There are millions of people out there in the world that play the original Ninendo games. I happen to be one of those fantastic one-of-a-kind female nerds. I make believe life is great and that there is a fiancé in the making and he is willing to play Jeopardy with me on my dusty NES system. If Tucson could build me such a life. The rest of my life is ridden with magazine elixers and underwear hanging on a fan after being handwashed (no I am not a third world child laborist). I’ll just entertain the rest of my year with mirages of myself as a new stage of my life.
It’s a paradox to kill love. Divorce doesn’t do anything. Death doesn’t nullify anything except a marriage certificate. Splitting up doesn’t set anyone free. Grown out of love? Is love some plantable life that can be destroyed? I’d like to think of it as an immortal plant. When it dries from lack of water, it just feels the hurt of dehydration, enduring the abandonment. Disregarded by the sun, it has nothing to see except itself… alone. No longer basking in the comforting warmth that is present everyday. But when the sun is part of your galaxy, you still know it is there when covered by clouds.
she couldn’t understand how you can just not love someone anymore
Communication. Is crucial for understanding. The question is not of love, but how complex intricate abstraction is intercepted between two people. Maybe ideas of hope were mistaken for love.
I love communication; although it falls short of expressing definitively unanimous thoughts, especially when the surface (the fundamental idea[s]) is the perimeter and there lies a voluminous mass of multi-dimension to be explored. It’s the fault of arbitrary division within a continuum. Language has no way of explaining itself outside its system, and to chunk things into categories destroys the nonlinear motives of the mind. Decay, decoy. Relay, recoil. Somehow we get by. Aristotelean methods are survivable.
Laying it on you easy with a euphemism contradictorily shows you are masking a deeper issue, which is harder on the euphem-ee.
I now ponder whether it is possible to love more than one person? But then I go into the communication problem of whether I understand what I say to myself. What is love? Sure, there are probably many varieties. I guess I love everybody. And I already knew that; Questions seem to be more understandable than answers. Why?
Instead of antentae, humans got stuck with emotional feelers.
I have a lust and disgust for time. I need more of it, but I’d love to rid myself of it (not in a life-ending way, don’t worry!). My life now exponentially feels fuller and quicker. Time flies when you are having anything, not just fun… Time drags when you don’t think, or when you think of things you are not interested in. I haven’t felt so thoughtful in my entire life. Things are flying: through rain, snow, sleet, hail, fun, letdown, and opportunity.
I’ve lost a lover. He was a rare kind. Time ran me by and I got thrown off my feet. He ended commitments three months after discovering each other on a personal level. A short time, but an endless package of feelings and gatherings to replay for lifetimes. Companions are for life. Couples have breakups. I think I had both whether a couple of people constitute a couple, we up and broke our romance. We have companionship left over. That’s most important… I could use more ships full of company.
I am struck by his decision to hold back on “us.” If it’s a hiatus, things will straighten out together on its own. If it’s the ending punctuation mark on the sentence of love, then both of us must know that a piece of us and our experience will linger stiffened in the past, unchangeable, but retrievable. The ending period doesn’t stop anybody from reading what’s written before it. The authors can revise and append the story of love or they can leave the sentence abandoned- the orphan.
I feel like I have reasons for having feelings, rather than the isolated individual perspective of submersion in apathetic teeter of melancholy and euphoria.
disappointed but grateful
detached but realistic
blank but hopeful
fragmented but understanding
confused but content
empty but growing
I feel a physical manifestation of ambivalence.
“You’re never more naked than when you’re fully dressed”
The sound of one hand clapping
I was at Pei Wei and esta chica Rachel was there, we was there for the Scriv ya know? anyway we gets to talking about Dhyana Buddhism (or zen for you who don’t know the difference between the Lakota and the sioux). Anyways so I told her to listen to the sound of one hand clapping. Typically (for her) she immediately descends upon the process of devouring my proposition. (ya’ll know if you eat too fast you ain’t getting the right nutrients and all…indigestion; system crash) anyway. so she gets to thinking about the simplest and quickest answer (not as to answer the question but to get it out of her way) and says “I get it…it’s silence….” To which I say yeah yeah…cool….yeah….. (NO)….
For though one’s hand doesn’t make sound alone (save mayve for the bat’s who can hear my fingers move) one can still hear the noise of the hand as imagined in the mind. The hand simultaneously does and doesn’t make noise; though this is not a contradiction as I have said, literally it is not producing sound waves which are audible to humans; however even if one were to become deaf they sill have the noise within the mind. This is what it means for me to listen to the sound of one hand clapping. Your clothed body is the most sublime erotica. BEWARE children, not to corrupt the sacred circuit of the kiss, the holy placebo channel of the brain. Tainted windows U238, maxim, higher potency, higher toxicity, surrounding micro-nutrients and towns neglected and left to radioactive decay.
So I was showering naked. Things got werse from then. I believed in were-animals for a moment and wondered if they exist, would they wear clothes. Normally one does not expect them to, but if they shapeshift would they still be wearing the clothing? I won’t be able to sleep until I can settle into the truth of the unactualized beings.
Don’t call it murder when I feed
It’s just the nourishment I need
I cannot curb this appetite
Or I’ll disturb my natural plight
So what if I’m a wolf on full moon nights
I’m still part man and I’ve got rights
I’m sniffin’ out the blood and I take bites!
“The vampire converts quality, live blood, vitality, youth, talent, into quantity, food and time for himself. He perpetrates the most basic betrayal of the human spirit, reducing all human dreams to his shit. And that’s the wrongest wrong a man can be.” -William S Burroughs
I put my life on the spot. Just think of where it’s going. I’ve got to be wise and keep it on track. The facts are right here to find. I’m searching within myself for the answer. You can only feel how you really feel and reject or accept the reality. You decide its worth and outcome. My life is not false.
I couldn’t understand some parts of this article but I guess I just need to check some more resources regarding this, because it sounds interesting.
I confuse myself. I need a bachelor’s degree from the University and a 4.0 GPA. I need to be a bar hopper to get a record in high jumping.
Some people like to think there’s a cosmic connection to one another; a subtle telepathy, like when two people from across the world discover something about the same time without any direct contact with each other. I don’t really find support for this as a paranormal occurrence, because they have the same utilities of the era to make the discovery by.
But what if we could share dreams?
While sleeping we’d interact
in a networked realm
not linked with the physical
world you think of when
you wake up.
But what if we could share dreams? As in experience and shape dreams together. Isn’t that life? Yet people seem fragmented with each other so the dream becomes an isolated state of paralyzed reality. I personally have a comfort in dreams and I think it justified. But I should dream within the waking world. Most dreams lack hyperbole of self-consciousness of my actions within the dream scenario. To hyperbolize self-consciousness would be to think that my contribution is the over-realized center of the situation (a geocentric sun-spin-around-the-earth viewpoint). You freeze frame yourself to look behind and ahead and feel concerned about the chunks rather than just dreaming through it so as to overemphasize a characteristic of it pertaining to the self. I’m pondering applying the anti-hyperbole to waking life. While not entirely disregarding all cares beyond myself, I’d be living a realer life if I modeled myself like an uninhibited dreamer. I’d go beyond stream-of-consciousness. I would be the stream, flowing through reality instead of spectating like first-person machinery.
“You can never step into the same river twice” -Heraclitus
“You can’t step into the same river even once” -Cratylus
The present isn’t one capturable unit, but a moving block without defined shape or limits. Instead of “the present,” we should start calling it “the presents” without literalizing the plurality.
no real life is static
static is no real life
static is real no life
life is real static no?
no static is real life
no real is static life
life is real no static
real is no static life
So I should kill someone just because in dreamworld the rules don’t apply and I’ll will just wake up?
Instead, turn life into your dream; not your dream into a life.
turn life into your dream makes past events not so relevant to you, as previous actions are not indicative of your behavior nor should they concern you in a way that it defines you permanently.
turn your dream into a life puts you in the same boat as a crazy serial killer (a kind of disregard for the dream itself; or a philosophy of dreaming your life away; an excuse for druggies).
In a constantly-changing world, new abusive technologies exist that haven’t existed yet. I say that the best way to move forward and prepare our children is to abuse them, abuse themselves, and give them the abuse necessary to exist in the future. And here’s how… Abuse them through daily situations. Physical abuse lets kids manage pain that can either kill them or make them stronger. Verbal abuse is another viable choice, allowing children to understand the value of their words as they get harshly scolded. Psychological abuse teaches children to cope wisely. These abuses certainly can teach children the value of existence while being fun too!
You can find out more by interviewing foster children, jailed parents, and the passive peeping Toms and Tamaras. In no way to I condone the reciprocal inverse of one of the ten commandments. Thou shalt obey thy mother and father => Thou shalt disobey thy son and daughter. But a more serious question: Can a middle aged man be a victim of child abuse? Can his father or mother misuse him? After all, abuse is to use wrongly. Can Child Protective Services get involved? And is there a way to use a child correctly to counter abuse?
The man who makes fun of you is making fun of himself. Just like you, he’s a person. Why should your fingerprints matter? The world is too imbecilic to count with fingers. Some discriminate themselves by sitting in the roped off section. Others prohibit the use of bleach. It’s not wrong to be proud of what you are but it’s not right to say you’re better than anyone else. We don’t get to decide where we come from; you could have been a different race or marathon. I don’t think you would hate your own kind because they just are.
The color of racism is no color I want to be. All the rest of the crayon box is fine. Just don’t pick up the color of racism.
This feller in the youtube vid is a blue/grey man who lives his life with minimal social engagements from colloidal silver. At first glance, this man looks like he’s stuck in a black and white 1920 movie. He sort of manufactured his condition non-genetically, but he won’t be able to claim affirmative action or employ minority advantages. He’s just a smurf-colored human. He has a right to feel uncomfortable if he so wishes, but being treated ill because of it is a sh*tpie in the face.
Santa, family, friends, me, or anyone listening can give this grateful creature:
-a new spine
-care from others; sincerity
-unexpensive gifts that come from dreams
-companionship and ability to express myself intimately
-insight into unfinished business of mine
-family turmoil resolution
-lump of coal (for my hookah), peppermint flavored
-an eased spirit
-ability to cook food that tastes good
-competency and uncommon sense
And for New Years, I hope to not hear of a single “Resolution.” I will not be having any. They are poor excuses for weak-willed individuals. N.Y.R.’s are asking to be broken. I’d rather just commit to doing what I want without going overboard. For some, it will be holding off on getting laid so often. Others will lay off the chocolate. Not me. I just won’t have my favorite dark chocolate as much as I have been the past week. It is my crutch that I don’t need. Methinks I’m rambling. Go ahead with New Years Resolutions, just don’t make them in order to break them. Set achievable goals and pick yourself up if you fall. The steps of a baby is the pace of a slow but determined winner. Today my goal is to eat dinner instead of eating chocolate candy bars.
I’d like to fulfill someone else’s wishes if it can be done with an empty bank account. I can’t make my secret getaway right now as a broke gal, so I’ll settle for staring at pictures of it online.
Ridden with pain,
Discomfort seeps in.
The new is very old.
The strong is now weak.
I have the aching back blues.
I just want it to go away.
I can’t get rid of it.
I just want it to stop.
I have the aching back blues.
Lately I’ve been moaning inside my head. I have a back injury. Everyone I know seems to have back problems. A third of everyone at work has back issues and we are all secretaries who do no lifting and we get breaks. My dad has metal in his back and he complains in the cold. In the meantime, I’ll do some yoga and strengthen my trunk. And eat less junk food.
There was a guy I knew who had this scarring done to him. His name was Greig, or at least that’s what I knew him as. He was some bum who’d pass by my work in the morning.
I am not the political woman, but I must voice myself in the debate to a controversial issue. In the homosexual hotbed of America lies millions of would-be children. That is okay. Population control at work. Abortion isn’t a fun thing for anybody, especially the baby. As part of an affirmative action initiative, we should waive abortion restrictions for gays and lesbians of all creed and color and allow them to be first in line at abortion clinics. Even homosexual toddlers should have extra rights that protect their right to choose. Gay children should be able to choose which bathroom they attend.