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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.
The Laws of ForgettingIt gets better, I say, when someone has lost someone, because it does. You know, I’ve realized that when you lose someone it’s not always their death that’s making you sad. It’s yourself. You make yourself guilty. You feel that if you don’t cry enough for them, don’t die enough for them, don’t feel sad enough for them, that you are a bad person. You don’t want to let go of your sadness, because you’re afraid if you let go of your sadness you will be letting go of them as well. There’s a point where you have to realize that not being sad about them is the greatest thing you can do for them, because dying for someone is not the best thing you can do. Living for someone is. They’re fine if you forget them slowly, as you are bound to eventually. And I’m not telling you that you should never cry, and that you should be happy the second they’re gone. It doesn’t work like that. I know. You should cry, a
InflationHow can a part of spacetime
to expand faster
than light can travel?
...unfolding a new universe
out of a small dot of
the big nothingness
like a blossom...
How can something
become so big
in such a small amount of time?
TraditionWhile tradition may be considered important by many, I believe that tradition has lately been put into so much importance, that it becomes more important that morality. Spanish bullfighting is much worse that most other types of animal abuse that could get one in jail. However since it is such a long tradition, it was able to buy a plot of land from the government to put and arena on. Hazing is even worse. It is often clearly physical abuse, but government run universities still support it. What makes us so willing go so far to keep tradition though. What is it about a ceremony that seems to have no real benefit to society, that makes us do anything to keep it.
I think that it is not the actual ceremony that we are disparate to keep. I think that unconsciously, the ritual is representative of our current way of life, and we believe that without it, more important things will change. I can understand this mindset very well. Change often can be scary, and can actually have negative affec
Majestic Buddha of the DhammaThe Buddha waits for all
who seek His teachings.
For it is the Buddha who
brings glad tiding to us
His is the wisdom that shows
us how to live a better life
The Buddha is the messenger
of Nibbana. Nibbana is the
final stop for all existance.
Let us be grateful that we
have the Buddha. For He is
the founder of Buddhism.
The time travelerAnd he thought
"History may be
So let's go
into the ocean
of unknown dimensions..."
Where is he
when he was
Is he there
in the future?
Has this place
or even a past?
Travel across the galaxy,
travel across the time...
Where was he
when he was
And in the end
the time traveler said:
is a dangerous place!"
Beyond personalityLife is not a personality development program. It is a planned attempt to develop our soul. Make peace with your personality. It is not the most important part of you. That is the soul. It is the only thing in you that is not temporary, and the thing you get to take forward, along with your karma. So, don't get carried away by your personality. Or anybody else's, it is not who they really are. When you are able to see through your own personality, you are then able see people for who they are, beyond what they project. When you find the courage to be who you are, you allow others to do the same. When you end the personality game, you free yourself first.
Do you manage to bring your soul, your heart into your personality, and everything you do? Do you do things lovingly? Then it is worthwhile to have whatever personality you have.
People who think they have a great personality, turn the facade into a prison. They just might be flamboyant, bold, or talkative, and some often end up as obn
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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