Get your hybrid and e-cig and bathroom that runs on poopoo out of my life, you moron. On a pretty major intersection on El Molino Ave, CA 91106, (just to give you a visual), an idiot noob in a white annoying Prius turns sharp left while I'm going straight. We collide past the middle of the intersection. Slight bump. I survived with a minor scratch on the front left bumper because I'm a genius driver. I drive like I'm a dood. Don't get feminist on me. My mom drives like she is Korean. She is Korean, relative newbie to America. My "beh emm veh" has the battle scars of a pro, and the missing license plate lends color and credibility to my image. Nowadays, I like to think I have "an angel on my shoulder but a devil in my head". The other driver got wheeled away on a stretcher. Hysterical. Freaking out and jumping around sweating. Engine smoking. Thank god the guy didn't pass out. I couldn't even get his info properly. Might have seemed inappropriate. He is sucha nubbly wubbly, doods. He can probably can take can take credit for THIS: "2012 Toyota Prius Two Written by: tommyterrific on Oct 11, 2012 1:51:35 PM Hello Everybody, We just purchased this car 2 days ago, and were given the "HARD sell" to purchase an extended warranty. What does anybody have for an opinion on this matter? Thanks, TT" Bottom line: Thank you GAWD for my life, my boring days, and the fact that I was paying attention. Driving is all about attention span. That's really all there is to it. People who space out or go manic-depressive or paranoid on the road better not dare judge my Bimmer, or come close enough to look at my school tramp stamp on my butt. People get rationally furious in an accident. The car, and the institution of "safety" and "adulthood" failed you. Nothing is infallible. You're not special. It really does happen to you. Oh btw man, you have cancer because you smoke and you lied when you said you only smoke e-cigs. I love how I had to hand in my interim driver license to the police officer. Single, btw. Made fun of my "interim" paper license. Him: So where's your REAL license? Me:....@#@$%#$% Him: Ahhh. You're one of those new drivers. Me: ...@$@#%#%$# Him: So you have an INTERIM license? He's lucky he's cute. Or I woulda slugged him. No really, I would have. I could have. I should have. Omgosh. I think he's into me. He gave me his card. Has his name on it and number and everything!!!!! Maybe I should ask him what is a better name for our third child: Lucy or Charlie (both girl names. Eff you.) Oh and if he doesn't want to shave the heads of our babies, then so be it. It's not meant to be. My aunt shaved my cousin's head twice when she was a baby. People thought she was a dood baby, but she now has thick, super cool hair.
If it's your dream school, it will fail you. If it's your dream job, you will fail at it. Do something that you know makes money that you are good at. Do something to make you good at it. It's very stressful to invent. You have to trip your mind outside of your usual mind-frame, go out on a limb, and offer up a brainchild for judgement. To be good at that, you need to know what fails, what succeeds, and how to succeed, most of the time, in creating the inventions your profession calls for. Education helps you invent, create, build, improve, and take credit for discarded success of the past. If you travel for a while and say you're doing it to learn form life experience, make sure you know where you're going, and what you need to cover, (basically what your peer group is doing while you think you have the time to vacation). I used to want to be a teacher. Professor. English. Writer on the side. Here's why I am going to be a journalist. I already know it's going to be boring. It makes more money. Cooler people to make friends with. I have no expectations other than making sure I get the right amount of education to be better than most at it. I know I'd be good at it. It will land me a longer life until I have to die. I don't want kids. I like having more stuff than teacher's have.
Help me want the right things. I never get what I want. Now I only want what i can have, so I want nothing. I'm tired of wanting nothing. Tell me what to want. I'm tired of being my own daughter. You can be my parents. Please curse everybody in the world but me and make me telepathic so I'm more special than anyone I've ever heard of and then I'll find out how to make money off of being telepathic. Make me more special than anyone else. Make me live forever. That's all I want. Now help me want the right things. in jejus name amen and p.s. Kill that one guy for me. Oh and give me my brother's recording studio so my voice doesn't sound like holy cr@p. As it stands, I got LogicPro but my microphone is utter garbage and I stopped using GarbageBand but I can't record vocals until I sneak into my/his recording studio, so can you make him either gimme it or die or move out or something? Oh and make me pure of heart so I can see You face. Okay, Amen for realz. I fully expect my inbox to be flooded by prayer requests. Oh, and I'm bored. Any creepsters wanna PM? This site is kinda slow. Life is slow for me right now.
All good books have something in common: they are more real than real life, truer than if they had really happened. Reading any book has an art to it, especially good books. Look at the words as if you are reading them for the first time. Inversely, writing a good book is an art; write as if your are reading your own words, as if you invented language. Break conventions. The short honest truth is that anyone can write a book. Usually, beginners want permission. You don’t need any. There is no license required, no prerequisites, no test beforehand to pass. Writing is different from publishing in that almost no financial or physical resources are required. Paper, pen, and effort are the only requirements, as shown by thousands of years. If Marquis de Sade and Voltaire could write in prison, anyone can do it in the comfort of suburbia, after lunch at work, while your children are at school or asleep, or at your local coffee shop/library. If you want to make a book, kill the myths, kill the magic, kill the glamour: a book is a book is a book is just a bunch of words. Just start, like fixing the toaster or running errands. It’s a part of your day. You might seriously suck, but it’s a starting point for the great book. Writing a good book is different in from a bad book only in that it requires work. Be diligent. Where there is made effort, there is a reward. My truth is that I love to write. I get better the more I read. The more you sound like a good book, the better your books will get. I love the idea that people can just make up creating and fulfill a pseudo reality on a blank canvas, whether for enjoyment of for someone else to read and find pleasure in. That’s freaking cool. Writing doesn’t have to be pleasurable, but you should enjoy your work at the end, knowing it’s a good book. If you enjoy the sugar sweetness of catching words off-guard and stringing them out to dry in sentences, then great. But some writers just do it because they are good at it. They just form language, beat up linguistic meat, and create good books. How? Sorry. Practice makes perfect. How do you know if your book is starting with a good idea? Will anyone like the idea? Yes. You have to like it. That’s the beginning. A good book starts with your own approval. You don’t want to seek validation from reviewers or other readers. Many people question others looking for proof that their plot or book summary or idea is any good. You are the one doing all the work. You will be the one investing time and energy into a long process. Like your own work, even if you don’t particularly like writing at first or in general. If you don’t like what you’ve made, scrap it. If you don’t like an idea, omit. If your book idea won’t leave you alone, that’s a sign that it will make for a good book. Only cowards need permission to write. They procrastinate because they are afraid of failure. Bottom line? Make it and see how your audience reacts. You don’t have to be a good book to be a book. You don’t have to change the world with every word. Just make something and see what happens. No one will see how you started your story, so why bother with fear? If you care about your book’s every element, that will make for the possibility of a good book. I personally wish I were my every character; makes it easier to write. You have to care about the characters, feel them out, know every little aspect of their psychology. A good book has real characters, many layers and dynamite dimensions. If in the end, you are the only person that reaps any value from what you create, that in itself justifies your efforts. Years later, when you fall in love with your book all over again, it will be an awesome feeling, simply because you made it. Your book is good because it’s yours, a creation you spent a part of your life on. Whatever is good enough to be a book you’d read is a good book in your opinion. As the author, at the end of the day, it’s your opinion that matters. Now publishing it? That’s a whole different world.
At half mast The prowling jungle beast Is alert and on the prowl, In need of moisture in the triangle Of forests and castle strategies. Invasion tactic. Charge. Plan: get gold and kill feminists That are girls and are still healers. Make out session with A soon2be rap supastar After the domination of Two Italian guys who Are asking for it. LEEROY JENKINS!!!!!!
The world is changing colors on me. There’s no value in the grey substance of insight. Nothing’s not geometry and infinitely perfect, like cabalistic theosophies used to be in my youth. There’s nothing sacred in kindred agnosticisms and divine nature. With what you gain in understanding comes the realization that you’ve lost time, effort, youth, and perspective. And the sagacity you’re proud to have earned is nothing big, no difference made in anything that matters. You’re not genius; you’re nothing special. And if you think you’re the unique, you’re just like every other naïve persistence of perquisition that summates the populace. Your very words fail you after you even think them twice to say it to yourself before entering verbal discourse. Pretty pugnacious plethora of prerequisite omniscient fourth persons permeates universal precedence of tongue-twisting prosody. If life is an envelope that films from start of consciousness to finish, then my vision is the only proof I have that some dreams stopped being American techni-color, some dogmatic immutables are no longer quite so fixed, some fallacies are concentric circles, like god and hyperbole, and all things are living context, grey fluffs, like truth and psychology. It all changes, and it doesn’t matter how much fact you think you can accumulate. In the end, no one makes a difference in the world, not even you. Of atheists and holy men, I can claim that their battle is insignificant, like the ideology after the last significant digit of the chosen smallest decimal. But that’s my omniscience. Tell me why angels and demons fight? So they matter more to people like you. It’s the desire to be god of infinite complexities to even one more sucker lamb-child. Someone should have told you by now. You don’t matter. None of you do.
I’m breaking circles you don’t want to know. I’m stacking losses until a garden of weepers grow. A siege is sucking me. I’m fighting things I don’t want to see. The night’s all right with negligent trivial rivalries and chestnut complexities. I’m meeting demons I can’t demonize. I’m haunted by terrors I can’t terrorize. I count reciprocals and lost prosaisms. I’m a boiler of buzzwords. My every locution is a trite frivolity. I’m coining a sick piper’s tune to the longest road I can find to nowhere. I fall frequently to madness and love. I want to grow tall and be more than where you are now. Maybe I’m alive and that’s the reason why I don’t know anything. Maybe I’m dying and that’s the reason why I’m alive. Maybe I’ll yahoo “why am I alive?” and laugh myself off at the answers. “nothing good has ever happened to me,ever.it not looking like anything good is going to happen should just jump off a bridge or kill 100 ppl -3 years ago Shane, moron” “Best Answer - Chosen by Asker Does it matter why? Just try to make it a good life.”-my dad comma Dijon Hoogy
Romney has a number of reasons to be confident about his prospects. Everytime his stupidity act gets caught, they rally more. He represents the stupid out of people. It's charisma that I can't really remedy. A little jealous. My dumbness makes me less popular. I'm sure you know he's neck and neck with Obama. How? He is every Republican in one man. ON PURPOSE. Who votes to make themselves poor? An idiot. Who will they be drawn to? A king of idiocy. "I like being able to fire people who provide services to me." –Mitt Romney, using an unfortunate choice of words while advocating for consumer choice in health insurance plans (January 2012) Every weird double negative thing he does confuses and baffles the crown like a complex parable. And his ratings jump. I checked every quote. ""I'm not concerned about the very poor. We have a safety net there." —Mitt Romney (January 2012)" Charisma is that which other people would remedy. The poor people idolize him all the more. It's a frenzy. My personal favorite: "I should tell my story. I'm also unemployed." —Mitt Romney, speaking in 2011 to unemployed people in Florida. Romney's net worth is over $200 million. He is the people's representative, loud and clear. He is every struggle, everyone who isn't blessed with sharp smart brains and new money. "PETA is not happy that my dog likes fresh air." --on strapping his dog to the top of the car. Every repub boor I know does that with their dogs or beer. Or a teacup pig once. Some guy from the liquor store. It makes Romney popular. Again, he is everybody. "We should double Guantanamo!" Mitt Romney caught being so stupid it's not even a thing. And now the Dems call him stupid and the Reps say that's ad hominem and don't care about things they haven't heard about. Romney's a wizard at being a dunce. He's just acting. He's literally saying/doing/representing EVERYTHING his target audience needs to hear to vote for him and make themselves poorer. He's a literal genius at pretending to be stupid so the masses can talk about politics too and keep up with CNN anchors. And gay marriage fodder and abortion doesn't really matter. He can rile up a crowd. It's all a distraction. It's just about taxation. Many Americans want to be allowed to do as much as possible, regardless of what they're able to do. The rest of the world appears to want to be able to do as much as possible, even if that means they are allowed to do fewer things. Yes, we all know that it's just about finances. Do they? ""My sons are all adults and they've made decisions about their careers and they've chosen not to serve in the military and active duty and I respect their decision in that regard. One of the ways my sons are showing support for our nation is helping me get elected because they think I'd be a great president." I'm probably not in the minority as far as my distaste for his politics, but he's a g. He can rev up vote count by being as stupid as the people who need to vote for him. It's literally what every idiot Repub says to me. They all hate Obama Care. His new law is such a tax. And he's unfit because, well, he's.... the HealthCare thing again." (Now he's a family man. brilliant. They ALL talk like that. This woman I know thinks Romney is a cutie now because of this family man thing. "I purchased a gun when I was a young man. I've been a hunter pretty much all my life." (Romney's campaign later said he'd been hunting twice, once when he was 15, and once in 2006 at a Republican fundraiser) (Genius.) "Hugo Chavez has tried to steal an inspiring phrase 'Patria o muerte, venceremos.' It does not belong to him. It belongs to a free Cuba." --invoking a phrase that translates to "Fatherland or death, we shall overcome," which Fidel Castro has used to close his speeches for years, and which is associated with Cuban oppression. (Genius.) "I saw my father march with Martin Luther King." (Romney's campaign later admitted that they didn't march on the same day, or in the same city) "I'm happy to learn that after I speak you're going to hear from Ann Coulter. That's a good thing. I think it's important to get the views of moderates." --right before Coulter called John Edwards a "faggot". (That's a pretty popular Rep word. It's almost planned. Prophetic.) "You sit down with your attorneys and tell you what you have to do, but obviously the president of the United States has to do what's in the best interest of the United States against a potential threat." --on whether he would consult Congress about invading Iran. (Who trains him? It's all engineered to make everyone listen to stupidness, makes everyone that much stupider when they support him, and they can sneak taxes on us.) "There were a couple of times I wondered whether I was going to get a pink slip" –Mitt Romney, attempting to identify with the problems of average folk (January 2012) And they relate to him AGAIN. It's all purposed. "I believe in an America where millions of Americans believe in an America that's the America millions of Americans believe in. That's the America I love." –Mitt Romney (January 2012) WE the AMERICA. Wow. No dictionary look up neccessary. No translation or thinking predicated. Everyone can understand his genius diction. It's too amazing. Does anyone else think Romney is just pretending to be a moronic idiot and is a secret underground Einsten?
The people of the world are synchronic and concentric. They are isomorphous elements in a domain of endless trajectories. People are all the same. You meet the same person every day. It’s magnetic. We’re all drawn to what strikes us as unique, different, special. And so everything is normalized, everyone is socialized, and mundane things like hipsters and post-iPhone laptops pervade coast to coast like osmosis. In concentrated circulation, every man struggles to be great, important. It’s survival. But soon, he is no longer wrestling the enemy. He has become the enemy. Adaptation isn’t a struggle anymore. It’s a habit. I am a habitual cynic. I am not special. I see myself everywhere, on every street. My hair is pink, blue, and purple to hide red roots. And the boy at Costco has green-white hair. He is must be more unique than I could ever be. But maybe his burgundy grandma-chic glasses are fake and his jeans aren’t real. That must be why I am still superior, more special, less average. And so the desire to be different, the hunger to exceed adequacy precedes rational sight. Competition is cyclical. We rotate, revolving in cycles, changed vaguely by the wax of a new moon, but shocked into accepting culture myths, like race. And we race to synchronize ourselves until, why bother? Why bother with introductions? I may as well admit it. You’ve met me, probably often. I am not a fellow citizen as your neighbor. I have not merely met your neighbor. I am your neighbor. I am you. I am blown by proximate currents. I am not greatly changed by global events, but petty thefts and secret burns, festering hatreds and shallow relationships. I am not first affected by a ripple from the global sound-pellet, but neither are you. In a chrysalis sphere, we encircle the sun. And its people cycle, sharks to the scent of innovation. A famous new haircut makes your children wear the same blunt bangs. Flux and flow. It’s the Westerlies over and over, endless tradewinds of media and monopolies. Life changes in measurable modicums. I trade my car for the one you’ve seen as often as you’ve seen me. I’ll describe it. It cost money. I upgrade my cell and join the post-smartphone era. You can see it right now. It’s yours. The economy rises in tides and sinks. It affects us, and we all change in unison. Yes, some of us are wealthy. Others are lazy. We differ in energy, ethnicity, and yet, we all differ equally, to the same degree of separation. Thus, we are all identical. I am bitter. I harbor rage. I am pessimistic. Why am I just like you? I am a withered bishop’s lotus in the desert. I am rattleweed in the valley. I am a dying pygmy poppy in the fields. I was the favored booth’s sun cup, like starlight at times, impossible to contain in gaiety and sprite. Now I am maroon merlot of coursing vengeance and mordacity. I am venom in the blowing devil’s claw shrub, sharp without censure. And I am an orphan no one tried to create. I am another fourth-person omniscient of a larger assembly. I know everything. It all revolves around me. I’m important. And in that, I am just like you.
What do you think? I'm too new to post this on a thread, so.. Mark this $#%& UP! Please and thanks. -------------- “Come here, Satan,” I cooed to my terrier. Satan trotted over to my outstretched hand and I gave him a kiss on the nose. He licked my fingers and growled, pawing the leash I carried until I tied it around his neck. I walked him around the block and up the street by the chapel. Satan’s brown and white spots blended in with the hedges and fences of a similar nuance of brown. The arc-angel Michael’s pious glory hung over us in the stained window paintings. Inside, the congregation bowed their heads in communion. Satan glowered at a nearby adolescent skating by with Mother Mary beads and silver cross- chain around his neck. “Come on, Satan,” I muttered as the boy passed us. He stared at me, eyes wide. By the local community college, Satan freed himself of my grasp and lunged on top of the Mirror Pools and waded in the water. It was about two feet deep. He swam and shook his head, spraying drops of cold water on the students. They shrieked and ran for cover. Satan bounded to a group of boys playing Frisbee in the nearby fields. “Satan!” I yelled. It really was the only name my damned dog had ever answered to. I presumed it was because my mother had obsessive-compulsive tendencies when she prayed, and cursed the devil loudly. My dog had the habit of snuggling in her lap as she shouted fervently,” Satan! Satan! I cast thee away. The Spirit of the Lord compels thee! Satan! The Spirit of the Lord compels thee!” Meanwhile, the boys were happily letting him join them. He jumped in the air whenever one of them made a pass. I ran after my dog. “Satan! Come back! Satan!” “That is blasphemous!” said a woman seated at the head of a nearby circle. “Why?” I asked her. “Your dog is not the devil, young man.” “I know that,” I said. “Is the devil inside your dog?” asked a girl in the group. “We’re from the Christian Club. We can save him.” “Way to go, Satan!” cheered the boys playing Frisbee. My dog had made a great catch and still held the Frisbee with his teeth. “Nice one, Satan!” someone else yelled, falling to the grass in laughter. The Christian woman frowned as I returned Satan to the leash. He growled at her and bared his fangs playfully. She screamed, quaking in terror. “The devil is alive!” she whispered feverishly.
People get jealous when some things work and others don't. It's a cutthroat business. Everyone screws up sometimes, while another story sells. Criticism get be brutal, like punches to the gut. People get ruthless, and rejection can keep you from getting back up when you've sunk to your knees in discouragement. Jealousy just makes everything worse. I used to envy some writers in my classes that got published when I didn't. It made me miserable when I compared myself to others. I'm kind of a perfectionist and I grew frustrated. I judged myself. I graded myself as inferior in some miniscule way to my peer group, some having succeeded where I floundered. I had magnificent success in other aspects and grew proud. I've found that being so competitive is such a turn-off. I've learned to be humble and stop being so aggressive. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Every man I meet is my superior in some way. In that, I learn of him." No one should bear with them the burden of a competitive mentality. Let's be logical. Every writer is unique. No one can be better than that thing you do best that only you can do. There's no need to weigh yourself down with added heaviness of competition. Learn from the best. Learn from the underlings. Learn from what doesn't work. Learn from your own failures and successes. And when someone has a triumph, feel happy for them and offer up congratulations. It makes you feel better about yourself. Oh, and don't just flatter them. Flattery is merely telling people what they think of themselves. It isn't genuine, and it gets obvious. No one should feel inferior. Hone your craft. Where there is talent, there was practice. Where there is made effort, there is reward. And in the end, make improvements because you want to be better than you were last night, last year, not better than that boy in your class who got a deal with a publisher you've been eyeing. You're better than you ever were. Go give that boy a hug and tell him he deserves it! He does! He must have worked hard.
"I have not failed. I have just found 10,000 things that do not work." Thomas Edison I think you find genius not in a moment, but within momentum. Build up momentum with 10,000 tries. Reframing failed efforts can inspire something truly ingenious. Inventions of genius give way to fresh slants and perspectives that create results. Yes, not everyone is a genius, but then again, we use about 8% of our brains. Einstein used 14%. Dig deeper, find the courage to be original. Motivation is a choice, it's not a momentary feeling.