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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.
Faith vs reasonReason( ignorance about God ) needs to be won by our Faith and Love in Christ Jesus, as Lord Jesus Himself said : " by your Love they'll know , you are my Disciples. ". Engaging a battle of reasons doesn't gain much.
Self ReflectionTo admire your enemies,
it is one step above relating to them
Pitying your enemies
Is one step above despising them
On Heroes and VillainsThere’s a saying, “When on the path to becoming a hero be wary that you don’t wind up the villain”. What that saying doesn’t warn you about is that ultimately the paths become one and the same and it’s almost impossible to see the dividing line.
The Problem with MemoryThe Problem with Memory
I don’t care what anyone remembers of me after I die. I mean, I’ll be dead, I won’t be around to care. And to a lesser extent I don’t even care what anyone evokes of me while I still draw breath. Memory is a broken concept. It can be warped and skewed by even the most impartial observer until it has no bearing on fact, on what truly occurred. How many great men does our society reminisce fondly of who were hated in their lifetimes, perhaps for good reason? And how many unassuming saints die in total obscurity by the very nature of their humility, their good deeds never to be thought of again?
I say it again, memory is a broken concept.
This is our curse, imaginably, for our own hubris. Or maybe it is the reason our race as a whole suffers such grand delusions in the first place, that we might have worshipped Caesar and Augustus as divine beings instead of the plain men they were. Plain men we all are, flesh and blood, and imperfect to the
On Fate and Destiny and OtherHere you stand at a crossroads. The road of fate to the left and the road of destiny to your right. If you were to go left then you were fated to choose so but if you go to the right then you were destined to go that way. But what if you choose neither? What if instead of choosing one or the other you made a different choice? What would we call that?
One word for it may be “freedom”.
Bad Trend in Teens [More to a journal]I heard from my friend, that many of her classmates are or want to use e-Cigarette. And this is so messed up, as we are still young (middle-schooler).
First of all, what is e-Cigarette? Electric Cigarette/Electronic Nicotine Delivery Systems, a new cigarette type. Detailed here.
Also known as 'vapor' in Indonesia. It may be more healthy and environmentally friendly than normal cigarette, but the negative sides still the same.
Well, read the rest of the thing in wikipedia.
e-Cigarette is kind of expensive in Indonesia (the cheapest one as far as my cousin know is 500.000 IDR, I don't know what about the liquid, and if refill...). But well, my school is a prestigious school for those who are rich (I'm not that rich though) so it's not that surprising...
I know what is e-Cigarette since my cousin uses it too. My cousin already work, and e-Cigarette is a trend in her workplace.
So, back to main point. My friend showed the
Coming CleanI'm gonna be honest with you, I don't have any idea what I'm doing.
I keep coming up with these absolutely ridiculous thoughts and ideas that mess with me way more than my own thoughts should, and they're almost always about trivial bullshit. One day, I consider how many people would care if my plane went down in a field somewhere. I wonder how many lives would be affected by the loss of everyone on board with me, how long it would be on the news, if at all. Then I'm realizing that I'm just a grain of sand in a great cosmic beach or some hippie crap like that that you've heard spewed a dozen times from books and speeches and poetry.
Can this be called a poem? I don't like to write poems. I have no skill with them and at my age they always wind up full of angst.
I guess you could say that we're having a conversation, but at the same time you aren't contributing at all. I don't even know who the hell you are, yet I'm talking to you, the abstract idea of a reader, like we're friends. I su
On Strength Beyond StrengthI know a lot of strong people, people who can’t climb a wall or win a fight or even lift a box over thirty pounds above their head, but they’re strong because they have something most “strong” people lack. Perseverance. They are strong because they are determined and maybe too stubborn to back down.
That in itself is a form of strength.
Confesiunea unui suflet pagan Asculta-mi spusele, pentru tine, nu doar de dragul celor din jur. Poate si tu ai trecut prin acest cosmar,
dar nu ai avut curajul si nici cuvintele necesare sa spui.
Nu e fictiune, nu e o poveste cu printi si printese,
ci doar confesiunea unui suflet de taciune in spatele caruia
se afla o inima imbibata cu venin de atata amar de vreme.
O lacrima nevinovata, ce trece ca un fulger pe obrazu-ti de copil te diferentiaza de
un pui de demon.
Te privesc in oglinda si departe de ordinara-ti infatisare umana, departe de ochii-ti
negri ce lumineaza, dar plang
a jale, vezi un spirit intunecat care ti-a aparat fragila constiinta si nu te-a lasat sa
innebunesti de la prima cadere.
Un gand se proiecteaza in tacere pe zeci de sentimente care ricoseaza direct in inima ta
gingasa si te doare... si nu-ti citesc dintr-un roman, ci dintr-un suflet.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More