brownielady

Boredom is a ghost; it can possess a person to do its bidding, and it never dies. Boredom leads to things, things people cannot control. It may lead to evil thoughts, evil actions, or simply evil intentions. But boredom is not all strictly evil causing it numbs the mind causing it to do nonsensical and purposeless things. It may possess the mind to write something, to draw something, to build something, even to dream something. But as common sense dictates it must all stem from somewhere.

 If boredom is some ghost who runs around possessing those with idle hands it must have come from somewhere. Who is boredom the ghost of? Did boredom just sprout as a ghost from nowhere running around instigating thought? Or could boredom simply be the cumulative ghost of past thoughts?  Past thought and ideas that have been abandoned and left to rot in some kind of figurative cellar. Ideas people dismissed as idiotic or too time consuming that float around, die, join the ghost of boredom in its reign and later possess the mind of the unsuspecting victim.

Or am I simply rambling on about the random occurrences in my mind due to my own bout with boredom? Most likely. I mean honestly I have made no real point, I have no evidence to support my idea, and I am sitting in a computer lab with no internet looking for something to occupy my mind. This is all just my imagination run wild because I am lacking my USB drive and cannot finish writing my story. I am actually considering thoughts having life, and having souls that can later become ghosts. Not only ghosts no, no that would be too simple, ghosts that unite to form a state of being that possess  those with nothing to do. There is no way anything I have just written down is legitimate. It is just me rambling on and on trying to think of something worth writing and waiting for the clock to hit 12:50 so I can go to my next class.

You know in the beginning this was meant to be a poem, but I am not the best poet I am a better rambler. Me. Who am I? I just wrote a paper on one of my made up identities, none of it is true. I just had to fill up space on a page so I could get a grade… why has writing become this to me? Why has it become rambling for a grade? When did the shift from writing for fun and to unload the mind, to mindless paper filling? Sure, sure for some writing still has some life and some true thought, but not all their writing. Writers of my generation have been reduced to being forced to write things, not interesting mind provoking things, but boring redundant things that only make the mind shrink more and more. When did writing die? Yes, I said it, writing is dead, it is no longer an art with beautiful eloquent language, constantly evolving plots, ever growing characters, and hidden messages. Writing is now so simplistic and cliché, so the common man could understand.

But why? The common man barely reads why must writing have to lower itself to their standards? Has no one noticed the lack of modern books in literature classes, the sole existence of books from ages ago when writing was a true art? This is because writing is nothing now but smut, and similar plots with similar characters. All that gets changed is names and settings. But that’s not right, writing is an expression of self, a literary image of the writers mind is it not? No, of course not, at least not anymore with books that are actually read. Now it is all about what the common reader wants, and the common readers of modern books are idiots. They have no idea what true writing is that want a good fast story with the same plot as always and with a hero who save the princess, or whatever other Super Mario fantasy they have. Back in the days of true writers they were poor individuals who wrote for the sake of writing, and who loved the art, now writers are rich and respected with best sellers and huge publishing companies. I do not consider them to be writers, I will admit I am a victim of the Harry Potter phenomena and I will admit that was a great story. But the story was so lifeless and it continued and continued. The writer became a slave of the publisher, not a slave of the mind all of it was done for money. They made movies and merchandise and all this other unnecessary crap that did nto pertain to the story. When is the last time you saw a Wuthering Heights Heathcliff action figure? Or a Tess doll with peony lips? Never! Because that was writing for writing not writing for ratings.