tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12574424609366501302024-03-19T00:09:39.858-04:00Here TodayHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-80237419474975931872014-09-09T01:41:00.002-04:002014-09-09T01:43:30.345-04:00<i>"In a far and distant galaxy</i><br />
<i>Inside my telescope I see</i><br />
<i>A pair of eyes look back at me</i><br />
<i>He walks and talks and looks like me</i><br />
<i>Sits around inside his house</i><br />
<i>From room to room he moves about</i><br />
<i>Fills his life with pointless things</i><br />
<i>and wonders how it all turns out.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Do do do do do</i><br />
<i>Do do do do do</i><br />
<i>Safe to say that</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't think you understand!</i><br />
<i>There's nowhere left to turn</i><br />
<i>Walls keep breaking</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Time is like a leaf in the wind</i><br />
<i>Either it's time worth spent</i><br />
<i>or time I've wasted.</i><br />
<i>Don't waste it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Afraid of what the truth might bring</i><br />
<i>He locks his doors and never leaves</i><br />
<i>Desperately searching for signs</i><br />
<i>to terrify, to find a thing</i><br />
<i>He battens all the hatches down</i><br />
<i>and wonders why he hears no sound</i><br />
<i>Frantically searching his dreams</i><br />
<i>he wonders what it's all about</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Do do do do do</i><br />
<i>Do do do do do</i><br />
<i>Safe to say that</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't think you understand!</i><br />
<i>There's nowhere left to turn</i><br />
<i>Walls keep breaking</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Time is like a leaf in the wind</i><br />
<i>Either it's time worth spent</i><br />
<i>or time I've wasted...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Clearing my mind,</i><br />
<i>losing my friends</i><br />
<i>Follow my fears</i><br />
<i>do it again.</i><br />
<i>You say how, do, you do.</i><br />
<i>Man, how 'bout you?</i><br />
<i>Man, how 'bout you?</i><br />
<i>To be free</i><br />
<i>To be son</i><br />
<i>To be killed</i><br />
<i>To be saved</i><br />
<i>In my head, I'm alone</i><br />
<i>I'm un-dead, I'm ashamed</i><br />
<i>Just like you, I've been tryin'</i><br />
<i>To be scared</i><br />
<i>In my bones, I feel cold.</i><br />
<i>I give this to the lord in the sea</i><br />
<i>In this street</i><br />
<i>Let me go</i><br />
<i>Let me be, I don't need</i><br />
<i>To be here, I'm alone</i><br />
<i>Can't you see? Can't you see?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't think you understand!</i><br />
<i>There's nowhere left to turn</i><br />
<i>These walls keep breaking</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Time is like a leaf in the wind</i><br />
<i>Either it's time worth spent</i><br />
<i>or time I've wasted...</i><br />
<i>Don't waste it."</i><br />
<br />
-"Telescope" by Cage the ElephantHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-49938368090769977462013-03-31T00:06:00.001-04:002013-03-31T00:14:10.744-04:00So, here's a long one (to make up for not writing in a few months maybe). It's a bit disjointed, but c'est la vie...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUDatD9eiGT8BwlPFthhTe1tEPTRXHixXLESOHGaeWGxv1hicWK73Tr90XNTs5NgqiXTSF6MBwfrrgWUg__vXFgDO3FWBMhoNlB_C3kmStIDdTkYRXYOCdIk3D0CarKIVgTEN1qorHiE/s1600/Picture+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUDatD9eiGT8BwlPFthhTe1tEPTRXHixXLESOHGaeWGxv1hicWK73Tr90XNTs5NgqiXTSF6MBwfrrgWUg__vXFgDO3FWBMhoNlB_C3kmStIDdTkYRXYOCdIk3D0CarKIVgTEN1qorHiE/s320/Picture+2.png" width="214" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(<i>The Burdens of Triumph</i> painted by Noah Bradley<br />
http://www.noahbradley.com/)</div>
<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We are all part of one being. I am that being. I do not
proclaim to be God, nor do I deny the idea that I could possibly be of that
nature. And if I am, so are you and so is everyone else, because we are all one
(or of one). So, what is this “one”? It could be the universe; it could be the
mind; it could be the spirit. It could be all of these, or it could be none of
these. I cannot say for sure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe time is not concrete. Maybe all that has ever happened
and all that will ever happen is occurring at this moment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If we are all of one mind (potentially just me), then I
don’t know whether or not other people are actually real. My only reason for
believing that others exist is that I see, hear, and interact with them. I
can’t know for sure that these other beings (you and everyone else) are real,
because I do not see what they are doing when I am not around (think: “If a
tree falls in the forest…”). I only know what I can see, and even then I can’t be
too sure. It might just so happen that people are doing nothing without me, and
they only appear to be alive because of my interactions with them. Or, it could
be that people are doing things while I’m not there, because if you put a bunch
of living organisms together then they’re bound to react with each other and
the “things” around them. Think of it this way: people are complex organisms
created by some greater force (whatever force you want to believe, i.e. big
bang theory, God, or what have you). When you put these organisms together,
they interact with each other and they react to the things and situations
surrounding them in specific ways due to their biology and their chemistry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we are more than just complex organisms, right? Or, at
least I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t even prove that the physical world is real. Maybe
it’s like all those movies portray, where I’m just in a dream. Maybe everything
that surrounds me (us) is just what I have constructed with my mind. If so,
will I ever wake up? Is death when I “wake up” from life?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve had this feeling for a very long time…as long as I can
remember, really. When I was little I used to think that I had magical powers
or that I was some sort of all-knowing god (or both). Now I can say it’s more
likely the fact that I understand people well. I’m a thinker and a feeler. I
perceive others’ feelings well, and I internalize them, and I know how to
conceptualize them. With this “power” I can easily relate to others. I used to
believe that I could read minds, now I know it’s that I’m perceptive (and
introverted in the way that I perceive information).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I feel so manipulative, though. It’s as if I want
certain things for others so badly (things that are often actually good) that I
manipulate people into doing things so that these certain things will happen.
It’s as if I want these good things to happen for them so badly that I trick
them into wanting these good things to happen for themselves. I’m not sure if
that’s really manipulative or really kind? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you look at it one way, I am egotistical; if you look at
it another, I am the complete opposite.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything we know and understand was constructed by humans.
All of the ideas and concepts we’ve ever heard, and that have ever existed (or <i>will</i> ever exist), were created by
humans.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s all so complex, and, yet, it’s so simple. My mind is
all (the only thing) that I can prove is real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is all we know. Maybe our knowledge is more extensive
than we believe it to be. Maybe not. We can’t ever know whether or not we can
be totally sure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this all makes me afraid. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m afraid that it is just me and the universe; that the
people who I love are just projections of myself; that I am alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And even if others are real, what if I have, and will only
ever love myself? And what if I can’t even do that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I am all there is, and after me there is nothing at
all?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m afraid that life on Earth is all there is. I believe in
more than just this, but that sliver of doubt that constantly sits at the back
of my mind leaves me fearful of a place that is nothing—a place that is not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I may believe in some sort of predetermination, I do not believe that my actions on Earth should reflect
this idea of solipsism…in fact, quite the opposite. For our time here as
physical beings, we must stand for our rights, for what is relevant to our
impermanent situation (here, on Earth, as physical and emotional beings). And,
most importantly, we must be good people (without need for motive) to ourselves
and to others.</div>
Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-72730562311758168462012-10-29T02:36:00.000-04:002012-10-29T03:05:19.649-04:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Some thoughts that have crossed my mind more
than a few times...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it possible that, like light, our actions have already
occurred and we are only perceiving them now because of time? Is it
possible that we are already dead?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe death is when it all comes together, where time has no
relevance but also where time means everything. So without life, death
means nothing. And without death, we cannot see everything come together. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is death one instance, or does it expand? Is there life
in death?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe in life the universe is us; in death, we
become the universe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what if we are all one being? What if it is
just me? Who is "me"? Who are you? Are you me? Am I you? Maybe we are all
part of one being, but we stop at different points. Maybe some people have
stopped at similar points; some are behind; some are ahead. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to believe that it all comes together in
the end, if there is an end. Maybe time itself doesn't exist. Maybe it moves
and moves but goes nowhere. <o:p></o:p>Maybe we have already unknowingly,
blindly found what we keep trying to look for. Maybe we have arrived.</div>
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<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it's all so simple.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The only thing that I can prove is that my mind is real.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-74753137953786550462012-09-09T23:47:00.003-04:002012-09-10T00:03:23.989-04:00<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's strange, I'm here again, in another place that only feels temporary. I've been stuck in a place lately where I am unattached to most things around me. In the past few months I've found a lot of places to call home. Or, maybe, it hasn't been so much as the places, but more so the people--I've found home within a lot of people. And I'd give the world to be with them all at once.</div>
<br />
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<br />Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-1885805112794967602012-04-24T17:50:00.001-04:002014-09-09T01:43:51.774-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JNz8PdtHftJZtWkNPVO5KyDBmzrt8-5eX6dJdUrhoJNi2HyDhdEWOm2FQJSAE8HKTAYEP-KqOJu2i88PP3wApYkR10FnZY2QYkaDRS_9md7HUzFHkWZobegX13VeRoV9b15sGF2yAQk/s1600/March12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JNz8PdtHftJZtWkNPVO5KyDBmzrt8-5eX6dJdUrhoJNi2HyDhdEWOm2FQJSAE8HKTAYEP-KqOJu2i88PP3wApYkR10FnZY2QYkaDRS_9md7HUzFHkWZobegX13VeRoV9b15sGF2yAQk/s320/March12.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDABnB4OJFsQnjymPZEIc_t70YFLfj6QbBd6Zcp1iPfvQp3fD8dYUb1HnTKza7MoR94-ig2a_eMpuInus04QV89UQIqMGYbJeHE9773XrigRzs2q7AVpCIbIoHa1DFY2JqI96N5ppuiY/s1600/MarchCouch_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDABnB4OJFsQnjymPZEIc_t70YFLfj6QbBd6Zcp1iPfvQp3fD8dYUb1HnTKza7MoR94-ig2a_eMpuInus04QV89UQIqMGYbJeHE9773XrigRzs2q7AVpCIbIoHa1DFY2JqI96N5ppuiY/s320/MarchCouch_1.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>"And oh, the wretch is gone<br />
And oh, the sorries begin<br />
And oh, the drinking has thinned<br />
Oh, still I wrestle<br />
I wrestle within<br /><br />
And then to you</i>
<i><br />
I don't look so good<br />
Like I did what I felt like<br />
Like I did what I would<br /><br />
But I don't have my dog</i>
<i><br />
And I don't make a sound<br />
I live on an island<br />
In the middle of town<br /><br />
So if you've got a thing</i>
<i><br />
With me or my friend<br />
Remember what we've been through<br />
Remember where we've been<br /><br />
We don't have our dogs</i>
<i><br />
And we don't make a sound<br />
We live on an island<br />
In the middle of town<br /><br />
And oh, the wretch is gone</i>
<i><br />
And oh, the sorries begin<br />
And oh, the drinking has thinned<br />
Oh, still I wrestle<br />
I wrestle within<br /><br />
And then to you</i>
<i><br />
I don't look so good<br />
Like I did what I felt like<br />
Like I did what I would<br /><br />
But I don't have my dog</i>
<i><br />
And I don't make a sound<br />
I live on an island<br />
In the middle of town."</i><br />
<br />
-"The Island Song" by Chris GarneauHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-17920759612776073132012-01-18T08:56:00.000-05:002012-01-18T08:56:26.896-05:00Somewhere between something and nothing lies the heart of my existence, beating slowly, steadily, monotonously. I don't know where my feet are going, or if they're going at all. My head is light and thoughtless; my body is pulled to nothing, and I am stuck. I don't know where to go or even how to move. And I thought that maybe this had all been over, that things were bright again, but that passed, and now I'm here wondering why I cannot move and hoping that someday I'll be able to go again.Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-61012420883363839712011-11-14T23:23:00.000-05:002011-11-14T23:23:23.633-05:00I'm not sure yet if it's finished (I guess all that I write never really is). I've been needing to write lately, and this became my outlet. So, bare with me...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Teddy</div><style>
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</style> Teddy’s hands became weak and his eyes grew tired. There wasn’t much left for him to do here. His mind was exhausted. His head was heavy, his thoughts were swollen. He thought of the people in the park playing chess. He had never been very good at chess, but he loved watching it. Sometimes he made himself believe that if he watched for long enough he could learn to be very good. He knew this would never happen though. He wasn’t an undetermined man, just tired. The tiredness had begun in his chest, and had now spread to his muscles and bones. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes he imagined that he wouldn’t awake in the morning. The thought didn’t make him sad, just content, at ease.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He had never really lost himself, but he liked the thought of it. He liked the thought that maybe somewhere he could let go. Somewhere he could sink into the soil and grow with the plants and rise with the trees. Maybe somewhere he could fall into nothingness, and, all at once, feel the weight pull him down while the air would lift him up. And he would pull with his strength and be pushed by the Earth, and he would fall and rise. Somewhere he could be everything and nothing, and everything was important but nothing mattered. And the sirens would cry out and sounds would blare, but everything would be silent and free.</div><div class="MsoNormal">His mind carried him through, moving him away from the wiry couch where his body laid, his face upon the rough pillow. His eyes were cloudy and his skin was dry.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He looked down at Earth, the tiny planet that had turned to swirls of green and blue, and he smiled and closed his eyes.</div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-90661400561010688872011-10-23T14:51:00.000-04:002011-10-23T14:58:03.037-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWHVz_nb2AMigSwW19oGdJej8URTER-08CDmCxM8QUodm1DDklaQRL9v_Edbl9bvyaAFP1l8F18pDxDKHUDa486SuRkTmfhDoUU74ZUtHM8oWhpwNj19axP5u5eUMBCgmDeoQIYVFFI4/s1600/SelfPortraits_October-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWHVz_nb2AMigSwW19oGdJej8URTER-08CDmCxM8QUodm1DDklaQRL9v_Edbl9bvyaAFP1l8F18pDxDKHUDa486SuRkTmfhDoUU74ZUtHM8oWhpwNj19axP5u5eUMBCgmDeoQIYVFFI4/s320/SelfPortraits_October-1.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxR0EJWiKRB8r5xr95Kno59u0Z5142BC3oYxqBylEILyClOYd2AkB3YpxegL8I1AfWGAicyp3b6qGYNCN6DP_g-7INKM7kWpw3cNjuxNjoqwU6dfPbbWYsspCX1pW5mjZblDVVoa3PTM/s1600/SelfPortraits_October-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxR0EJWiKRB8r5xr95Kno59u0Z5142BC3oYxqBylEILyClOYd2AkB3YpxegL8I1AfWGAicyp3b6qGYNCN6DP_g-7INKM7kWpw3cNjuxNjoqwU6dfPbbWYsspCX1pW5mjZblDVVoa3PTM/s320/SelfPortraits_October-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGoOEFrI_yWjME_CizCMQVvYBrTlnJWsqZ4xKroshWzHtDiNlufmjhWpTST-1_AFDe4HpyVk2lZt5p6rhaI7hTE955CKZMKdg5Yr4m9pj92ZV5UDcT6eSOEHRXMFNCaGqs3B3tYjdjtw/s1600/SelfPortraits_October-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGoOEFrI_yWjME_CizCMQVvYBrTlnJWsqZ4xKroshWzHtDiNlufmjhWpTST-1_AFDe4HpyVk2lZt5p6rhaI7hTE955CKZMKdg5Yr4m9pj92ZV5UDcT6eSOEHRXMFNCaGqs3B3tYjdjtw/s320/SelfPortraits_October-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Listening to "Intro" by The xxHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-13388371667651721322011-10-18T12:31:00.000-04:002011-10-18T12:31:23.550-04:00<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Balance</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s a need for finding a balance between the physical and the conceptual, the visual and the metaphysical, the perceived and the actual.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The drum of life and living beats at changing paces, and everyone experiences it (even if they’re not in tune to it). Because we are all connected, we are affected by one another. Although we don’t necessarily see it or understand it directly, the connection is still there. We’re constantly playing a game of dominos—when one is pushed, the others are at risk of falling. If we’re not close enough, we stay erect…at least for the time being. But the pieces will be rearranged, and there are more in the box that can take the place of those that have fallen. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Can we be completely replaced? And if we are replaced, how does that affect the other side?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Is balance achievable? If one side is balanced, is the other? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe balance is achievable, but not everyone is a part of it—maybe you are not a part of it. But if not every one is a part of it…is that really balance?</div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-15584205796573310542011-10-03T14:52:00.000-04:002011-10-03T14:52:18.272-04:00It's a somber day.<br />
Earlier I remembered a small, sort of irrelevant scene. I was pretty young, and I was at a park with my parents and two family friends. We were sitting in the grass, and the man, Tom, was showing me how to make a whistling noise with a blade of grass. His wife tried too, but she and I weren't very good at it. I don't even remember the rest of the day, just us sitting in the grass, laughing and brushing the dirt off of our pants.<br />
It's strange how I'd forgotten about this memory for so long. My family and I used to spend a lot of time with them--they lived just down the street from us. My dad and Tom were very close, until things began to fall apart. Tom died about six years ago in a motorcycle accident. A lot of things were left unsaid and undone, things that will probably never be mended. Thinking about it now, I wish some things could've turned out differently, but that's the way it all works and we can't change that.Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-38038669468534901002011-09-21T11:22:00.000-04:002011-09-21T11:22:42.073-04:00<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve had an incessant need for balance lately. I’m not sure I can describe it exactly. Everything that I know or question has been leading me in circles. I keep coming back to the phrase “everything is relative”. And it’s true, everything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> relative. Nothing isn’t connected, but many things have no connections.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been running around in my head a lot. And I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think I could, but it’s as though I don’t want to. But I don’t want to stay awake either, because it’s too quiet and I get easily stuck in my head. (Is it possible to think too much?)</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want so many things in life—many of them that I have no control over. I want to see people as people, and I want to live with them. I distance myself a lot though…although I’m not sure that’s entirely bad. Hopefully that’s just me looking at and observing the bigger picture. But I really need to come back down to Earth, and I need to sit with someone and talk with someone about little, menial things and big and abstract world issues.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPXMRGJ1S5a1s8h2j2_sbxetaSvmCMJOg3N2kFrI-ys48xlSUxJzk3gKdvsxOMfmYw2eEUzL2wPj1x5MLzPP_SQgyta6lj8uCjuYsNoEYb2BnHcB5iduQLq1e7JPX-fem6p0L-SNzPFs/s1600/091111_City-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPXMRGJ1S5a1s8h2j2_sbxetaSvmCMJOg3N2kFrI-ys48xlSUxJzk3gKdvsxOMfmYw2eEUzL2wPj1x5MLzPP_SQgyta6lj8uCjuYsNoEYb2BnHcB5iduQLq1e7JPX-fem6p0L-SNzPFs/s320/091111_City-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB7Pafk0PNk9RrhnU5uYVqg3Q64b7MTi1-R2-MxffxOpWn_tkTLaB3DGgYKvrWw-WZN5ej8aVivlIGk_1hFK1qFKHviyRhpmq2koT_XSiBf6U7v_AW0oGu5MJwRnQHFFwp25H1hcQ8yg/s1600/091111_City-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB7Pafk0PNk9RrhnU5uYVqg3Q64b7MTi1-R2-MxffxOpWn_tkTLaB3DGgYKvrWw-WZN5ej8aVivlIGk_1hFK1qFKHviyRhpmq2koT_XSiBf6U7v_AW0oGu5MJwRnQHFFwp25H1hcQ8yg/s320/091111_City-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZ1f-2UTGEYViAzBZvkxLoD5USMXwuyhYs08G2xbwyg_3kOIaQlvmIcQrEZV9njB7DbKotHAi4U5EbfWH3P1pljhP90FL_BSZX4iSgn4JfjgZo_YGt2ocNsIbAzB21f2-vtWOGAmlzAA/s1600/GFDance-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZ1f-2UTGEYViAzBZvkxLoD5USMXwuyhYs08G2xbwyg_3kOIaQlvmIcQrEZV9njB7DbKotHAi4U5EbfWH3P1pljhP90FL_BSZX4iSgn4JfjgZo_YGt2ocNsIbAzB21f2-vtWOGAmlzAA/s320/GFDance-5.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRBCzbB_Jt9rNxwZW5ZbI9F9LDK_B0ZKhOYeyskZ1jSpDoZUDPoH0C49FtJ4Gt6MPjxxuc17UV47trxMtvOp74Ud52TACsyMNjkocPEjCGKzfZxsEE8lKXd0IipAWRsgN1TkTjzkmEKI/s1600/091111_City-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRBCzbB_Jt9rNxwZW5ZbI9F9LDK_B0ZKhOYeyskZ1jSpDoZUDPoH0C49FtJ4Gt6MPjxxuc17UV47trxMtvOp74Ud52TACsyMNjkocPEjCGKzfZxsEE8lKXd0IipAWRsgN1TkTjzkmEKI/s320/091111_City-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-86359994602709128912011-09-07T23:56:00.000-04:002011-09-07T23:58:43.312-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YzAPKIhHRTlKi0t8xwwOLsQ8ETLyU73d4v5bGWXa4sBjuX7107-PEeyD-JMyLX5iMNIu0TjuiBbkzHM8gtf2Pf5PDNJlU22l1LJq4dABqG5sHAMwUJQyCtZUOoaGnqrROnFgAZRLsSA/s1600/August_Sarah-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2UbYVbQSTs38KO6oKsG8Qze2RjhRpZdkO8OYRGNeYs-hRVY1JdSJWqQLVv1oYlUp5py90vtLDp_icdNkA4QEETvhATKsoAo4qq1d1wp-b8JP2-VEj0wd6BCE_r0VfOz5F15vfLwrbmo8/s1600/August_Sarah-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2UbYVbQSTs38KO6oKsG8Qze2RjhRpZdkO8OYRGNeYs-hRVY1JdSJWqQLVv1oYlUp5py90vtLDp_icdNkA4QEETvhATKsoAo4qq1d1wp-b8JP2-VEj0wd6BCE_r0VfOz5F15vfLwrbmo8/s320/August_Sarah-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
<br />
<i>A day once dawned <br />
And it was beautiful<br />
A day once dawned from the ground</i><br />
<i>Then the night she fell<br />
And the air was beautiful<br />
The night she fell all around</i><br />
<br />
<i>So look see the days<br />
The endless coloured ways<br />
And go play the game that you learnt<br />
From the morning</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><i>And now we rise<br />
And we are everywhere<br />
And now we rise from the ground<br />
And see she flies<br />
And she is everywhere<br />
See she flies all around</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><i>So look see the sights<br />
The endless summer nights<br />
And go play the game that you learnt</i><br />
<i> </i><i>From the morning.</i><br />
<br />
-"From the Morning" by Nick Drake<i> </i>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-14148592339625146842011-08-04T15:40:00.000-04:002011-08-04T15:40:42.975-04:00So, I'm starting a "diary" of food. This isn't going to become a food blog, but I'm going to track what I've been learning/will learn about nutrition--at least for a little while. There's no particular reason for starting this documentation, just that I've become interested in nutrition and I've been "sick" lately (something about my digestive system). I've decided to start a vegan/raw diet, more so a choosy vegan diet (meaning the only breads I can have are sprouted or gluten-free). I'm trying to seriously cut down on processed foods--at least the really unhealthy ones. Hopefully all this healthy nonsense (I don't plan on being this persnickety for too long) will kick-start my organs into working correctly (and maybe help me begin a healthier lifestyle).<br />
<br />
Today, Larabar vs. Kind Fruit & Nut bar<br />
Larabar (Cashew Cookie): 230 calories, mashed up, two ingredients (cashews and dates), gluten and dairy free, mushy, tastes like old cashew butter, $1.49<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepZoqbNC3YZDqbjHJodOALjHY-ofw8qHkdGJXDLFmkRlwj-ZvI__xPI9UczPPPhHiIa-Q-62KN-3yWIsHeXZfIFnOoZLqvOUEvYiYrU2enqgghBI45jOM4cytqq5pEsvvZ5K4iInwFIA/s1600/larabar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepZoqbNC3YZDqbjHJodOALjHY-ofw8qHkdGJXDLFmkRlwj-ZvI__xPI9UczPPPhHiIa-Q-62KN-3yWIsHeXZfIFnOoZLqvOUEvYiYrU2enqgghBI45jOM4cytqq5pEsvvZ5K4iInwFIA/s320/larabar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Kind bar (Fruit & Nut Delight): 180 calories, whole nuts bound together by fruits, more ingredients (including soy lecithin), gluten and dairy free, crunchy and soft, sweet, $1.69<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGK19FX23oj7MoaK04ahzjTBxAsZN_ggX_OiAXzw1ewWa-HD9a51mZwcOfv2zoGs1npPNHZNBxESd6cRIFSdrWWIQEJwsjdOasCQNZMVpv8lYBLHzX-KmieiPkuadrqIdeNQiZB5ZE44/s1600/kindbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGK19FX23oj7MoaK04ahzjTBxAsZN_ggX_OiAXzw1ewWa-HD9a51mZwcOfv2zoGs1npPNHZNBxESd6cRIFSdrWWIQEJwsjdOasCQNZMVpv8lYBLHzX-KmieiPkuadrqIdeNQiZB5ZE44/s320/kindbar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The winner? Kind bar<br />
<br />
<br />
(By the way, I'm at work and I feel like a total health-nut. You know, one of those whack-jobs who has nothing better to do with her time...)Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-67036046223813173892011-07-11T13:13:00.000-04:002011-09-21T23:18:31.084-04:00<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">There’s something about dreams that, for whatever reason, I base some of my core emotions. I guess it’s because they come from me, and they are a part of me. I don’t think they tell anything that you don’t already know, but I believe they often confirm feelings that are rooted in the pit of your stomach that you’re sometimes unwilling to admit. It’s as if dreams are projections of yourself that you have to face to come to some sort of truth about your self. Of course they’re not always deep or meaningful, but rather random, and often current thoughts that float together. Sometimes they come from thoughts that spark from other thoughts or things that you’ve seen recently. Sometimes they’re reflections of concerns that you’ve been having. </div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">No matter the real reason they come about, they are part of your consciousness and your unconsciousness. I find they’re sometimes therapeutic, even despite their terrifying approaches. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0UtsIk6SGLIqik37-gP7iOaLbSrSP6QBbIcPSDJ1YGoU-PZbEdt5l23rhiWU4a-GfP0w8CxJ2C2uPi5nP0B-8Btio1XKh5qVbVSRZnvJx-bvHYZG1lE6fqMf0ADqbLCsmHfRekEAtzo/s1600/22_Transport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0UtsIk6SGLIqik37-gP7iOaLbSrSP6QBbIcPSDJ1YGoU-PZbEdt5l23rhiWU4a-GfP0w8CxJ2C2uPi5nP0B-8Btio1XKh5qVbVSRZnvJx-bvHYZG1lE6fqMf0ADqbLCsmHfRekEAtzo/s320/22_Transport.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqrXE0jtTlU2wl2bS6sa6nGBfAIOrD3Zl_bKjmoYW01ecRGHPBiySfPWy-rKIXACJr3qKZWVPtBirWsaS053-CopshgzdHE_eDR1rhc0uAveCkDFqcGup55XtZvMqpd1FY66puym4r_s/s1600/paulo-ventura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqrXE0jtTlU2wl2bS6sa6nGBfAIOrD3Zl_bKjmoYW01ecRGHPBiySfPWy-rKIXACJr3qKZWVPtBirWsaS053-CopshgzdHE_eDR1rhc0uAveCkDFqcGup55XtZvMqpd1FY66puym4r_s/s320/paulo-ventura.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrsO4Q8TsB-Yv0gFyxRDCTCX4xSQB8sdk0O5hnsH-lrdN_w_cIN96bVLXZNnnYuBuvrhKdssI4jQpe7js1l93nEo84xxl2A7bKJ_OljBmAye_kgZPtttxyyDBlnTEDu6a_sWzKEcxWnE/s1600/whoa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrsO4Q8TsB-Yv0gFyxRDCTCX4xSQB8sdk0O5hnsH-lrdN_w_cIN96bVLXZNnnYuBuvrhKdssI4jQpe7js1l93nEo84xxl2A7bKJ_OljBmAye_kgZPtttxyyDBlnTEDu6a_sWzKEcxWnE/s320/whoa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-11576772278466017932011-05-13T14:06:00.000-04:002011-05-13T14:07:17.464-04:00<i>"...As the truth hits your ears begin to cry<br />
"Why is it like this!" Why the fuck do I care?<br />
I don't have the answers, or at least the ones you want to hear...</i><br />
<i>Don't get worried now (We've been in a cold world!)<br />
We just getting flurries now?..."</i><br />
<i>"Bent Life" by Aesop Rock</i><br />
<br />
The other night I remembered a thought that I had a few years ago. It was an image of a man who digs a hole in his living room. And he digs more and more every day. Then one day he shoots his dog, because he doesn't want his dog to fall in and die. And he just keeps on digging.<br />
It's not much of a story, but I've thought about it over and over, and I still can't figure out how to present it. Maybe as a poem? Or maybe as a short-story, or a one-act? I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_L6ieV55aIWwtxJEbrUmXwadr-6GQH3wV0kM5qlNMw9H8cdhLxPc7VTNjNeWbQcHa4wzgN80nxdkyETf3DXnFAeZGUnQMLZ-MbZEStut8JLJ_bZCEya9LVNQujrTKy7PYbG83J06Exc/s1600/blur.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_L6ieV55aIWwtxJEbrUmXwadr-6GQH3wV0kM5qlNMw9H8cdhLxPc7VTNjNeWbQcHa4wzgN80nxdkyETf3DXnFAeZGUnQMLZ-MbZEStut8JLJ_bZCEya9LVNQujrTKy7PYbG83J06Exc/s320/blur.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>(I don't know who this image is by or where it came from, but it emotes what I've been feeling lately.)Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-21114699277025922382011-04-27T18:37:00.000-04:002011-09-21T23:20:05.078-04:00<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Do we want to help, or are we just voyeurs? When the excitement of happiness is muted to a quiet lull, how do we mask the often undeniable truth of getting joy from pain? While all humanity is not lost, and while there is still hope for sanity, it’s hard to really know whether all help is good help.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3buHcgYOPBJXaEFLHDMK806SeO2vv8HluHRF0utOK_7ONL1qgR_WOAOyUXWepVP1WLNXJnydppiOCSHU8NBa5aVjtrxvZXJlapATOjuQR4kMFSBpNR6pvdGhDg_O25o9tcMOcv4o_W4/s1600/turtle-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3buHcgYOPBJXaEFLHDMK806SeO2vv8HluHRF0utOK_7ONL1qgR_WOAOyUXWepVP1WLNXJnydppiOCSHU8NBa5aVjtrxvZXJlapATOjuQR4kMFSBpNR6pvdGhDg_O25o9tcMOcv4o_W4/s320/turtle-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GHHJN6cVV3H4yw74kdh42CEOXwUMxp3AH4B132mHwVffco7SGpu0jt_cb8cFgmtsQDyYk8AunnekhesetLOkCgEnuE59tlGehF0apzc_tjdyqd-2zY8slSGbV_VdSoE64-v93gzj7yw/s1600/turtle-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GHHJN6cVV3H4yw74kdh42CEOXwUMxp3AH4B132mHwVffco7SGpu0jt_cb8cFgmtsQDyYk8AunnekhesetLOkCgEnuE59tlGehF0apzc_tjdyqd-2zY8slSGbV_VdSoE64-v93gzj7yw/s320/turtle-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-49639945861431252842011-04-25T21:02:00.000-04:002011-04-25T21:23:09.870-04:00<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Seaside</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
The sky was closing,</div><div class="MsoNormal">the clouds lining the falling sun’s path,</div><div class="MsoNormal">leaving scattered traces of light among the bank.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The wet air filled his lungs with salt and grit,</div><div class="MsoNormal">but he paid no mind to its barrenness.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He thought of the way her fingers curled around his,</div><div class="MsoNormal">and the way her hair fell in his mouth when her head lay on his chest—</div><div class="MsoNormal">the way it stuck to his dry lips and parched tongue.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He could see her and feel her.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He could touch her skin and smooth the hair from her cheek,</div><div class="MsoNormal">and he could feel the weight of her leg pressed against his waist.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And he knew that it wasn’t all gone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He knew that she probably thought of him, too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A breeze rolled in,</div><div class="MsoNormal">sweeping open his worn coat,</div><div class="MsoNormal">exposing him to the frozen wind.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And he sat and waited</div><div class="MsoNormal">for nothing and for everything.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjusOmmYaZM_KEo30muwN1PmmRMbRpvqOSdk8OEluIqJ09GrI9c3Ou-AzpmTxTGUxwC833UfGdWga4J1EbIU9BF6nFFS5BHbGU4xF42-3BVe5sAQYIas9zIYkrebDuLW0gHK8Rx_kW5I/s1600/AndrewWyeth_Baleen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjusOmmYaZM_KEo30muwN1PmmRMbRpvqOSdk8OEluIqJ09GrI9c3Ou-AzpmTxTGUxwC833UfGdWga4J1EbIU9BF6nFFS5BHbGU4xF42-3BVe5sAQYIas9zIYkrebDuLW0gHK8Rx_kW5I/s320/AndrewWyeth_Baleen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Andrew Wyeth's painting <i>Baleen</i>)<i> </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-42581188323353127202011-04-21T00:02:00.000-04:002011-04-21T00:02:40.114-04:00It's been stuck in my head all day...well, I've been listening to it all day... <br />
<br />
<i>"I know what you're thinking<br />
But I'm not your property<br />
No matter what you say<br />
No matter what you say<br />
<br />
Move along, there's nothing left to see</i> <i><br />
Just a body, nothing left to see<br />
<br />
A couple more for breakfast</i> <i><br />
A little more for tea<br />
Just to take the edge off<br />
Just to take the edge off<br />
<br />
Move along, there's nothing left to see</i> <i><br />
Just a body, pouring down the street<br />
<br />
Move along, there's nothing left to see</i> <i><br />
Just a body, nothing left to see<br />
<br />
Move along"</i> <br />
<br />
-"Gagging Order" by RadioheadHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-71108688198184875842011-04-14T18:28:00.000-04:002011-04-14T18:28:21.466-04:00It's hard to conceive time sometimes. I know it's there, and I know it's passing, but I can't always get a good hold of it. Sometimes it seems that it loops back around or that it overlaps itself. After a while everything becomes constant--even the things that should shake me become so normal, so ordinary, that I'm hardly moved by even the hardest push. And then things come flooding back, and I lose myself, once again, in the rush of all the things that once were gone.Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-59237244062394074352011-03-21T19:05:00.000-04:002011-03-21T19:05:44.073-04:00What makes a person human?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPk2U1NGvWG_w3txzqMY9BhzHbIDvp323TvhszSDDjy5jvejarlC4lp-xFZtt2kzHgg6t5Qf3aflip1CAEfBWMxsv5-OzjOUi6ja0RtRcrmMJTYDOgbkJHnU6YfC-zGzd29ES6fECtFc/s1600/citycouple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>No one person is any more or less of a person than any other. Sure, we can measure one's "greatness" or humility, but when it comes down to it we are all people--physically, mentally, and emotionally. There is nothing that can stop a person from being...well, a person. There is not one instance that can change a person into something else. Not even death. Although one may (and will) die, he or she is still a person...just a dead person. Like the worms on the sidewalk in the rain--we're just trying to make it to the grass so we don't drown. And some of us do drown, and some of us dry up in the sun. Then there are those of us who make it to the grass until the next rain. Of course, we're not worms.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEhW28QFzVxNkhFErjt0ODGU2475OD9YX_8J7QgB7UYuJ6YpAkLg60Q8yunSw26IEFkpSgItEldIIlhqTShQMyKhRbr9BUqOeigolFHkF1X9w2huIr4XPDmsPqgGcA94bUqYS6N-mLifo/s1600/museumcityman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEhW28QFzVxNkhFErjt0ODGU2475OD9YX_8J7QgB7UYuJ6YpAkLg60Q8yunSw26IEFkpSgItEldIIlhqTShQMyKhRbr9BUqOeigolFHkF1X9w2huIr4XPDmsPqgGcA94bUqYS6N-mLifo/s320/museumcityman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uuOhIFZOJd1Fw296IAZ1Izjo-ufrbB30btxXPhwheX96ytoiTNIxEkY-uegYfCSfYGROdEvNrGA2MrxGgowgqF1B2Cu0CHHPmC4KvxmNEbp3ZOG5LZ_k_Z2Cs20EbA0vJyo3t4h3bBo/s1600/citydreads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uuOhIFZOJd1Fw296IAZ1Izjo-ufrbB30btxXPhwheX96ytoiTNIxEkY-uegYfCSfYGROdEvNrGA2MrxGgowgqF1B2Cu0CHHPmC4KvxmNEbp3ZOG5LZ_k_Z2Cs20EbA0vJyo3t4h3bBo/s320/citydreads.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUnxB7IT5rZ9CKpkbUD_x391CvroFQupkpTg03SO5iPV66zpVJdrKgE7CWxE0zbIuSLzP9uoo90JfQsvBwum6ACQK2PavXlMsquGwUFrOelQYEi9TRRCInC5j2EEjCc-wf5gfcH0e_q0/s1600/citysitters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUnxB7IT5rZ9CKpkbUD_x391CvroFQupkpTg03SO5iPV66zpVJdrKgE7CWxE0zbIuSLzP9uoo90JfQsvBwum6ACQK2PavXlMsquGwUFrOelQYEi9TRRCInC5j2EEjCc-wf5gfcH0e_q0/s320/citysitters.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPk2U1NGvWG_w3txzqMY9BhzHbIDvp323TvhszSDDjy5jvejarlC4lp-xFZtt2kzHgg6t5Qf3aflip1CAEfBWMxsv5-OzjOUi6ja0RtRcrmMJTYDOgbkJHnU6YfC-zGzd29ES6fECtFc/s1600/citycouple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPk2U1NGvWG_w3txzqMY9BhzHbIDvp323TvhszSDDjy5jvejarlC4lp-xFZtt2kzHgg6t5Qf3aflip1CAEfBWMxsv5-OzjOUi6ja0RtRcrmMJTYDOgbkJHnU6YfC-zGzd29ES6fECtFc/s320/citycouple.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>(please excuse the terrible colors)Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-50566949109200977042011-03-02T14:47:00.000-05:002011-03-02T14:49:18.931-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ20lelgkVprn0ki5dYjuhO3eLHN7RaKWIbvDs6YTejTtgtlH_z1QKxshuuRY55Mw-7UBCodc3jjdm10z9Obd6PjIYPuxyC5NSoAB99pLhf3U2ryqAiHGIteUlWADmKqVRayMBmbbrgPQ/s1600/Home-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ20lelgkVprn0ki5dYjuhO3eLHN7RaKWIbvDs6YTejTtgtlH_z1QKxshuuRY55Mw-7UBCodc3jjdm10z9Obd6PjIYPuxyC5NSoAB99pLhf3U2ryqAiHGIteUlWADmKqVRayMBmbbrgPQ/s320/Home-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8R44t4ziqxr4VMSveE0RI2LZDrPttlMapD7spIWHB05u7Q0swOvebQvouvEaFBi8-C0Zugn4o7YHfAnSWvrg8TF9r9MjKcsJ8Djua3agqIYreqcnF_bhIZKk9RBll2fEBYsOSvMMMXU/s1600/Home-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8R44t4ziqxr4VMSveE0RI2LZDrPttlMapD7spIWHB05u7Q0swOvebQvouvEaFBi8-C0Zugn4o7YHfAnSWvrg8TF9r9MjKcsJ8Djua3agqIYreqcnF_bhIZKk9RBll2fEBYsOSvMMMXU/s320/Home-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N8NT0j7xn0SRmSuuFWg9XM5ywJUInVbjDWwJxq_T-feunLzOFKwu5XlsPnW28Lej13ZAilY5cYVfiu3dYJ8uxVm3Ov0PlHnWcIkYfLSqA3Q2qXlQlwvLi5bRRQYq1MFaSID3hQp0Tec/s1600/Home-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N8NT0j7xn0SRmSuuFWg9XM5ywJUInVbjDWwJxq_T-feunLzOFKwu5XlsPnW28Lej13ZAilY5cYVfiu3dYJ8uxVm3Ov0PlHnWcIkYfLSqA3Q2qXlQlwvLi5bRRQYq1MFaSID3hQp0Tec/s320/Home-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<i>Los Novios</i><br />
Written by Octavio Paz<br />
<br />
<i>Tendidos en la yerba <br />
una muchacha y un muchacho. <br />
Comen naranjas, cambian besos <br />
como las olas cambian sus espumas. </i><br />
<br />
<i>Tendido en la playa <br />
una muchacha y un muchacho. <br />
Comen limones, cambian besos <br />
como las nubes cambian espumas. </i><br />
<br />
<i>Tendidos bajo tierra <br />
una muchacha y un muchacho. <br />
No dicen nada, no se besan, <br />
cambian silencio por silencio</i>.<br />
<br />
Music written by Eric WhitacreHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-69760825458137054922011-02-17T23:08:00.000-05:002011-04-25T21:08:09.985-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQRMxzoNKg2OZq7UzKWW7Xy79phDC83y39gH2G1rqtpZ1PbA134Cp8IB670FFDvbrSoSDY3M7nBHOE64qOnXLIQAaG8lJWX9-h4MuOMG1JKjJpPUoDmt_p3jDfua4sOA2rpmSZfM6g2o/s1600/andrew_wyeth_sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQRMxzoNKg2OZq7UzKWW7Xy79phDC83y39gH2G1rqtpZ1PbA134Cp8IB670FFDvbrSoSDY3M7nBHOE64qOnXLIQAaG8lJWX9-h4MuOMG1JKjJpPUoDmt_p3jDfua4sOA2rpmSZfM6g2o/s320/andrew_wyeth_sea.jpg" width="313" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rLZJPfFj2W3SJnMJGj_LcmJcWFejMRnPKxqp8NZ-EqGRzvfjG7IVkRIfaYiT7jfjjBs8msbmlV20PjYWal06QuaSpEldDTV-ka_MwpJ1s-pF40cgnhc1smm29i5c8h6MuLRcolwCH7Y/s1600/andrew_wyeth_thatgentleman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rLZJPfFj2W3SJnMJGj_LcmJcWFejMRnPKxqp8NZ-EqGRzvfjG7IVkRIfaYiT7jfjjBs8msbmlV20PjYWal06QuaSpEldDTV-ka_MwpJ1s-pF40cgnhc1smm29i5c8h6MuLRcolwCH7Y/s320/andrew_wyeth_thatgentleman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpooSoqy1KQQPiayDs3laYw0sEYLwF_JUdVtqWpCzh3Uv2hIoqI1nOzmJW8t3nj-tcm0RMYwjn5npmf1fbkMfek5qkvZdX1jJZ-XM2UveVdesGpDCI-TijQGPfk5b-0caK2ww6iNAJVF8/s1600/andrew_wyeth_woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpooSoqy1KQQPiayDs3laYw0sEYLwF_JUdVtqWpCzh3Uv2hIoqI1nOzmJW8t3nj-tcm0RMYwjn5npmf1fbkMfek5qkvZdX1jJZ-XM2UveVdesGpDCI-TijQGPfk5b-0caK2ww6iNAJVF8/s320/andrew_wyeth_woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxXTIw_cesHjNYfTDFWlwgtb6ltCAYLJHNF313POj5e4AttkFkLvj72M08PjsLwjoWsh2c4UpX4Org3ik_3Th4YKfEFf2Kla9EXMOe_BBqYFZH8KbU54pzB61Xl4F45ZcQjH9zhbN7J8/s1600/Wyeth_Baleen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>If I could photograph the way Andrew Wyeth paints... That's what I want.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"Your prettiness is seeping through<br />
Out from the dress I took from you, so pretty (on you)<br />
My emptiness is swollen shut<br />
Always a wretch I have become <br />
So empty<br />
Please, Please don't leave me.<br />
<br />
I'm watching Naomi, full bloom<br />
I'm hoping she will soon explode<br />
Into one billion tastes and tunes <br />
One billion angels come and hold her down <br />
They could hold her down until she cries.<br />
<br />
I'm tasting Naomi's perfume<br />
It tastes like shit and I must say<br />
She comes and goes most afternoons<br />
One billion lovers wave and love her now <br />
They could love her now, and so could I.<br />
<br />
There is no Naomi in view <br />
She walks through Cambridge stocks and strolls<br />
And if she only really knew <br />
One billion angels could come and save her soul <br />
They could save her soul until she shines.<br />
<br />
Until she shines.</i> <br />
<i><br />
So pretty</i><br />
<i> Please, Please don't leave me."</i><br />
-"Naomi" by Neutral Milk Hotel<br />
<br />
This song describes how I've felt all day.Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-24452172106971014352011-02-15T18:00:00.000-05:002011-02-15T18:00:34.687-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiemXxPk1bJcB5n_4j-xTFftPuUkzMczoSJY4f8bNzS8xIYPlg08PE6xazarcZF9XUEFPlfiisFYolFQx-5-Zc56aH4wvROh9qEutOCbhTx_Tg8utCXRdtaIT75ox9H01jjHiYvxzGDe3U/s1600/blindskin-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiemXxPk1bJcB5n_4j-xTFftPuUkzMczoSJY4f8bNzS8xIYPlg08PE6xazarcZF9XUEFPlfiisFYolFQx-5-Zc56aH4wvROh9qEutOCbhTx_Tg8utCXRdtaIT75ox9H01jjHiYvxzGDe3U/s320/blindskin-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gr5INZJh9ffCr_mDT6KHRYG9_c87VRyuNLPnuuXadUFnkQKWsAm-U0PtVIXrmx1Lilg0t5-HeV_OWtA3ck3StpQs8KOs-I6lSiE1pUPipFkwnWvtMwv8P9BHD_t2U1tTQw9a3IFg_Zk/s1600/blindskin-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gr5INZJh9ffCr_mDT6KHRYG9_c87VRyuNLPnuuXadUFnkQKWsAm-U0PtVIXrmx1Lilg0t5-HeV_OWtA3ck3StpQs8KOs-I6lSiE1pUPipFkwnWvtMwv8P9BHD_t2U1tTQw9a3IFg_Zk/s320/blindskin-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPuvafx7ImygXHsynhPNaoNE-7zUj1WOx1sjCokQsxq83ndtY7oMq7mMV6LlEk5jkRcKIrV8hByKxVzk_JYFGfx6onAUqnit2GvASUkWYL54wHoqC-yUDrVvLh2Zy5cJbrLGpDH9akoY/s1600/blindskin-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPuvafx7ImygXHsynhPNaoNE-7zUj1WOx1sjCokQsxq83ndtY7oMq7mMV6LlEk5jkRcKIrV8hByKxVzk_JYFGfx6onAUqnit2GvASUkWYL54wHoqC-yUDrVvLh2Zy5cJbrLGpDH9akoY/s320/blindskin-3.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><i>"Then press yourself against whatever<br />
You find to be beautiful and trembling with life<br />
Because I'm so happy you didn't die"</i><br />
from "Three Peaches" by (who else but) Neutral Milk HotelHere Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-5602256691746064532011-02-10T10:31:00.000-05:002011-02-10T10:33:13.122-05:00<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUDFX5Yl-Y6Fx5rzWazC98Grn9oc8FRRZkckSOaDBSi_VUI9nCuMy0iBbv0kcKMDlQfeAkH7aldm21gG8OMit0LKVrpBXS7rZhxCO8I7cPPGKi8QTQNOybaXsNNzxo93hJ7rH0Kg4qB8/s1600/ClementineTrees-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUDFX5Yl-Y6Fx5rzWazC98Grn9oc8FRRZkckSOaDBSi_VUI9nCuMy0iBbv0kcKMDlQfeAkH7aldm21gG8OMit0LKVrpBXS7rZhxCO8I7cPPGKi8QTQNOybaXsNNzxo93hJ7rH0Kg4qB8/s400/ClementineTrees-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfUo0inEH3KUHdSy7X2BN517MNQrWicwrlAAVEdmbhr5EbgV6YDC4KPkG98N-KKCYkIvfaxN5pkElsvuq2IZMxB2e0EBvuxc5xU1skkOPoCRmAN26rDsKxesJ_7pj_aIN7PG4AREAS_M/s1600/ClementineTrees-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfUo0inEH3KUHdSy7X2BN517MNQrWicwrlAAVEdmbhr5EbgV6YDC4KPkG98N-KKCYkIvfaxN5pkElsvuq2IZMxB2e0EBvuxc5xU1skkOPoCRmAN26rDsKxesJ_7pj_aIN7PG4AREAS_M/s400/ClementineTrees-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTJObTyAcbTBvWDVU5EOLLJQ1rdMOydA7JfdeYuxAHRWWwXj-_hT-X4fPDmjbVIA_Cnt_-S1MsCF2B49JzPlFrKMyplQ-82y5KmoXWy1rKWy6lv8s5QrOV_WQs9XViKmyL8hoJYUlt6k/s1600/ClementineTrees-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTJObTyAcbTBvWDVU5EOLLJQ1rdMOydA7JfdeYuxAHRWWwXj-_hT-X4fPDmjbVIA_Cnt_-S1MsCF2B49JzPlFrKMyplQ-82y5KmoXWy1rKWy6lv8s5QrOV_WQs9XViKmyL8hoJYUlt6k/s400/ClementineTrees-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIXDHXKLdSRMl5o9fNNu3geiD_T6ofJP0ghZda-ZtYNAer_aU4n42u9WNJinjcjNFvJbImVBZ_FyxABS2xgbN9GoX_wUcfNgm52XKP0C18N0j96rUZ_n4y6gWp-ZJUdJqTXmWsLt5hdQ/s1600/ClementineTrees-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIXDHXKLdSRMl5o9fNNu3geiD_T6ofJP0ghZda-ZtYNAer_aU4n42u9WNJinjcjNFvJbImVBZ_FyxABS2xgbN9GoX_wUcfNgm52XKP0C18N0j96rUZ_n4y6gWp-ZJUdJqTXmWsLt5hdQ/s400/ClementineTrees-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"> Clementine Trees</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">I can't really explain it, but I've been praying a lot lately. Or maybe it's not praying. I've never really been religious--not in the sense of the word. So, maybe it's just internal speaking? I don't exactly know who or what I'm speaking to. I guess God? I'm not even sure what that means. All I know is that there is a strange comfort in the idea that I'm never alone--the idea that something, or someone, is listening. I get lost in my head a lot, and it's hard to express things aloud when there's no one who can listen. And even when there is someone, I often can't speak as quickly as my thoughts pass. So even if these dialogues are just with myself, it's nice to imagine there's an understanding ear.</div>Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1257442460936650130.post-6581216997320086172011-02-06T00:38:00.000-05:002011-02-06T00:49:52.303-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTx2Y3-HTiNJMmPg9COc9bSEBDQBgaFSdwE521ZVP6JoUwdrhRQHlz_mFahc407nVLJFj5pzk0RavIDLHOVtk3Wq6upLX8kFvX2FM99OUvZNjB4YFyjwrmV6x4gaEqh7WtWu6d5cVR8C0/s1600/old_woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTx2Y3-HTiNJMmPg9COc9bSEBDQBgaFSdwE521ZVP6JoUwdrhRQHlz_mFahc407nVLJFj5pzk0RavIDLHOVtk3Wq6upLX8kFvX2FM99OUvZNjB4YFyjwrmV6x4gaEqh7WtWu6d5cVR8C0/s320/old_woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>(A photo that I took sometime last year)<br />
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I've had a lot of time to myself today. It's strange, it's as if I've been conversing with myself all day. Sometimes I feel cramped, but that goes away...and then comes back. I guess it's just an endless cycle. I can't always put my feet on the ground, but when I can I'm not sure that I even wanted to stand in the first place. Hm, who ever really knows...Here Todayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15355085360742387725noreply@blogger.com1