Thursday, February 18, 2010

A Brief Recount of the Saga of Seasons.

Salutations, any and all who are reading. On the chance that you have enjoyed my eccentric writings thus far, I feel I must apologize for not having written anything at all, much less anything eccentric, for some time.

While at least ninety percent of the blame must fall to my own procrastination-Oh, how I despise its fiendish grasp-at most ten percent of it can be diverted to my newfound enemy. I feel utterly betrayed by this adversary. Previously, I had not considered him a friend, indeed I did not care for him, but his deeds have turned so foul that I now harbor an intense and burning dislike for this most villainous of senior citizens.

I speak, if you have not yet guessed, of Old Man Winter.

Oh, the cruelty of this immortal individual, who practices so many dark and terrible arts! How I shall forever dread his annual arrival from this moment on. It is said, and dear reader, I believe it, that the cane on which he leans is made from the sharpest and most deadly of icicles. It is said that his clothing is entirely created from the frostbitten skin of a donkey. It is said that his very eyeballs are hailstones, gazing upon the misery of those who are forced to endure his yearly reign.

Aaah, but Old Man Winter's appearance is but the most minuscule fraction of what makes him fearsome. A much larger part is comprised of his otherworldly abilities. When the sharp drop in outdoor temperature proves to be insufficient in supplying anguished cries of woe, he does not hesitate to send ice raining down from the sky, turn the water of lakes and streams to stiff, unwelcoming ice, and bury the innocent in massive quantities of snow. There are places where his empire does not reach. But in whatever area he is able, he will, every year, attack it ruthlessly.

For centuries, he went relatively unchallenged. But then, miraculously, a resistance was formed. A noble rebellion, made up of powerful indoor heating, resilient indoor plumbing, and my personal favorite, the marvel that is electricity. These wonders combined gave the grateful public virtually no reason to journey outdoors unless absolutely necessary, and hence, kept them shielded from Winter's vicious might.

But, as it has been told by Batman (May he fly for all eternity), opposition leads to escalation.

Old Man Winter grew stronger. Now, he has the....horrifying ability to shut down the power lines that fuel the things we once thougth kept us safe. And this, my friends, is what befell myself and my family for nearly a week. There are brave, chivalrous men and women who try their absolute hardest to repair the precious lines of power, whilst Winter bombards them with his cold, but these are but mortals. They cannot drive away the chill on their own.

For our salvation, we look to the coming of the beauteous, joyful woman named Spring. I cannot say enough about the sheer righteousness of this Season of Seasons. Flowing hair golden as apples, a laughing face that exhibits pure happiness and bliss, her virtuous powers of comfort and warmth succeed every year in driving away Winter's white empire. And she clears the path for her fellow seasons, the kind but strict elderly grandmother called Autumn, and the bold Knight of the Sun, Summer.

I await her return with great eagerness. May the defeat of Old man Winter come speedily, and may you all be spared as much of his cruelty as possible.
~He Who Writes in the Night.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Interdimensional Viewscreens.

At the time of my writing this, it is evening, so Good Evening is what I shall say. The subject of this third consecutive blog post may surprise you. I certainly have never seen anyone else discuss it, though taking into account the sheer size of the internet, I'm sure I am not the first.

Tonight, I find myself thinking about interdimensional viewscreens. They are really quite extraordinary, and there seems to be no end to the amount of them. They are freely available to be purchased in various places, being more numerous in some than in others. There are actually buildings in which you can lease however many isuch viewscreens you desire, provided you have a plastic card with your name on it, and do not object to paying a small fee should you fail to return said viewscreens by a set date.

One thing I cannot help but notice about these interdimensional viewscreens is that the seperate dimensions they show us seem to almost always be a great deal more interesting than our own. For example, if you take a look at select screens, you will be shown a world vastly different from this one, curiously named 'Middle-Earth', where short hairy-footed people attempt to destroy a highly unusual piece of jewelry by dropping it into a volcano that seems eternally active. Despite the alarming direness of the situations present in this dimension, one cannot help but enjoy viewing the excitement of it all.

That particular viewscreen was constructed, according to the letters upon it, by a man named Tolkien. But there are uncountable other such creators of these wondrous inventions. Such as a wholly remarkable woman by the name of Jane Austen, who showed the world a place that seems very much like how ours used to be, in which a young woman eventually marries a man named Darcy, who is clearly too flawless to ever concievably exist in our dimension of imperfect humans.

Alas, one cannot realistically hope that all other dimensions out there are interesting places to see. Examples include one brought to our attention by a woman named Stephanie Meyer, within which another young woman finds herself falling in love with a blood sucking creature with the capabilities of glitter, becoming impregnated by this creature, and nearly killed when the monstrous hybrid infant inside of her attempts to devour its way out of her body!

Most disturbing.

But it is best not to dwell on such horrific places. Instead, I believe I shall resume viewing a screen that recently fell into my possesion. It is extremely fascinating, showing me a world that seems to be in a post-apocolyptic age, in which children are cruelly forced to engage one another in combat to amuse a tyrannical government. The child I am watching most closely, a girl by the name of Katniss, is an individual I can truly care about, and I find myself easily wondering about what will befall her.

With that, I shall bid you all adieu. And if I may be so bold, I recommend that you acquire an interesting interdimensional viewscreen in the near future. They seem to have much they wish to show us.

~He Who Writes in the Night.