A fact is a pragmatic truth, a statement that can, at least in theory, be checked and confirmed. Facts are often contrasted with opinions and beliefs, statements which are held to be true, but are not amenable to pragmatic confirmation.The word fact derives from the Latin Factum, and was first used in English with the same meaning: "a thing done or performed", a use that is now obsolete. The common usage of, "something that has really occurred or is the case", dates from the middle of the sixteenth century. Fact is sometimes used as synonymous with truth or reality, as distinguishable from conclusions or opinions. This use is found in such phrases Matter of fact, and "... not history, nor fact, but imagination."
In striving to create a complex relationship between concepts, a definite grasp between said ideas is absolutely necessary. However, it may become apparent that the fusion of the two subjects is ineffective, rendering a nullified result. In this case, a conclusion is far more difficult to draw, as results so far have remained inconclusive.

It’s strange.

Humans as a race on an international scale share two common goals, happiness and understanding. We strive for technological advancement as the solution to these desires, because it is believed to be able to make our lives easier, and in turn provide us with more time being 'happy' and less time working and being 'unhappy'.

The nostalgic feeling of being young will never leave our memories. Embracing and pretending, not considering or caring what anyone else thought of us. They say youth is wasted on the young, but is it really? Youth is limited by the confines of our own imagination, its very barrier is the stage that it inevitably develops to. Youth requires time, inspiration, and originality. Three traits that’s have no boundaries in the early stages of life.
It’s thought that money could be the solution to all problems; But what would we do to fill up our spare time?


Now for a poem, dedicated to a man named Tim - We're worried about you.

Now I am a camera. A woman poses in front of me,
Taking a collection of photos each day,
The memories that will not decay.
Which one will look best on her Facebook wall,
She spends hours in the mirrors by the bathroom stall.
Walk like a robot, Keep a straight face,
Don't want a single hair out of place.
The amount of likes determining her self-confidence,
If ignored its considered malevolence.

The media takes control,
Sucking in her courage like a black hole.
Follow the light, keep stumbling back, trying not to have a panic attack.
Redirecting herself to Photoshop to hide any imperfections,
Let down by basic reflections.


-MCMordie, The realest rhyme i ever wrote.