time, with every book you read, movie you watch, hell even some songs you hear, people create worlds in which others interact, live, solve problems, and overcome obstacles, all of which are part of the grand scheme of playing god. If you were to miss one detail the entire complex universe you have created would crush down upon your unsuspecting characters heads and crush them all in a gruelling and agonizing death. If, however, you’re a megalomaniac this is exactly what you would want to happen, if you see someone who is about to challenge your grand delusional fantasy stumbles along in the story, you simply omit to his knowledge that he is about to walk into a shark infested sewage drain and be ravenously devoured in a terribly gruesome manner, all of which is of course, witnessed by a deranged young child who is immediately slapped in irons and shipped off to the funny farm.

But how on earth could this possibly attack your cognitive sense? Well, throughout any given day everyone receives millions of tiny fragments of information . We store these little tidbits in our subconscious and let our brain develop them as they see fit. This, naturally, forces the brain to shoot images into your brain, and in order to make sense or these images we must create stories to match them. The subconscious part of our brain is continuously working and throwing images into our cognitive mind so that the senses can arrange them and order them into a clear decipherable well formed story that we can then relay onto the hapless vagrant seeking shelter on the park bench next to you.

Lastly the swill that is presented to you on a daily basis. This is often quite entertaining, merely because you can try and force yourself into the brain of the incredibly strange person that thought to put it forth. However, it is often found that these pieces lack continuity or any semblance of intelligence, in other words, complete nonsensical falsities they threw onto paper in a rushed attempt to finish the assignment that they had been trying to mull over for a short period of time, something which all teachers secretly loathe and fear and probably for this reason they should all bring a small hatchet to class to hack the poor unsuspecting swill merchants ankles into wee bloody stumps.

And so, to conclude, writing is a fantastic way to alleviate all of the woes that plague your soul; it can also work as a means to torture all those sly tricksters that threw rocks at you in third grade that you have secretly been contemplating revenge upon for the better half of your life. Yes, indeed writing is a fantastic and pleasurable activity that more people should relish upon in instead of that vile and sanctimonious television which we so frequently surround ourselves with.