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The Places You Found LoveEveryone, but you especially as a woman, is biologically programmed to find babies cute. It's an evolutionary imperative, because the rational thing to do when you've got a screaming, shitting dependant taking up your food, is to kill it, and we need something to stop us doing that. It's also why people are generally attracted to big eyes and smooth skin - because they're characteristics of children.
And I'm not saying this to detract from the beauty of parenthood, or to make you sad, I'm saying it to point out that this fact doesn't make a baby's laugh any less wonderful. And I don't think the source of anything can make it less so.
This is why I can point out that any form of love isn't God or fate or destiny, it's that if two people have a strong emotional attachment, their children are more likely to survive.
Atomic bombs are beautiful.
So I will say that the me I am now, will and always has been feeling what I feel, but that sentence doesn't even make sense until we consider that
The Reasons We DieWhat I meant to say was that sometimes I just stare at the cigarette in my hands and beg for it to stop messing around and just kill me already.
But I figured you don't want to hear that.
The Shifting Nature of RealityYou asked me, "In these dreams, what does it look like?" I told you it looks different every time. Sometimes it's like a million feathers falling, sometimes it's like snow, sometimes it's like little stones, sometimes like ash, sometimes like a fine sand blowing across the hills. It's always silent. It falls around me but it never touches me. It never sticks. I told you sometimes I see dim figures walking in the distance through all the falling white. I told you I wish one would turn around and come to me. I wish one had your face. I wish the pink of your cheeks and blue of your eyes would appear to me unveiled from out of the drift. But the sad small figures don't turn around. They walk on, shoulders low, and disappear. I just watch them. You said, "I'm here now," and touched my hand. "I'm here now."
The Time Gone ByTick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.
The clock stops.
The NuancePlay it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.
The Silence Goes On For YearsIn case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.
The Art of Finding FlawsMaybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.
the Millennia LaterDesolation has its own stark beauty. It's in the limbs of dead trees twisting up, pleading at the grey sky. It's in the air, cold with a faint hint of smoke and the barest breeze that stirs up the dust at your feet. The white-grey ash falls like snowflakes, dusting your hair, your coat, your mask. You catch one of the flakes and it crumbles between your gloved fingers. The ground is packed as hard as concrete under your boots as you turn your back on this cold, still world. You look up; the moon is barely visible. You will carry that memory with you as you go back underground. Mankind no longer has use for the stars.
ConfusedRight is wrong
And wrong is right
Pain is pleasure
And pleasure is pain
It's an upside down world
In my messed up mind
.The only reason why any artist is any good is because they looked at the fact they couldn't draw, and said 'I have to change that.'
To liveThought process;
To live vicariously through another
until we see the illusion within illusions
which reality do we set our foundation in
until we decide to move into another realm
its all real in the minds eye
there are no real hidden truths
just complacency within our own tolerances
What dictates drive under such circumstances?
The psychology of multiple selfs
pieces hidden from one another until the right moment
we mourn for ghosts
because beauty can't exist without loss
the clock ticks and we're quick to cast morality into different shades
to predict our mortality
based on experience
based on fact
based on a drive to understand
but moreover- to live
Reticent (minor trigger warnings)Do not speak to me of hate until you have carved the word into your own skin. You know nothing of self-loathing until you court a razor's edge to feel alive. And you have not truly felt pain until you wish that you had died.
The broken suffer behind walls as strong and cold as steel. They do so not to entice themselves into feeling protected, but rather, to keep out the bigotry, discrimination, and hateful stigmas hurled at their feet. Shame and solitude are too commonly experienced by those that most need compassion and understanding.
So do not speak to me of loneliness unless you have been cast out for revealing what you truly are. Do not dare to judge the broken and rejected unless you have been shattered by those you once thought cared. Do not leer and make light of the scars etched into my skin. Never do any of these until you truly know where I have been.
I will never say anything. Because you will Never feel or understand the way I do. If I had a penny for every time that I have
More Than Anything ElseWho am I really? Where did all this come from—the 70 sextillion twinkling stars, dark empty space, the radiant sphere of the sun, the mysterious cold white geometry of the moon, our big mudball earth, we 7.3 billion human ants on it, the showers, the soakers, the storms, the rivers rolling to the one big deep green sea? You and me—hey, and that little gnat right there—where are we all going? Why are we born? Why must we die? What should we do while we’re here? Why does life seem so horribly unequal and unfair? Why do some suffer and die while others party and play golf? Why have I been healthy and happy for seventy-one years while innocent, loving children suffer deformity, disfigurement, neglect, molestation, torture, and death? Why are we heartless, cold, and cruel? Why do we taunt and torment the weak? Why do we kill? Why do we hate? Why is there eternal war? How can I help the helpless, the poor, the sick, the dying, the dead? How should I feel in the knowle
AntecedenceWhen something is amiss, no matter how bad.. judge the cause of the problem, rather than
the consequence of it
It's easier to frown upon the one who is overwhelmed.. reacting.. and heard. It should be
understood why. Like fire, pain and it's consequence.. doesnt start on it's own
What Is Real?---Krishnamurti once asked the question of whether there can be action without thought. In reaction to this---thought inevitably came, producing action in the form of a series of further questions. What follows is a personal investigation into Krishnamurti's statement based on previous consideration regarding the concept that all is mind.
---"Action without thought". Does this mean that thought stops entirely? Or is it that action is not present in thought, meaning that it is no longer diluted by the distraction of self absorbed thought? If action is within thought does this mean that there is minimal awareness rather than total awareness? And if this is the reality (that universe is mind, existence being idea), would it mean that everything in our physical world has awareness? Inanimate objects included? Furthermore, if action with thought propelling it is an indication of an idea under development, does this mean that a still object is more evolved?
---What is the difference between
Writing Fan Fiction For BeginnersWriting Fan Fiction For Beginners
I’m not going to pretend that my way is the only way. What works for some people might not work for others. What I will talk about, however, are things that I wish someone had told me when I first started writing fan fiction.
Write about a fandom you love. I can’t stress this enough. It can be tempting - very tempting - to write for a big fandom because of the potential for more reviews, follows, and favourites. But fan fiction is often the very first time that people show their writing to others. That can be a very scary experience. It is a lot easier to write about something you love, so take some of the pressure off by focusing on a fandom you care about.
Don’t be afraid to post a story. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: every writer was once a novice. Don’t be ashamed if your writing isn’t as good as someone else’s. Instead, focus on your own writing and your own improve
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More