Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Funny Little Dreams of Hope

Wanting to write, wanting to be a writer and actually writing a novel and being a writer are all separately intertwined concepts.

No clue why but I am trying to write a comedy about the end of the world. Partly inspired by The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, my own personal narcissisms, a few ideas I am sure I stole, the many hours I've spent reading books and playing games and all written to a soundtrack of music of which is of questionable origin.

It is a rather bleak idea to start with but I plan on having the heroes be a lovable bunch of screw ups that only manage to make things worse and inadvertently releasing what is to be the universal cosmic destroyer.

There is the rather aptly named organization called 'The Organization' that knows about the plot of releasing Maltalvos (the after mentioned universal cosmic destroyer) and they have existed for ages to prevent his followers from opening up the gate and letting the bad boy in the plane of existence of which the earth resides on.

You see, in addition to the physical world of earth of which we so comfortable know and live in, I make the lovely assumption of an finite universe with even more infinite potential of existence in many so ways. For example, in addition to the normal world we have there is the idea of that the world is dual in nature, physical and spiritual. The main sentient inhabitants (that would be me and you dear friend) exist as the physical we know so well about but we are also soul. We are an awkward amalgamation of flesh and spirit. As CS Lewis put it best, humans are quite amphibian like in that we exist in both at once without ever fully realizing the unique miracle of life that holds our breath and thought intertwined.

There is indeed both heaven and hell in my story but because of the headache it would take to introduce every single concept I will be keeping those mostly in the background. Also in the background reside hundreds of millions of planes on which reside thousands of unique universes that contain billions upon billions of star systems each with their own unique form of reality that conform to their own rules of existence that were set forth by their creator.

However, to keep my migraines at a minimum we will be focusing mostly upon what we like to commonly call earth and the misfortunes that will be set upon her and her inhabitants.

Eons ago there were wars among the whole of creation because of the rebellion of several chief guardians that were originally charged with the task of protecting and watching over these different planes of existence. As you might have guessed this battle came to a climax on the little rock we like to call home.

Through the combined efforts and sacrifices of many powerful Guardians and almost the entire race of people called the *Insert important and cool sounding named* they were able to seal off old Maltalvos into what is basically just a pocket dimension. Quite by himself and quite upset he is trapped there until he is freed or the universe just winds down. Quite obviously the later would be boring and so the former will happen. Hooray for all Hell breaking loose!

Although his forces were scattered and mostly destroyed enough remain that they are able to begin corrupting the denizens and drawing them to their side. You kinda have this unsettlingly evil that is not visible to the normal human eye influencing and shaping history until they are able to gather enough power to free their master and bring chaos to reign!

Or something like that.

The Organization sends a guy known as Paul Manning on a mission to collect a small group of 'chosen ones' that hopefully will be able to combine their talents/powers/unique culinary skills to oppose the forces of darkness and stop them. Of course by the end of the book this will all have proved to been futile because of a long list of very clever betrayals, unexpected plot twists and multiple cases of rampant food poisoning.

Or at least that is the plan I have in my head. Doesn't sound funny but I think it might turn out funny. Or at least as a rather large paper weight.

Why Must We Limit Ourselves by Funny Little Things Like a Title

My heart is torn apart by the sights, the smells, the cries and the bitter charades of broken lives.

We mask ourselves in cloaks of convenient lies. Our hearts never stray, only just far enough away, so that we can never feel what is true. Following fancy over flight and under our souls twilight we bathe in this refuse.

How horrible, how dreadful, how terrifying it all is in its grand immensity. A world we view as broad strokes, hazy images so we will never inconvenient ourselves with the novel notion of individual humanity. Prejudice held group think is much easier to dismiss, if we bothered to look past our own arrogant snobbery we might begin to see the blood splattered walls and refuse littered streets; the open sewage of souls and lives ripped open and preyed upon by demons.

So much easier to be our own little clockwork pets with little knobs and gears. Mechanical in nature so that when we break we can be replaced at a penny rate.

If we do not quickly drown ourselves in our sorrows we are just as quick to drown ourselves in any indulgence which may act as a placebo, if not just a quick way to avoid our own mirrors.

Who enjoys looking at themselves? We paint a pretty picture so that when we look in the mirror we do not have to see the world reflecting behind us. The mass carnage reminiscent of the lower levels of Hell doth not provide a comfort to our downheartedness, truth merely an inconvenient construct formed by the close minded and self righteous. Any aspect of lie for which we fight for and die for on a daily basis is alright, just as long as we do not forget to wrap the world around my shoulders. My life, my death, my righteous, my path, my pain, my pride and my pillar of salt.