“In spite of all our communication technology, no invention is as effective as the sound of the human voice. When we hear the human voice, we instinctively want to listen, in the hopes of understanding it. Even when the speaker searching for the right words to say. Even when all we hear is yelling, or crying, or singing. That’s because the human voice resonates differently then anything else in the world. That’s why we can hear a singer’s voice over the sound of a full orchestra. We will always hear that singer, no matter what else surrounds it.”
"Are inprefections is which make we grate." - Craig Benzine
The Matrix has you...
Ernest Hemingway once Wrote: "The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.
You don't have any chance - so use it.
Change is the only constant, fear its companion. Overcoming fear is the key to unlocking its gifts.
There is a life before death...
Chaos is life. Life is chaos. Control is an illusion.
Ex astris, scienta
Mene sakkhet ur-seveh! - Live long and prosper!
Anyway the wind blows...
Death is also coming for YOU!
Tempus e(s)t locus e(s)t mentes.
Vincit qui patitur.
Homo homini lupus.
'Oh I’m in a mood today… huntonpeck left this comment: “I just realized that one is never too old to play with large cardboard boxes.” Hunten Peck, that reminds me of my youth. When I was in fourth grade, my teacher, Mr. Fulderman, came in and he set a giant present down on his desk. He said, “Who wants to open this?” and there was a sea of grubby little hands, waving in the air: “ME ME ME!” And Mr. Fulderman looked in my direction - not right at me, but to the right of me, where he picked my best friend in the whole world. My friend, little J.P. - in his Wide Wale Cords and button-in short-sleeve shirt - shuffled to the front of the world, in equal measure embarassed and proud. And J.P. ripped all the wrapping paper off the box and he opened it and his eyebrows got all wormy and confused and Mr. Fulderman said, with a big smile, “The box is empty. I’m giving you the present of Make Believe. J.P., why don’t you try?” And J.P. stood there for a second and he scrunched up his little face on his litle tiny pea-head and Mr. Fulderman said, “J.P., what’re you thinking?” Eyes still closed, J.P. whispered, “I’m Making Believe that you aren’t a total dick.” “No, J.P., I mean use your Make Believe on the box.” And J.P. frowned and Mr. Fulderman said, “What’s wrong?” and J.P. said, “I’m pretending that the box is pretending to be me and it’s sad because we’re both so bad at it.” “J.P., try again.” “Okay, I’m pretending that the box is the feeling I have right now; the belly-sick of a Sunday when the sun goes down.” And that was enough. J.P. was asked to sit down and one-by-one all of the rest of the kids got a turn. Cara Slatery sat inside the box and said it was a car, real fuckin’ stretch. Scott and Eddie went up together and pretended that it was a counter in a Chinese restaraunt, Mr. Fulderman stifling a laugh as he said that it wasn’t nice to immitate accents. Trains, a doghouse, a giant hat, and when it was my turn I climbed inside and said it was a rocketship and made the sound of the engine. I knew it was lame, but I had a secret: I was better at pretending than all of them. Because I pretended there was a boy in my class named little J.P. and he was my best friend in the whole world. And he would wait for me in the far corner of the school, away from the playground, away from the kids, excited to hang out with weird chubby me. And we would talk about the techniques of fighting bigger opponents and what it would taste like to French Kiss after each sort of meal and your box? Your box can go fuck itself.' - ZeFrank