Dostoyevsky "Notes from Underground" Imitation

                Question: who is he? Answer: a fake—he is a complete fake. He puts on a smile and gives you a wave when inside he knows what he is about to do. He reels you in, making you believe he understands you and needs you. And it just bugs me. It bugs me a lot. What gives him the right to control my emotions that way? He should have no influence over how I feel—no one should determine how I feel. I am my own person. Only I decide how I feel. But no—somehow, in the strangest way, I’ve allowed him in. It’s almost as if I willingly gave him my heart and told him to abuse it. What a fool I am. I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it in his eye—those same eyes that I thought saw me for who I wanted to be; those same evil eyes that make me smile because, although I hate those eyes, I love them too.

                Maybe he didn’t mean it. I mean, maybe he regrets it all and really does need me. Maybe I need to help him. I am good at helping others!  No—that isn’t true. How could that be true? We all know I can’t even help myself. What a fool I am! I’m a fool, just like him—the fool with the beautifully evil eyes.

                I don’t even know why I try and explain myself—it’s impossible to record my thoughts in ink. Something as petty as ink could never capture the vast emotions whirling throughout my mind. Ink is dumb anyways—all it does is spill and stain things. It’s almost as if he is ink—going around staining perfectly clean slates. That’s why pencils are better than pens-they don’t have ink. I should have been writing all of this in a pencil. Why? Because pencils have erasers.

The more I write with this pen, the angrier I become. Why did I even start writing? It’s a waste of my time, it’s a waste of your time. You must be a fool to sit here reading such a tragic attempt at expression. I pity you. That makes three of us—three fools, that is. You, me and him.  However, I’m now realizing that I must be the biggest dupe of them all for assuming there actually is a reader. Why am I to flatter myself by presuming someone, anyone, would read what I’m writing? In fact, I can guarantee there is no reader. I am writing this all to myself and will be the only person pathetic enough to sit here absorbing all these empty words. It’s sad when even I don’t wish to hear my own thoughts—they are hopeless. But they are in pen.  No getting rid of them now.

There are a lot of things you can’t get rid of in life. Why is that? Let’s get rid of criticism, judgment and hate. Let’s get rid of sushi, curfews and the human appendix—it’s not like we need that anyway. Why can’t I get rid of him? I start rambling on about this and that, but no matter what I do, my thoughts always return to him. He is like my appendix—just there. In that case, I wish my appendix would burst.  No, no—I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. No, he is my friend.

I am just confused. I’m confused why I’m confused. I want to be happy, but I want to be bitter; I want to say hurtful things, but I want to make people laugh; I want a hug, but I don’t want you to touch me. I want to sing, but I don’t think I can. I want to believe everything I’m told, but I don’t want to be gullible. I don’t want to be gullible, because you are. You are because you’ve believed everything I have said which really I have sat here days thinking of what to say next. It’s all a fable—lies and deceit. I am anything but a fool. I know exactly what I want and I know how to get it. I didn’t ever want him in the first place; I knew what he was doing and I just played along. I love sushi and I’m glad I have my appendix. The only words I meant are these: “I pity you.” But by “you” do I mean you, or me? Am I speaking to myself? I’m confused. This is all real. What do I lie and say it is not? Because. Because “I am a sick [woman]...” The worst part: I don’t know the teeniest bit about my sickness. Even worse, I don’t know how to get help.

Of Reality Television

          I cannot keep hidden the subject that bewilders my mind so frequently; a subject that the race of man is so overly exposed to—reality TV. Perhaps it is just I who views reality television with disgust for it seems the common folk find pleasure and entertainment in such filth. They plant themselves with firm footing in front of that dreadful, electronic box, displaying productions that were chiefly produced with stupidity and ignorance. Works such as “Honey Boo Boo” and “Real Housewives” display acts of idleness, cruelty and bickering throughout homes of America; “The Bachelor” and “Love in the Wild” portray the false notion that true love can be found amidst a vast array of strangers after taking time to grasp their face with your mouth for hours on end. How do we suppose these shows might influence the uprising generations? It will certainly not be for their betterment. 

“I had to start watching [The Real Housewives of New Jersey] every week because, well, my IQ was just too high. I mean seriously up there. What can I tell you? After watching every episode, I am now officially as dumb as that brown, particle-like stuff you find outside and don't want to track inside the house. Rhymes with "wirt", I think.”-Celia Rivenbark,

Despite their influence, and to my disgust, the participants of these productions are paid and rewarded for their horrendous behavior. While these individuals are congratulated on their “success” I find no good or beneficial advantage placed upon the viewer. Rather they sit idly, allowing these unrealistic and negative ideas to penetrate their minds. As time passes one begins to believe that these “reality” shows are indeed real, portraying ordinary and realistic lives. No, no and no; we must use great precaution and avoid the imperfections these shows load upon us. We mustn’t allow this genre of media to infringe our view of society, of reality and of reason.

Any man can play a fool in front of a camera, so why is it that Americans idolizes those who chose to do so? These reality “stars” are simply hungry for fame, money, unearned attention and other selfish desires. Isn’t it the man behind the camera we should aspire to be? A man who puts his life into focus, placing others before himself and trying to make his meaningful contribution to the world? If our media is going to be force flooded by all these series, why don’t they make a series about the cameramen? I’m sure we’d see humble men, working to provide for their families, doing anything to avoid the spotlight while remaining grateful for the job they have, their health and their happiness. This should be America. Let’s focus on those types of individuals.

The more I ponder this subject the more disgusted I become. However, I may contradict myself by saying there are a few reality shows that I’d actually approve of and probably recommend. To name one: WipeOut. This series is far from crude, but rather full of good, clean and appropriate humor. While other series degrade you, WipeOut can only spring you forward, launching you into a world of smiles and giddy laughter. Let us view more programs like this—ones that uplift and build humanity.

I don't like the negativity of reality tv - the 'you're no good, so you have to leave, I choose you, but I thought you really loved me.' It's all about how bad people are and I just hate that. I like Pimp my Ride where someone is helping somebody [else]. -Bob Saget

Moreover, I can say these things for I have experienced them. I have exercised my freedom of personal choice to place myself, willingly, on the soft couch that lures one into its softened seat. I’ve admittedly spent hours on end sitting in that couch, watching those shows that intend to consume all my time. It took me far too long to correlate my wasted and emptied state of mind to the time I spent observing the ridiculous, selfish and crude behavior seen on television. It is because of these experiences that I’ve chosen to renew my better judgment, choosing to ignore these productions I was once fond of. I may indeed stand alone in my current perception of reality TV but alone I will stand, for I am fond of privacy in my own life and would hope others would share the same respect for their own lives. Turn off that electrical box that calls you during every spare moment; remember there are better things to watch, better things to be doing. Let America rid itself of its loser and lousy entertainment and, when temptation prevails, let us lean toward something more reasonable—something that builds up and spotlights humanity.