This has got to be the most insignificant but worthwhile event that has happened lately. I saw some kind of insect. I think some sort of beetle. It had fallen-and-it-couldn’t-get-up. It was stuck on it’s back and was scratching at the air to turn itself over. I thought about what intentions it had. Either genetics was programming it to survive or it thought about getting out of his situation. I intervened with an oversized wrench that was sitting 4 feet above the bugger. I picked up the wrench and proceeded to perform a live dissection. It was an easy cut that seemed to divide his top and bottom half perfectly. I looked at the split in two insect. There was a pause and I saw the head and the 2 legs still squirming in a heavier commotion. I felt bad. I needed to complete my needless injuries. Before passing the final blow, I examined the portion that was lifeless, although I imagined a couple twitch of the posterior legs. Round 2 and the wrench overcame. Within those moments chemicals exploded inside my body and my head was in a haze of abstract mystery. It’s not that I felt guilty. Inside was a palpitating heartbeat and a rush of adrenaline. It could be described as a panic attack in a existential sense. Being and subjecting myself and my actions on the beetle. The murder that took place was no different than the tale Albert Camus created in The Stranger.
What was left out of that story was a vivid emotional array by the Killer of the Arab. My interactive and personal intensities to the situation exceeded the rationality of the events.
For further reading of related microscopic importance (namely the death of bugs), read The Death of the Moth by Virginia Woolf. It is on the caring side but I share the same observations and relate to this story.
A moth recently visit my room after the previous events. I decided to let it fly. It remains in my room and I closed the door. Even after I had reopened the door, it stayed. It was more lively the the other victim I had erased from motion. It had a quasi-frantic random flying pattern about it. It would take breaks and find unusual spots to take five. It overwhelmed my attention and its eye grabbing flutters did not annoy me but gave me reason to feel entertained. I lost sight of it leter on and now I can only hope that it’s not dining on a sweater or whatever moth diets consist of…
Psychics are so psychotic that they forget the “ot” in Psych-ot-ic. They actually get paid to have a psychological condition. Makes me happy that complexicated people can get respect for being dysfunctional. Reminds me of
Damnit! There goes my memory. AReGHuh!*&@^#$%@#$
It reminded me of ? all of the sudden then decided it didn’t want to recall it in time for me to jot it down after taking a little break. Stupid short term memory. Let me give it a minute [minute goes by] and it never came. Maybe in a week I’ll finish this post but it’ll go live anyhow.
Safer cigs- they don’t exist. No risk, no mouth, no smokes. It’s all nicotine and tar from here. Read up on the marketing mumbo jumbo of safer cigarettes and its history. Pretty interesante if I might say. Anything that is smoke that goes to your lungs isn’t supposed to be there and probably has a risk of being bad for you. If the earth wanted us to breathe smoke, she’d set us all on fire. Quitting is the best way to erase your chances of smoking-caused cancer. You could try all day to get less cancer, but all is gambling when poking around in casinos. Try a smokeless* carbon cigarette anyway.
Not all cancer is caused by smoke (or even second hand). Carcinogens are created when you barbecue your steak (the char), at your campfire (burning wood), and almost everywhere even when a fire is not present. Eliminating risk of cancer can be achieved by ceasing to be; not my suggested option.
The life of a rock is fascinating. Think of salt- sodium chloride. Salt is the only rock that is people willingly eat. It has to get refined to be used safely for human consumption, but it is a rock. It’s life helps us add flavor to food, to retard spoiling of food, and with a little help of iodine drizzled on your salt, you can prevent nasty cretinism and goiter. The rock life is one that can roll without the help of Elvis. Think about the greats like Bob Dylan who pays homage to the stone in his most popular metaphoric song “Like a Rolling Stone.” The Rolling Stones even had to give themselves a sturdy name so they could get some respect in the music biz. Resorting to bold measures, truck companies once longed to be “Like a Rock.”
Rocks are special. They have collectors, movers, sellers, miners, and many other friends. With so few enemies, who wouldn’t want to live the rock life. Sure, you might get thrown, or crushed, but you always have a purpose. You are there being a rock for as long as you can. How legendary is that?
Has anyone eaten Barry Bonds home run ball yet? The IRS is already putting taxation on that valuable ball. Interest is rising ya know. You can witness the real homerun ball on NASA TV still traveling in space. To calm the crowd, SWAT had to blast fastballs via pitching machines at the crowd. They were subdued promptly. The Arizona Diamondbacks were not happy that they didn’t catch it, but they did give Barry Bonds time to speak about his team and his family and all else that mattered to him. God bless his baseball. It will need it after the brawl of a quarter of the stadium raced for the prized gold plated ball. The pitcher knew he was required to pitch his hitting ball so he engraved a message in pure gold that reads:
The tally is not exact, but there are thousands of alleged Home Run baseballs in the sewers of NYC.
Who doesn’t have impaired contact with reality? If you said that you didn’t, then you prove my point. To stay on quasi-neutral footing though, there is nothing to say that I am equally as wrong (which seems to show I have some loss of reality). Most things in life are mandated by mankind. There are certain conditions that our biological makeup allow, but the rest of our mental state comes from an expectation of others and/or the perception of the person performing act or non-act.
A healthy mind capable of consciousness shares the same attributes as someone described as psychotic. They both have no credible (objective) means to confirm reality other than their experience; it can’t be transcended and even if it can then the transcendence needs to be objectively confirmed. Does probability prove that if 1 person sees a dollar bill on a desk and others don’t see the dollar bill, that the one individual is out of touch? What if evidence is withheld or another factor alters the view of the 99?
There are three possibilities of alleged people with psychosis and their comprehension of the attribute:
People who think they are normal, but are diagnosed with psychosisPeople who think they are psychotic, and are diagnosed with psychosisPeople who don’t know or are incapable of rationalizing, and are diagnosed with psychosis
It is put up to an experienced, professional psychologist/psychiatrist whether a person has psychosis or not. I might be getting a little far-fetched, but as a wild thought: what if the psychologist had psychosis? Or the curriculum of abnormal psychology was itself grounded in a psychotic delusion?
Just some thoughts
I think it would be difficult, but if we are to uphold the credibility of scientific conduct, it seems proper to classify things in terms of actual observations than to abstract things further from scientific proof. It might be better to say that Person A is in the minority position, 1-to-99 that a dollar bill rests on the desk. From this, it is induced that he is hallucinating.
What is considered to be an acceptable grasp of reality? Children often are less inclined than adults about many things. That doesn’t mean they are insane. Even normal people sometimes space out or enter irrational states of mind. Complete knowledge is the only reality that doesn’t step into psychosis. Is the use of reality just acceptance and sensational confirmation of popular perception and beliefs?
It’s the beginning of the 1960s. ABC hosts the fight on national television. It’s a bout for the Welterweight title between Benny “Kid” Paret and Emile Griffith. This is their third fight.
Griffith had insulted by Paret, calling him maricón (meaning “faggot” in Spanish) and taunting that he’s going to get him and his husband. Griffith’s sexual orientation was under fire after alleged activities that could tie him to homosexual tendencies.
During the fight Paret is able to hold his own, until being knocked unconscious on the ropes by a round of blows. There is video of the beating as well as some sports commentary. The famous final scene starts at 2:10 in the video. At least 7 punches are thrown after Paret turns into a ragdoll. Plenty of hits are made before that when is about to lose it.
He never recovers, stays in a coma for 9 days until he dies. After that, Griffith is not charged with anything, but continues fighting. He never goes all out in fear of killing another. In 1992 he is visciously attacked after leaving a gay bar. Today he suffers from pugilistic dementia. Now with the condition, he contradicts himself when asked about his sexual preference, claiming to be heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, and even none of the above. He has said he has chased men and women, but chooses women over men. Of being at a gay bar, he states…
“I’m not gay! It’s craziness. I go to gay bars to see my friends. What’s the difference? I have my drink and talk to people, same as any bar. Then I finish and go outside. I don’t do anything wrong.”
Sugar Ray Robinson was also mentioned in the youtube video. It’s been said he had a dream that he was going to accidentally kill his next opponent Jimmy Doyle in the ring. A priest and minister had to convince him to fight as he wanted to pull out. He won by knockout, but Doyle hauntingly died from the injuries.
The nephilim (the offspring of demons and human girls) have taken over searchers who are searching for some site called coolkids.com, but there is no such site with any information of use. Unfortunately, there are some small sacrifices that need to be made to find what you need. There are no more girls on myspace, no more cooloutkids, no more mysteries to solve. There might be a video that has exceeded bandwidth and a domain that will expire though.
Cool down and turn off your TV show. The show hasn’t started yet about those wicked angels. Everything can be found if you use the search button right here. Let us end the conspiracy and get back to business and fun.
Not because I don’t read. I love books. I write books. I read slow though and don’t have enough patience to write books on books. Maybe that will change and I’ll put a few jolly good paragraphs here for everyone to read.
My lazy side says I’d rather make a poem about a book or something easier like dream about it.
First off, I’m not nudist. I wear clothes in the shower. I dream about clothed people. I am usually a bit uneasy in a bikini (from all the stares my gorgeous body gets). But I give credit to Andrew Martinez who spent plenty of time nude, not as defiance against morality or a quick way to sexual liberation. He just thought of it almost from a sociological standpoint, that clothing as symbolism and requirement of life is an absurdity.
Clothes are useless in the environment except as a tool for class and gender differentiation.
I’ll mention that he might have been mentally ill, but he was a logical in an interview I read.
And now that I think about it, I believe the first Greek Olympic Games were done in the nude. The ancient art world is full of nude art that is still popular today. There is no difference. The hypopracy!
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