Bad Fiction Ep. 3 & 4 [Bonus Content]

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Bad Fiction Episode 3

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The clouds were gathering a few miles away from our town. The sun was approaching its target, as the sky grew red, purple and orange. That was the faithful moment the two met. It was after hours, somewhere after the building they were working in. As their eyes met, their feet started getting in sync. They were walking at the same pace, it was something wonderful. Like finding your one true love in a split second. The tension between them was electric, the sparks were flying. The danger signs were showing all around them. You couldn’t even approach them. Because if you did, you’d get electrocuted. It was something magical, something everyone dreams of. A fairy tale in real life. Time flew by, as each step drew them closer to each other. Nothing stopped them from getting on each other right there and then. In the middle of the street. No one stopping them, because they knew… They knew that what they had could never be matched. They knew that people would stand in awe at their chemistry, something as amazing as this would never show its head ever again. So, as the sun set, as the first stars glew on the sky. As the universe seemed to have aligned just for them, the got even closer. At this point the people around them were in mortal danger. Their sparks were flying left and right, he was biting his lips. She was biting her other lips, people were getting hot and bothered just by being in their vicinity. She loved him, like a love song, baby. Because he was a dangerous kind of guy, a special kind of guy. With he was a spinner boy, he was telling her to fidget his spinner, kind of boy. She touched him, he started moaning. People were looking, but they didn’t care. He was touching her legs, she was trembling. The earth was shaking, he was like a superstar. She was his muse. After five minutes of foreplay, she started screaming, he kept moaning. The moon was bright and full in the sky, everyone admired them. But after another five minutes she grew tired of his moaning and bitching about everything. Because he kept saying he wanted to crack open a cold one with the bois and she wanted to see him do nose dives on the pavement. He couldn’t leave since she got that milkshake that caught him in the first place. Nothing really made any sense for him anymore, as he felt like a Pokemon in a PokeBall, caught by that bastard Giovanni, just because he could do nose dives and be a Licktung. And it was all so obvious, because he was a boy, and she was a girl. And they super liked each other on Tinder, even though they both were fifteen. Such a romance wasn’t even heard of since Romeo and Juliet, such a thing of beauty no one wrote since Shakespeare. And I am that guy to write this. Obviously the story ends with the two lovers breaking up after a week of relationship and they both gave up on women and men, respectively. As she became a feminist and he became a woman. #woke #TheEnd

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Bad Fiction Episode 4 - A Star Wars Episode

“It has been years.” said Luke.

He looked up, as to signal that the end has begun already.

“I need a teacher.” said Rey.

“I can’t teach you.” said Luke. “It’s time for the Jedi to end.”

The air got heavier, a darkness was spreading around us.

“It is time…” said a familiar voice.

“It isn’t!” Luke screamed. 

Rey stood there in shock. The cave shook with Luke’s voice.

Scared, Rey asked “What just happened?”

“It’s nothing.” Luke responded.

“Skywalker, now is your turn.” said Kenobi.

“No, it’s not. This can’t happen again.” replied Luke flustered.

“Hmm… Must you do. Duty have you.” said Yoda.

“Like you did?” Luke screamed again.

In shock Rey stands in a corner, afraid to reach to him. Yet she gets some courage to ask Luke: “Who are you talking to?”

“Kenobi and Yoda.” disgruntled he replied. “They are force ghosts now.” e continued.

‘I see.” said Rey with a concerned look on her face.

“For you to bring this to an end, you have to do this.” said Kenobi annoyed by Luke’s attitude.

“You must repent for your mistakes, I know how hard this can be. I am your father.”

“I know, stop saying that.” replied Luke that was about to exploded into pieces. “Why are you guys here?” he continued.

As this continued, Rey went to the Falcon. As he entered the ship, Chewy was looking at her with hope in his eyes. As she shook her head to signal a no, she went to the comms to talk to Leia.

“Rey?” Leia asked.

“Yes, it’s me. I found him.” Rey responded.

“And?”

“I’m sorry… He isn’t himself.”

In disbelief Leia asked: “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“Well… He has dementia. He started talking to dead people. Right now he is in an argument with some Yenobi and Koda.”

Chewy growled.

“Oh… Well, we’re going to have to do this on our own.” said General Leia.

And that’s why Luke was the last Jedi. The End.

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A ghost

I'm a dependent ghost...

I always thought that I'm some more, something that the world doesn't understand or comprehend. I've always stood and watched, life, people, nature, take it course and watch them flout away on a river that never moves, you could call it the longest lake in existence. I've seen so much tragedy, so much pain, and yet still want to believe in what's right in this world. Still want to change the wrongs of people, even though no one listens to me. It's hopeless, but that's me a hopeless romantic, I'm stupid for believing or even trying. I want to give the world a hand of hope, an alternative to everything that is wrong and yet I can't even bring myself to stand up straight in the morning and change the way I live. I want so much more from the world to be and to reach it's true potential and thinking that I might get a response from a few, to wake up a feeling in them, or a thought. What am I thinking? Why am I doing this? When even I can't really feel anything anymore, or change or do anything anymore. I'm nothing left but a empty shell, a ghost that wonders this world hopelessly depending on the idea of something more than what it is today. I depend on the idea of love, improvement, criticism.

The truth is, I might be less than everyone I have ever looked down on. I'm not smarter than everyone I have ever met. I can't be, because I can't do anything other than depend on ideas without the courage of deciding what's right or wrong. And someone like me can't see what's right or wrong anymore, doesn't see it, because I once had a reason, so I'm lying to myself saying that it still exists, even though it's long gone. I've been on this self-destructive path so long, that I became a ghost and everyone around me is now just a memory. It's hard for someone stupid like me, I only understood now after years of self-torture. Now when I have no more reason to really live. I'm looked at something that it's pitiful, that had potential and remain something no one will ever look at again. I'm sad, I'm hurt, I'm all alone now. There are voices of the past, I want to fix them and make them go away.

I want to escape and start a new, but I'm dependent, I'm stupid and I don't understand. I buried my head in music for a long time, expressing feelings that I had. Then it was learning, drinking, smoking, even working. Recently I buried myself writing lyrics, poetry, stories and reading lot's of reading and internet. I can't sleep anymore, every night I'm awake, and even when I want to sleep all I do is look at the ceiling and I'm chocked up with tears. I have no idea what I'm doing right now. Everything is dark, people are so confusing, nothing works for me anymore. I'm sad, but it feels good to feel sad, because it's the only thing I can be honest right now. That and the fact that I became a ghost.

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New Book Announcement

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I think, at some point we all asked ourselves: “What if?” Just that, just those two small tiny words. Which were the inspiration for this third chapter too… A classic question everyone had to think about at some point, just like we all wished we had started working on something earlier, or if we’d been more driven to succeed at a younger age. Or simply dealing with the anxiousness that is life. That is the base level of the story of Trapped: Winter, the third chapter of the Trapped: Seasons series, complete with a new setting, created by your mind. New characters in a new world that feels old. Because what is dead may never bleed, what is dead may never bleed, what is dead may never bleed.

Trapped: Winter is the something else of my works. With each chapter written in this series, the more I got to discover myself and create something rather unique. The story of an old man, Richard, running away from something strange, something dangerous which he can’t control. And Mark, this adult chasing something, anything for the sake of it. We have here an interesting parallel between someone that is being chased and someone that is chasing. The apparent disconnection between the two situations makes us draw lines, just so we can compare them to one another. But still, to any story I write there’s something more, due to the need to try and portray a better, more concise look, having a batter grasp on the story, the characters. We also have the weird, the mysterious, the out of place yet it makes sense. After writing this series for two years, with the progression of time, it changed. And this can be seen through the characters and their dialogue. As with the previous two Trapped: Seasons books, this one has a similar style. A Shakespearean style play, put as a novel and filtered through today’s eye in order to try and create something more. Keep an eye on the blog for more news, cover reveal, a full synopsis and more details about the book launch.

The book Trapped: Winter will have its launch on Saturday January the 12th and will be available for pre-order as an ebook soon.

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Death of Love's Hero.

There once was a boy,

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In this perfect world that everybody lived in. Every person could find their place or just travel until they would. Love was found every where, you could see it in the eyes of men, women and children. Dreams were fulfilled, people were happy, so why in a perfect world, do we tell this story about a happy boy? Well he was happy, but not normal, not like everyone else normal. In every story there must be a balance, like in every world and if the balance get's too one sided. Well, not too long until someone will bring the balance back. With everyday he grew and with every negative response he got, he felt like he was pushed and bullied, day by day, he failed seeing the points of those that pushed him time after time. His understanding was short of logic and reason, the pieces didn't make any sense, nothing had it's place. Day after day he asked around to find that piece that could tie at least two pieces together, but he failed to find them. He tried for years, through puberty, and even after. Getting himself closed in a corner of a house, trapped and short in sight.

The moon became his best friend, the voice of reason was agreeing with him saying "Why are they doing this? It's harmful!". The moon always told him: "The universe might seem to be a mess, but everything has it's point and everything is in it's place.". Starting to thing that he's crazy, talking to the moon and himself trying to figure out what's wrong with him or the world. Frustration was building up inside him, stress was killing him, no one understood him, so short was this young man to snapping and losing it. He never understood why it was him, that couldn't do one thing right? How come in this perfect world this amazing universe, made the most imperfect man there could be? He needed relief and the only way he knew to express himself was by writing, he began writing lyrics, stories, he wrote everything down that hurt him. So he wrote songs two a day, stories more than you could ever read in two life times. His way of dealing with the world didn't change anything, but freed him, at least for a minute of peace, until everything crashed again. Escaping was no option ,there was no place to run, even though he began to roam the world.

Years of writing and traveling and he still didn't understand how in this world, the only thing he got was hate or rejection. He knew people weren't against him, but they were for themselves. With every dream crushed and every negative response, he managed to get back on his feet. Because the only thing he desired was to find that one place, that had love for him, that understood what he wanted. That dream of building a world around a person, and every time their world would collapse to rebuild it. Even at the thought of knowing that there is such a place, his power grew stronger and stronger. And his sight was narrower and narrower by day. Until the faithful day when he collapsed on his knees screaming: "If there is one person, in this world..." and thus giving his last breath, dying somewhere unheard as the man that love would call him his hero.

The story says that there was no one since him to give such love to the world, because no one ever heard of him and no one knew him. He was a silenced romantic that died for love, but noticed by nobody.

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Bad Fiction Ep. 1 & 2 [Bonus Content]

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Bad Fiction Ep. 1

As I lift my eyes up, looking at the sky. It dawned on me, the burn of my peehole was a result of all that love I had in me.

“Why are you crying?” she asked like nothing happened.

“It’s nothing, I’m just distraught.” I lied to her. It was the fact that my poopy hole was itching, and she didn’t take her eyes of me. They were really slimey.

“It’s okay, baby.” She continued.

It was not okay, between my two problems the erection she had was only making things harder for me. And the fact that the spaghetti I ordered was so salty, made me think of all those League players I bummed.

“Do you want something for dessert? Or do you want to have dessert at home?” She asked then winked at me. In all honesty, I had no fucking idea what she was talking about. Since she put her finger in the cream the waiter brought her for the coffee.

“Yes, I would like something sweet, not sour.” I said. She frowned afterwards. I was pleased, she looked better when she frowned. Like Batman, but sexier. Since she didn’t need a costume. She was a mystery for me, yet I can’t forget about her and that dinner… As if this wasn’t the last time we’re going to see each other in such a setting.

Bad Fiction Ep. 2

It was a faithful day. The time seemed to stop. The sun was shining. We bathe in its rays for the first eight hours. We were simply delighted.

“What a great day.” She spoke softly.

“Indeed.” I responded in a crass voice.

“Hopefully tomorrow will be the same.” She said with hope and a smile on her face.

“Aaaahhhh!!!” We both screamed. We didn’t know whose smile flew on her face.

“I love you!” We heard as the sky shook.

“I love you!” It continued the voice, as it seemed to get closer.

“I lo…”

“We know!” We shouted back and interrupted the voice.

“Hmph!” We heard, as everything was wrapped in a blinding light. It started to rain, with every drop we heard a matching scream.

“You two are rude, hope you both freeze to death. Have a good night.” Said the voice, as the air was filled with the smell of cooked bacon, burnt hair and screams of agony. The blinding light turned to darkness, the heat of the day turned to freezing cold. As the faithful day turned to a sleazy night. The crying of the sun could still be heard sometimes, even though we haven’t see him take to our sky to give us warmth.

“Betty?” I asked, with no answer, sadly.

“Betty?” I asked again, trying to find some hope in this darkness. Everything under my feet seemed to be ashes. I fill my mouth with some meat that I found on the ground. I was hungry. The screams died down, it seems I was alone. I would have cried, if my eyes wouldn’t have melted. Especially knowing that this meat tasted like my sweet Betty. My sweet and dear cow. It was the last time i actually ate anything. And that was fifteen years ago.

“Do you love me now?” I hear again… As everything burns once again. But it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was just searching for love.

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Censor$%&p

Humans... The only beings that use articulate means of expressing themselves, but also censoring themselves.

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We use different means of communicating with each other, either by spoken words, written words, sign language or body language. We use languages to express ourselves and transmit information and so on and so forth, I think you might know well what languages are used for. But we're also the only creatures to express, define and understand an infinity of things, essences, ideas, feelings and so on. So why censor any of it? Isn't the beauty of humanity to express ourselves in the words we use? Why is it that people think that a certain more vulgar way of expressing, and explaining things is crude and childish? I think that limiting the use of languages in any way is nothing but harmful and it let's language to be used as a tool for carefully crafted manipulation and masking of the truth. Even though the same limitations do backfire when it's used by public speakers or politicians. And when I say masking of the truth I don't mean conspiracy stuff, I am referring to everything. There's a way to express things directly and in a simple way, but the use of over-complicated words and censoring makes a cover for many loopholes and interpretations. Even for things that should be expressed directly.

And then there is the "Why?" when it comes to censoring, many people consider censoring of the language in movies or any type of content for what? To preserve the innocence of children? Not let children be exposed to profanity? Isn't that the same problem as the idea of sex talk? Where parents and society in general avoid talking about sexuality because they don't know how to explain it? Which leads to problems like what is consent and teen pregnancies? Not exposing children to profanity, sex and sexuality or violence, does not help them in any way, they will see or hear about it in any way, shape or form. And there won't be anyone to explain it to them, which like I said can lead to big unforeseen problems, because usually the response from authorities like parents or teachers is to scold the children, instead of educating them. Which ultimately will have the opposite result, making them want to use the words in the utmost worst way. Instead of being curious of why and learn to understand.

And while we're on it, we have to talk about sensitivity. I don't get the idea of being insulted, offended and so sensitive to words in the first place. Words can't bare any weight to them if you don't give them power in the first place, so being insulted because someone said something is plain stupid. Instead of being offended or insulted why not educate and talk to them? If that doesn't work then don't bother with them anymore, it just isn't worth it. And I have to mention again the fact that jokes, jokes are a free for all and it's the pure form of uncensored language. And bringing up people to be sensitive to jokes or any words for that matter, does nothing but... Well look at this past generations and today's generation to see how sensitive are people. Now I have to say this, I am not saying that being insulted, offended by words, jokes, insults is a bad thing. Because when it comes to certain things it is important to feel offended or insulted, but by words and ideas that diminish a certain group of people, being by ethnic, sexual preferences or human rights.

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Address to a dress

Let's just get over with this.

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God damn it, the sexiest thing a woman or anyone can have is not their mind. A mind is nothing tangible or sexy in the slightest, neither is(referring to being sexy) her/his brains. So please stop saying that, here's the thing. For someone to be sexy it means that they must think, act, be a certain way to appear more appealing to someone. It means maybe for some to have confidence, to smile a lot, the way they talk, walk, flirt, express themselves. Those are things that make someone be sexy, attractive or appealing. Not their mind, brain or heart, secondly not everyone can be sexy, attractive or appealing. Let's face it (or maybe not), some are fat and disgusting, some don't wash themselves and are disgusting, finally some are just damn ugly and disgusting. And there is nothing sexy about that unless you make it so, with the help of fetishes.

No matter how intelligent, approachable, mature, wise, cunning a person might seem when you talk to them, ultimately after seeing all those things, your boner (visible or not) is going to be because of your physical attraction towards her. Not your urge to fuck her mind or brain, because there are many people you can be attracted just in a physical way, without even noticing what they are saying. That's why there are so many "hot" and sexy and attractive people to which we look up to. We really don't give a rats ass about what they think, feel or say, as long as we are attracted to the physically, we can forgive and forget a lot of bullshit. Besides many people even if they are mature, wise, intelligent, they are not sexy, most of them you can ignore or at least don't want to get to know them better. Well that's unless they are attractive and you're willing to sacrifice your peace just to be with them.

Want proof? Well here's a good example, Emma Stone. She believes her grandfather, which she never met and has passed away, leaves 25 cents around her house/apartment. Kesha thinks she fucked a ghost, Tom Cruise thinks aliens did something to us, just look up scientology (too long to discuss and I'm not willing to do that right now). And I could go on for hours on end, the point is, we do not care, we find them sexy, attractive, hot or dreamy. But not due to their minds or/and brains, and it's bullshit. No, actually it's hypocritical of every woman/man that says that the sexiest thing about someone is their mind, because what everyone looks for and judges a future partner first and foremost is how they look. If they do not like that or are not attracted enough by you, than what do you think really does not matter? Looks or brains? If that would be true, the fact that the mind is the sexiest thing anyone can have, we would have had from now until the dawn of time, people competing to be the smartest person on this planet or universe, rather than posting shitty fucking quotes on social media.

[Take this short story rant for what it is.]

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To The Black Coated Red

From Me,

I feel like a dumb-ass, but I don't know how to reach you otherwise or how to make you realize it. I am trapped in between the walls you created. I am simply stuck, and creepily as this might seem, you left me to death when I wonder towards the black coated red you used on me, even though unwillingly. I don't know why yours worked when nothing else did before on me like that. And I write to you again from the corner of the black coated red where some dark escapes to bring some light, even though it might never reach you as I want to.

The more I stay here and think about it, the more I don't want to leave, the more I try to leave and find an exit to all this, the pain only increases in intensity, yet I enjoy it. It works my mind in a weird way and the conflict excites me, just as the improbability drives me. The odds of death and misery to those of disappointment only for a piece of happiness are thrilling. Just the thought of the forbidden fruit that might be hidden either ,inside this place of black coated red where you trapped, or somewhere outside these walls, me makes me smile like an idiot. As a flawed human there's nothing more I desire than that which you hid from me, even though it might be just an illusion  or a lie, I want to take that chance for only one bite, just like Eve bit into the apple. And risk an eternity in hell for one simple taste of Eden. 

I am getting blinded by darkness, though there's still a glimmer of light in the corner of my eye that guides me nowhere, but holds me running in circles. And shadows seem to grow around me taller and taller to take my last piece of light and empty my sight, but I close my eyes to see a brighter light, one that frees me from the black coated red you've entangled me. A place where I can see stars again and that black coated red is nowhere to be seen, just a simple pixel in the vast past that once was shelter or a chamber of torture. The touch of the free soul of mine with the stars is nothing but soothing and smooth. I finally found the place I wanted us to arrive at from the start, that piece of Eden in hell. 

Yet here I am feeling pressure on my chest, suffocating slowly, as I open my eyes to see the black coated in red taking my last breath and smile as I am relieved of my misery.

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The Boy That Cried

A tear can be more then enough...

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I was told since I can remember that family is supposed to be love, support, trust and happiness. And a home should be a place where there are no mistakes and there's always forgiveness and a warm meal that comes along with the embrace of feeling safety at any time. I believed in this idea and I still do, since a family should be all that and more, even if families differ and have their different religious beliefs or traditions, no matter how broken it is a family and a home should be the same thing for everyone. I might be naive and one of the biggest fools you're reading about. But we all wish that what I believe would be true for each and every case, even though we all know it's impossible and it's most likely just a lie we use to make ourselves feel better. As I was growing up I didn't understand what was happening around me or why and I couldn't care less since my promise was being kept. But as time passed cracks started to show up and the things I didn't care about and didn't know about started to show little by little, and my precious world started to be shaken, but I wasn't scared I knew problems would occur, I knew the world wasn't perfect it was only bigger then me, but I also knew the fact that I was growing and the world would get smaller and I was right. As we moved from a place with many dear people to me to a place where we were just a few, that was the first time I was told that this is my home and in this very place whatever happens I will be safe and I will have my place here. And the fact that our family should trust each other and we shouldn't lie when we're in a family. My dream became reality, I was finally home, my first home and the only home I knew

I was afraid as things flew around the house and screams were all I was hearing. Shouts of hate were all around me, I couldn't understand why was this happening and how can this be reality, when I was promised a loving family and a paradise just for being their son. As my father threw everything he could grasp in sight in his madness, the slurs that were said that night I still can remember them clear as the light from the summer sun. After a while all calmed down while the tears were just rushing on my mothers face and my brother was just oblivious to what was happening. The next day everything went back to normal like nothing happened, I couldn't grasp the situation, but I didn't care since my home was still standing and for that alone I was happy. A few days later while I just fell asleep I just heard a shout and a slur, it was happening again. He just came woke me up screamed at me and for some reason just threw me at the wall while telling me I'm a worthless piece of shit. I don't know what I did wrong or why I was punished for something, but everything was hurting. I couldn't get up from the bed as I heard my mother screaming and he insulting her over and over again. In the end I couldn't hear or see anything, I just fainted. The next morning I woke up and went to school, on my way to school my nose started bleeding, that never happened to me before. I was scared I didn't know why all that was happening. The same night, he came and started screaming again, insulting me and my mother, he started throwing the food around as he hit me with a plate and mother with a jar. I was petrified, what was I to do or try to help her and myself in this situation? When suddenly he got up from the table took a knife ripped mother's clothes while insulting her, I started pulling him, but I didn't have any power to actually do anything. He just looked at my mother and said "If you dare take this fucking knife out of this wall I am gonna fucking brake you! Now give me something to fucking eat.". I just went and hid under the blankets helpless, scared and scared. All this became a habit for him and a very cruel punishment for my home and what I could call a safe place to be.

In the end, the only thing that changed until this day is the fact that I am now seeking someone to build that home with, and now that I burned down my false and ruined home. I really do hope I can find another place and someone to build a home with.

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Observer

"This world is a giant circus, and I have front row seats to the show" - George Carlin

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I myself like to think of my actual job as an observer. Granted this job was harder in the past, but now I have no limitation to the information I can get. I am up to date with events, discoveries, trends, technology, politics, social issues, books, music, movies, TV shows, the whole internet. So this job of being a diligent observer is easier with the help of my dear friend the internet. And I don't mean this in a creepy stalker way, but more in a critical approach to everything kind of way. I just sit and observe you and what's going on, and how people change trends, ideologies, behavior and how they have a hypocritical and often ignorant and selfish way of looking at things. And now after so many years of observing you could say I became pretty decent at this job, but you see here's the problem with the job of an observer, you just sit observe in silence. And this is the worst part of the job the silence, not being able to speak out, because it's always the observer who talks crazy. But as an observer no one listens to you, you do not exist or matter to the one you speak at or about. Which is nothing more than ironic in itself, an observer that wants to speak but isn't heard. I can see why this will never work, but the turmoil inside of an observer is hard to pinpoint. It could be the ideas floating in his brain constantly fighting and working towards completion, it could be the willingness to scream STOP! or please don't do that anymore. This can be nothing more than torture if the observer feels, cares, loves or has any desire to do something, especially when they chose this themselves and society puts them back in their place any time they try to speak up.

But that's not the beauty of an observer, but just the eye that he has for anything, everything, his curious nature, his perception and way of detecting hidden things throughout small lines of dialogue and small gestures. The observer has the job of being awed by everything, the truth, the lies, the bad, the good and the ugly. He must find sense and sensibility in everyone and everything, he must understand everyone and watch over everyone. No matter their size or status, their brilliant ideas and minds or stupidity, everyone is worth equal in his eyes. But one thing I know about the observer nothing beats beauty, the beauty of a mind, of a person, animal, nature or universe. Seeing as chaos creates everything and each and every one of us, the power that holds the universe to help us exist and be. And the way we repay the universe back makes no sense to an observer, through hate, stupidity, envy, loathing, selfishness. Brings darkness, darkness that isn't brought by the universe, but which we create. Thus the sadness of a observer, when he sees the beauty and potential, he sees destruction brought by the ones he sees the most potential in being beautiful. Which is exactly why he has this journal of every thought, every hope, showing people every wrong move they make and shows them that there is another way, I have heard only stories of such a journal, even thought I myself am an observer. But I might dare to some day find it and learn from it myself.

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