Zenith.

I was once told that if I looked up and strained my eyes enough, I would be able to see the edge of the universe. I never quite knew what it meant, until all of a sudden, my mind began to process things in a completely different sort of way. Now, I can't remember how things used to be, only what they are now. That's the funny thing about memory; one can never quite remember what exactly it is that they remember. We are just aware that there are things we remember, and we rely on our minds to remember these things when we need it the most. We can’t remember the future, we can’t remember the past, and we can’t remember the present. We just store information in our minds automatically, and then call it memory. But what is it that is actually remembered? It’s not what actually happened, because no one can really say what actually happened. They can only say what they think happened, and without a doubt, this recollection - this memory - will vary, based on the perspective of the viewer. So where do we get our perspectives? Everyone judges based on their past experiences, don’t they? If you see a carrot cake and don’t want to eat it, your perspective on that carrot cake is that it is bad. You probably don’t want to eat it because you’re full, or because you simply do not like carrot cake. You know you don’t like carrot cake, because you’ve tried it in the past, and you didn’t like it then. I like carrot cake, though. My mother baked it before a few years ago, and I loved it. So your perspective on carrot cake and my perspective on carrot cake are based off our past experiences on carrot cake. But how do we know about these past experiences? We remembered them. So, our memories are what shape our perspectives. Which leads me to wonder: are perspectives memories, or are memories perspectives? How many eggs did your carrot cake need, and how many chickens were needed to gain that amount of eggs? It’s all just the same thing, really. No matter how you look at it. It will always be different.

My name is Jason Riddle, and I like to think. I think about everything, all the time. I like to sit at the front of a bus, with the big window in front of me, and look at the roof tops. Then I question what was going through the minds of the people who made them. Then, I look around the bus, and wonder if anyone else is looking at the roof tops. I wonder if they’re wondering what was going through the minds of the people who made the roof tops. Then I assume, probably not, because most people these days are absorbed in their iPhones, or famous gossip in the newspaper. Some are too busy chatting to their friends about what Mike told Angela over their dinner date, or why liposuction shouldn’t be so expensive. I look at these people, and I feel pity. I pity them because within a few months, they’re going to have completely forgotten about that conversation. They might remember the content of it, but not the actual conversation. They won’t remember that they were sitting on the fourth row of the upper deck of the number 43 bus whilst discussing it. They won’t remember that their hair was damp from the rain they had just got caught in. They won’t remember that the tree that brushed the window consisted mostly of leaves that fall under the “emerald” shade of green. Most unfortunately, they won’t look back and wish that they had thought about what Tyler was thinking when he constructed that roof. That’s what I call people who place tiles. Tyler. Once, my mum’s boyfriend told me the tiller was late, and I asked who Tyler was. It has stuck with me, ever since. I find the roof tops and chimneys the most interesting things in London, because none of them have been touched for hundreds and hundreds of years. The specks of dirt that stick to those chimneys may be dirt from a century ago. If the chimneys were alive, they would have hundreds of thousands of memories. If chimneys were alive, I’d want to be friends with them, and listen to everything they have to say. I could sit for hours and listen to the stories of the chimneys. When they had talked too much for the day and began to bore me, I’d tell them, “pipe down!” and we’d all laugh because I am very punny. That’s something I made up. Actually, I probably didn’t make it up, but I thought of it before anyone I know thought of it, and it’s very true to me, and I say it a lot, so I might as well have made it up. Punny is when someone makes a lot of funny puns. It’s a great term, because it’s a pun in itself, and I think a pun within a pun is extremely punny. I bet you’re wondering if I’ve got any friends. Well, I do. I’ve got a lot. Do they know how complex my mind is? No. They never ask. They would never care. Most people do not care about the little things in life. But these people also do not understand that nothing big can consist of a large quantity, solely by itself. It has to consist of many, many, many little things. And that is what life is. It’s a lot of little things. This isn’t a hard theory, but most people don’t think about every theory. They think it’s stupid to thing about every theory. Well I think the fact that they don’t think at all is stupid. Everyone is materialistic, and that makes me sad. They would cower if someone pointed a gun at them. I want them to cower when I point my mind at them.