Red is a color that reminds me of tweenybobbers. Tweenybobbers are kids stuck in a phase most of us escape, but some of us get stuck in forever. They are overdramatic, have never heard most clichés so often mistake them for creativity, and more often then not, think they are more mature than they are. We forgive them for it unless they stay that way for too long, and then we all just want to kick their bumes. Red reminds me of these people, because it is the color of cliché. It symbolizes romance, virulent and sensual, but sensuality, we find, doesn’t stay red forever, but dulls into the colors of reality and takes on a more beautiful, personal shape later on. When we think of red, we think of pbumion, until we are blessed with enough experience in the real world to figure out that pbumion is the color of whatever happens to stick in one’s mind during a particularly pbumion moment in time, and continues to grow and change as we do. Tweenies don’t realize this, and so they paint red over their consciousness every time they think about sensuality or love or pbumion, until one day they wake up and realize that the human experience can’t be labeled by category or color, because it’s as different as those who tread through it. It also reminds me of Tweenies because of the mother****ing stupid trend in vampire obsessions in the tweenie population. Honestly, it seems more than stupid to encourage impressionable not-quite-teenagers to fall in love with what not only can, but seeks to injure them grievously, as if there wasn’t enough danger out there without the younger generation seeking to make love with nightmares. It also preaches that the ideal mate is one who wishes to drain everything that makes you human, aka who you ARE, and destroy your volition through soul destruction…or gay sparkly romantic notions. Red is just a color, its bumociations are what give it any life, movement or meaning of its own. It’s a pattern of light wave lengths, and it’s all about perception. Since perception defines everything, and is defined by experience and basic chemical composition in a weird symphony of logic and causality, red is like anything else that serves as a label: capable of being stripped off. It’s ironic because when you pull off a Bandaid, as you would a label, it bleeds red (unless you are one of those Predator things that bleed glowing green, or you happen to be in the ocean: hey! It’s perception and experience and reality all working together to create an experience again! I’m sensing a trend!). Red is just another way we contain and personify the human experience so we can share it and create the illusion of a united front. We are alone in our minds (unless one happens to be schizophrenic), and so it’s only natural we seek a way to link ourselves conceptually, so we can all someday follow the same thought train to nowhere.