1. 1 year ago 

   Birth

   I’ll let you know know that my thoughts are worth no more than yours. They are simple. They are shrewd. They are thoughtful. They are sometimes cruel. They are mine. They are also superfluous. The inter-world does not need any more thoughts, let alone mine. But I’ll give them up. They have nowhere else to go.

   This is not a journal. These are not the inner workings of my life. They are simply the thoughts that run through my head, the mindless musings of a lost mother, a hipster punk, each one a lost child to behold and understood by the other hipster punks of the world.

   After each birth, my children are released into a vast and deep forest. They have no home. They have no purpose. They have no place to go. Some of my children are bright and silly. They float above the trees and attempt to lighten the forest as much as they can. They are bubbly and friendly, and will greet you with glee.

   Other children are cool, and grey, and contemplative. They observe the mushrooms and soil of the bottom forest with great fascination. They spend hours tracing the bark of the trees with their slender and nimble fingers. They will accept you, but they will not seek you out.

   Still more are hot and fiery, red and angry. They speed through the middle of the forest, lighting anything they can, attempting to destroy the entire forest. They will not like you. You will not like them. But they will not last long, and their attempts at destruction always fail.

   Why should you explore their forest? Why should you take them in?

   They need you. Every mind that contemplates their existence is their home. Every moment where they are even just a little more than lost, that is their moment. Every idea they transfer is their purpose.

   So give my children a chance. They are small. They are weak. They are probably stupid. But they are lonely. And they want to grow strong.

   Please read. The children will thank you for it.

   -mother-

   (PS: My future posts will probably NOT be as poetic, just so you know)

2. Notes

Contemplations on life, entertainment, hilarity, and existentialism.

Simply call me mother. I'll teach you well.

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