Syllogism:
Myrah had a birth on a day.
A day exists constantly throughout Myrah’s life.
Therefore, Myrah’s birth-day exists constantly throughout life.
Most people misconstrue the day of birth to be a typical annual commemoration, as in an anniversary (yearly) versus diurnniversary (daily/diurnal).
Photo Enforcement by police is a nice way to increase income for police. Points won’t go on your license, but you will get a fine. You don’t need to be hand-issued these tickets either. Just another way to automate breaking laws or creating electronic big brother to help us be safe but at the same time scared of walking and getting a running ticket. Michael Johnson got so many speeding tickets after those cameras in Tucson and Scottsdale showed up during his daily run. Arizona is a hotbed for lame cameras that will hunt you down if run a red light, go too fast, or pick your nose without turning your hazard lights on. I actually don’t really hate the fact they are there, but I suspect some sort of police lobbyists had something to do with it in the financial department. It’s too hard to give out legitimate tickets to meet the quota for found crimes. I like cops, but I don’t really think we need to pull stunts to make their jobs a robotic function. This helps reduce the amount of police enforcement on-site that would deter life stealing. And according to a few civil disobedience humorists, it seems like fraudulent funding.
Mongering is loaded with the use of a negative social penetration and undesirable promotion. It may be possible for strains of feminism to be ladymongering. The use of female power and praise can be exploited by the owners of women, themselves. The same goes for men, but they have rarely attributed an injustice that needs reparations. I love some of the feminist theory and aiding the inequality of women, but it can easily turn into a disservice to all women. To scream of empowerment should be met with half-open arms. To raise to a standard level is fine. To shrinify the existence of women as holiness segregates the legitimate inching toward a society that neglects to value gender as a means of shifting a situation. This involves revamping traditional outlooks and rewarding the individual regardless of classification. I love women, but men are wonderful sometimes.
talk about furutism…
The artistic movement “futurism” is past tense.
I was thinking of this painting (can’t remember artist or title) of a (wheel?) in motion.
There are things not seen with the naked eye but with photography and film we’ve been able to “slow things down” (not literally of course).
And “flying rod” exobiological theory. They’re essentially rods that fly….*you can only see them on slowed down camera footage*
There was something I thought of about the reasoning of the people that want to believe in flying rods that is similar to the ideals of futurism. Perhaps both parties (the flying rodders and the futurists) are nostalgic for the future?
My library had a book sale and on the last day they offered $5 for a bag of whatever they had available. I managed to get some old magazines, a few books, and a couple movies. One of these movies was Rape Squad. I had an obligation to fill my bag to garner value out of that $5. I’m not sure what brought me to pick up Rape Squad other than the shock value. And it was made in the seventies. The DVD even had a pricetag on it from my local used bookstore. It had to be worth looking into. I was trying to save it for a date movie, but my curiosity couldn’t wait that long because I haven’t been acting attractive lately. No prospective guys are in my life these days, and that’s refreshing for the most part.
The Movie was tacky, campy, and contradicting. An anti-rape movie depicting rape (not too graphically, but still disturbing to WANT to watch) that offers boob shots during the victimization. It doesn’t market itself very well. It reminds me of Halloween. It’s okay to be who you aren’t then, or to be the real you (the dark side) without being seen as an evil person. Who knows… maybe it’ll be on during the holiday, or I’ll push play during the freakshow parties I go to.
And this scares me. Why would a restaurant flaunt that they use real, actual cheese as opposed to some artificial fake yellow goop that has the taste of cheese?
I can’t tell if this is just a promotional spot for KRAFT or what. The Kraft logo is the tiniest object of all so they seem to be pushing the REAL part of the meal. And did they at one point serve this without real cheese? Maybe a corn syrup & mustard combination.
I woke up and an hour later I realized my legs were sore. I did nothing physical the day before. I did bend down a few times cleaning around the house. But seriously, my legs are like stringed cheese. -ah, confused.
Don’t pour vanilla extract in your measuring spoon over your mixing bowl when making brownies. Do it over the sink or elsewhere. When the recipe calls for 1/2 teaspoon and you accidentally overpour about 4 teaspoons, the final result doesn’t taste so good. I am eating my mistake and I can’t make another batch because I ran out of sugar. It ain’t worth the “e-browns” (electronic-brownies) to scrounge around for a cups worth of sugar packets and fill in the balance with sweet chocolate and other substitutes and prostitutes.
Spillling what I will call VanEx
Spelling what I will cull Xanax
I am sinking into this hopeless bliss. Everything couldn’t be more unsettling. I can’t accomplish a thing without paying a figurative fee to society. I have no interest in my behavior. I don’t realize my facadistic impulses until someone brings them to my attention deficit disorder. I don’t care if my lifespan doesn’t match the posthuman. What have I that will hack my existence? Most of my parts work like when they were new. Devoid direction is my mapless conquest. I am soothed by the unexpected. I claim to live in it with ease; I now put it under reconsideration.
Reconstructing the dream sequence involves going back to sleep and when I say “back to sleep” I mean sleeping back then/not on your back/not returning where you left off. Sleepful content is had when learning happens, when learnedness is applied, and when there the uncontrolled yields a potential quality. This sleep is life to me. But I am also literally tired of sleeping and waking. Let it be one or the other. I now can handle both with equal interest, but trouble through shuffling the deck of nights and days. Tonight might be a face card where I get too much sleep or deuce to depravity.
What kind of precision can you achieve if you arbitrarily make a compound miter cut (CONFUSE MYSELF)? The final products are invisible to me and is there a good angle or a technique that works or does it even matter? I can help from being a rear-view filmmaker. I don’t need to record my life. Replays aren’t where I can live. Boy am I glad I am not finished with the filmography. Girl am I sad that I can’t focus on the current production. Nobody is the devine director.
Emotions are like magnetic fields, attracting its opposite. The element of reality known as NOW is rhetorical surface tension.
Crank Dat Soulja Boy is a virus. It’s awesome. Worthless lyrics, cheesy dance, and repetitive. The beat isn’t bad, but overall I find it funny and still enjoyable. So does everybody else.
Blink 182 version (Travis on drums only).
Nothing humorous, but some nice percussion skillz.
Crank Dat Spiderman
It’s so hilarious that someone would do this seriously. This is definitely not for kids. It’ll be pretty sad if little kids start crankin’ out to this not understanding it.
Crank Dat Army Boy
It’s a little slow at times, but super funny. Totally makin’ fun… lol.
Crank Dat Homeless Man
This is funny. Definitely meant to be a parody.
Crank Dat Weezy Wee
I heard this in a restaurant at the Univerisity of Arizona. Stoner version?
Crank Dat Grandpa
Looks like some young kids. (Crank dat heart attack…)
Crank Dat Kosha Boy (Jewww!)
Crank Dat Batman
Not as interesting as Spiderman, and too many fake vocal scratches. This seems to be overproduced, but it’s popular on iTunes!?
There are plenty more, but these seemed like highlights.
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